Antony didn’t know how to explain it. The fire that curled in his chest, the way his fists shook before they even touched anything, the burning in his eyes that always came right before someone screamed.

He was only eight, but already feared like a soldier twice his age.

They called him Tony the Terror behind his back. Even the grown-ups whispered it.

That morning at the military academy, no one sat beside him during breakfast. The long metal table held ten seats, but Antony ate alone at the end, stirring his powdered eggs with the back of his spoon. The metal scraped the plate in slow, quiet circles. No one spoke to him. Even the officers just gave orders like he was a machine.

He didn’t care. At least, he told himself he didn’t.

Until Lili walked in.

Small and bright like a matchstick, Lili had wide brown eyes and her hair in two tight braids. Everyone liked her. The girls, the boys, even the cafeteria staff. She said “Good morning” like it was a spell, and it made people smile.

Except Antony.

He glared at her. She noticed, like she always did, and quickly turned away, sitting between two other girls who wrapped their arms around her like they were guarding treasure.

Antony felt his eyes heat up.

He didn’t know why he always picked her. He didn’t want to be mean. But something in him boiled over every time people smiled at her and looked at him like he was dirt.

Everyone said it.

> “That’s the boy whose mom couldn’t wait.” “She got pregnant without a man. Obsessed.” “That poor child’s not right in the head.”

They said it like he wasn’t there, like he couldn’t hear them. But he could. And he remembered.

Every time someone laughed at Lili’s jokes, Antony remembered what they said about his mom. That she was “like that.” That she did something wrong. That he should never have been born.

So he shoved Lili during drills.

Pulled her braid once in the hallway.

Once, he even dumped her tray when she passed by.

And every time he did something, the fire inside him flared. The world shifted to red. His eyes — yellow in the mirror that morning — turned crimson when the anger came.

The instructors had started logging it. They didn’t know why it happened. They ran tests. Blood samples. Eye exams. No answers. But it scared them.

It scared everyone.

That day, after breakfast, drills began in the courtyard. The sky was heavy and gray. Officer Raine barked commands as kids half Antony’s size scrambled across obstacle walls and tire paths.

Antony stood in formation, fists clenched.

Then Lili giggled.

That sound again. Happy. Free.

Antony snapped.

“Why are you always laughing like you’re better than me?” he shouted, storming toward her.

Everyone froze.

The red had returned to his eyes, and the air around him felt like it cracked.

Lili backed away. “I’m not,” she said quietly. “I’m just trying to be kind.”

“You’re lying,” he said, his voice low now, trembling. “You all are.”

Officer Raine stepped in fast. “Cadet Antony! Fall back! Now!”

Antony stood there, red-eyed, breath heavy. He looked at Lili, then at the circle of children who all stared at him like he was a monster.

He didn’t cry.

But he wanted to.

Because deep down, beneath the fire and the yelling, Antony just wanted to be seen — not as the angry boy, not as the child of a “mistake,” but as something good.

That night, in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, Antony made a promise to himself:

> “One day, I’ll be great. Not because of them. In spite of them.”

His eyes finally faded back to yellow.

The fire never left, but for the first time, he began to shape it — like a weapon, or maybe, just maybe… a light.

...

Antony sat across from Officer Raine, his feet barely touching the floor. The office smelled like dust and polish, and the walls were lined with medals and photos of men with sharp eyes and harder jaws. Raine’s own face was like stone, unmoved by anything—except when he was angry.

Today, he wasn’t shouting.

Which somehow made it worse.

"You listen to me, Cadet Antony," the officer said, fingers interlocked on the desk. "If you ever lay a hand on another student again—girl, boy, anyone—you’re out. That’s not a warning. That’s a fact."

Antony sat still, staring down at his hands. His knuckles were still red.

"I know your story. I know your mother’s situation," Raine continued, quieter now. "I know your grandfather pulled strings to get you in. But this school isn’t for loose wires. If you can’t control yourself, we will not keep you."

Antony swallowed hard. His voice barely came out. "Yes, sir."

Raine nodded. "You're dismissed."

Outside the office, the hall felt colder.

He thought about his mom—the way she had cried when they finally accepted him. The way she hugged him tight and whispered, "Be good, Antony. Please, be good. It’s hard enough already."

He couldn't be the reason she cried again.

So he kept his hands in his pockets. Kept quiet. Kept small.

Word got out fast.

By the next week, everyone knew Antony wasn't allowed to fight back.

So they came for him.

The older boys, mostly the eleven-year-olds, picked their time carefully. They didn’t want to get caught. They waited until the sky went dark and the rain started falling like tiny nails on the rooftops.

Antony was walking alone near the supply shed when they found him.

"Hey, freak," one of them said. "Heard your mommy had you all by herself. Was she that desperate?"

The others laughed.

