Chapter 17 — Empty Rooms, Heavier Hearts
Super Guardian
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By the time Zack reached the edge of the slums, the sun had already dipped beneath the fractured skyline, bleeding crimson light into the clouds like a wound refusing to close.
His steps dragged. His legs felt like hollow sticks. Every breath was a quiet argument with his ribs.
He didn't remember the walk home. Just the blur of broken fences, rusted railings, and cracked pavement stitched into memory by exhaustion.
Hunger clawed at his insides like a rabid beast. His stomach had long given up rumbling—now it just ached in silence, like the rest of him.
When he reached the old tree behind the building, he paused, eyes drifting to the second-floor window — his window. The only way inside.
His hand found the lowest branch. Bark scraped skin.
Then came the climb.
Pain lit every inch of his body. His arms trembled. His shoulder throbbed. But he made it—barely.
He slipped through the half-broken window and landed with a soft thud on the creaky floorboards of his room. For a moment, he just lay there, chest rising and falling, body pressed against the dust and cold.
Then, with a quiet grunt, he pulled himself to the bed.
It didn't even feel like falling asleep.
He just collapsed — face-down, eyes open — staring at the chipped ceiling above.
Another day. Another beating. Another breath.
And still... school tomorrow.
That thought alone almost made him groan. Combat class. Again.
"I can't keep doing this," he muttered, barely audible.
He closed his eyes, letting the thoughts drift. Not about the bruises. Not the blood. Just the one thing that gave him something to look forward to.
The Holy Domain.
The weekend.
He could already see it—him, standing inside that place where Spirit Energy thinned the air like mist. Where power pulsed in every direction. Where he could finally, finally, test out his Spirit Gear armor. See what it really meant to evolve.
It felt like light at the end of a tunnel.
Even if the tunnel kept collapsing behind him.
The quiet didn't last.
Zack's head jerked up at the faint creak of a door opening downstairs — soft, cautious. Familiar.
He blinked, forcing his sore body upright, and moved toward the bedroom door. His legs still felt like damp noodles, but instinct carried him.
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw her.
Laura.
She was standing in the narrow hallway, the dim ceiling light flickering above her head like it couldn't decide whether to work or die. In one hand, she held a bag of groceries. Just one. Light. Mostly dry goods. Cheap staples, if he had to guess.
She was home.
Her eyes widened a little when she saw him, as if surprised to find him awake — or maybe upright.
Zack's heart sank as his eyes traveled lower.
Bandages.
White strips wound around her wrist, stained just faintly with a pink tinge beneath her sleeve. She tried to pull it down, but not fast enough.
He stepped forward, his voice low. "Laura… what happened?"
She hesitated. A second. Two. Then she smiled — tired, brittle. A kind of smile people wear when they're holding back more than they're saying.
"It's nothing," she said, brushing past him toward the kitchen. "Got my hand caught at the mill. You know how it is."
Zack didn't buy it.
Not for a damn second.
But he didn't push — not yet. There was something in the way she moved, the way her shoulders sagged, that told him today hadn't been any easier for her than it had for him.
She placed the bag on the tiny kitchen table and started unpacking.
Just a few cans. A bundle of noodles. Half a dozen eggs.
It didn't look like enough to feed two people.
Maybe not even one.
He leaned on the doorway, watching her quietly.
"We're good for now," she said suddenly, without looking at him. "I paid the landlord one of the months we owe him. Should keep him off our backs… at least for a little while."
Zack blinked, surprised. "You… paid him?"
Laura nodded, still not facing him. "Scraped it together. Bits from here and there. Don't worry, I didn't sell a kidney."
He didn't laugh.
Neither did she.
--
Zack moved further into the kitchen, watching her struggle to act like everything was fine.
She always did that.
Smile like the world hadn't already burned their family to ashes.
He pulled out one of the old chairs. The legs wobbled as he sat, joints aching from both the day's fights — and the years of living like this.
"You didn't have to do that," he muttered. "We could've figured something else out."
Laura finally turned around, a weak grin curling on her lips. "Yeah? Like what? Sell your shoes? Pretty sure the soles gave out last week."
He glanced down. She wasn't wrong.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing serious," she said again, waving her hand dismissively — and wincing when she did. "Besides, I'll heal."
That was the problem. She always tried to heal alone.
She began putting things into their cracked cabinets, humming something tuneless and low, just to keep the air from going completely silent. Zack's eyes didn't leave her.
His stomach rumbled.
Loud.
She turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "You eat anything today?"
"Got my lunch stolen," he said flatly.
She paused, her hands frozen on a can of beans. "Again?"
He nodded once.
Her face twisted — half guilt, half fury — before smoothing back out like it had never happened. "Damn it…"
He looked away.
They didn't talk for a long moment.
Zack leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Weekend's almost here."
"Yeah?"
"Thinking of heading to the Holy Domain. Want to test out my Spirit Gear… see what it can really do."
Laura frowned, glancing at him over her shoulder. "You sure that's a good idea? You're barely standing right