Antony didn’t say a word. He knew better.

They circled him.

The first punch came fast, into his ribs. The second hit his cheek. Then knees. Then kicks. He fell to the wet ground, covering his head, trying not to scream.

They left him there.

In the rain.

Alone.

The cold soaked through his uniform, into his bones. His eyes fluttered.

Then—nothing.

When Antony woke up, everything was white. The infirmary lights buzzed softly above him. His body hurt everywhere. Tubes were in his arm. Bandages on his side. His lip was split.

He blinked slowly, trying to remember.

Then it all came crashing back.

The fists. The laughter. The rain. The silence after.

He turned his head to the side and whispered, "Why me?"

He said it again, louder.

“Why me?!”

No one answered.

His throat tightened. He yanked the IV from his arm, ignoring the sting. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, wobbling. Every step ached, but he didn’t stop.

He climbed the stairs to the top of the main building, pushing through the heavy door that led to the rooftop. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still gray.

He walked to the edge.

Looked down.

And spoke to the air:

“No one cares.”

“No one would notice.”

“My mom would be better off.”

“My life is just a mistake.”

He felt the wind curl around his face. His toes were at the ledge.

Then—he heard a voice.

“Don’t!”

He turned.

Lili stood there, soaking wet from running, panting, eyes wide.

She took slow steps forward. “Please… don’t do it.”

Antony blinked. “Why? You hate me.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I didn’t understand you. But I don’t hate you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry for how I acted. For laughing with them. For not saying something when they talked about you. I just… I didn’t know it hurt so much.”

Antony’s lips trembled. “They beat me up because they knew I couldn’t fight back.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He turned away. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Lili stepped closer, so close now he could hear her shaking. “I do care. I see you, Antony. I see how hard you're trying. Please… don’t go.”

He looked down again. Then back at her.

Her hand reached out. Small. Honest.

“Let’s start over,” she said softly. “Please.”

A pause.

Then Antony took her hand.

And stepped down.

He fell—not into the air—but into her arms, and cried.

For the first time, he didn’t cry alone.

...

Antony stared at the ceiling as sunlight poured through the thin white curtains. The walls were blue now—not metal. The air didn’t smell like bleach or sweat or fear. He turned his head and saw a school blazer hanging by the door. Real cotton. Real colors.

He had made it out.

Five years.

Five years since that rooftop. Five years since Lili’s shaking hands and tear-soaked voice had pulled him back.

He hadn’t seen her since. But he never forgot her.

She saved him. That day… he let someone see him. Really see him. And even now, sometimes, in his dreams, he still heard her say it:

> “Let’s start over.”

So he did.

His mom had cried again, but this time from joy.

> “They accepted you, Tony. A real school—no drills, no dormitories, no orders. Just… kids. Classes. Books. And a future.”

She saved up for years. Worked three jobs. Skipped meals. Sacrificed everything.

Antony didn’t have the heart to tell her he was still broken on the inside.

But he went anyway. For her.

Now, at fifteen, he sat in the back row of his new classroom, silent as stone. He never said hello. Never raised his hand. Never smiled.

Kids passed him in the halls like he was a shadow.

He didn’t care. Or maybe he did. But after all these years, the silence felt safer than words.

Until he showed up.

His name was Brian.

He was all golden—sunlight hair, sky-blue eyes, and a smile that belonged on TV. Everything about him was loud: his laugh, his stories, the way girls giggled when he walked past.

Antony noticed.

He didn’t mean to.

But he watched Brian the way he used to watch rain falling on glass: distant, unreachable, but beautiful in its own way.

There was something so alive about Brian. Like the world had never broken him. Like no one had ever told him he wasn’t enough.

Antony couldn’t imagine that kind of freedom.

He was watching Brian laugh with a group of students on the lawn after school when it happened.

Brian looked up.

Their eyes met.

Antony froze.

Then Brian… smiled at him.

And walked over.

“Hey,” Brian said, crouching beside the bench Antony sat on. “You’re new, right?”

Antony blinked. Didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

Brian tilted his head, playful. “Cool. I’m Brian.”

He held out his hand.

Antony stared at it like it was something foreign. Slowly, he reached out and shook it. His skin was warm. Alive.

Brian grinned wider. “You wanna come hang out? We’re going to get smoothies. Could be fun. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want. Just… y’know. Be there.”

Antony looked at him, surprised. He waited for the sarcasm. The prank. The cruelty.

It never came.

Just that same grin. That same kind voice.

“Come on,” Brian said. “Trust me.”

Two words.

Trust me.

Antony hadn’t trusted anyone in five years.

But somehow, as he stood up and followed Brian toward the group, he felt the strangest thing in his chest. Like a bird waking up in a cage that had been locked too long.

He didn't say anything.

But for the first time in years, he wanted to.

...

.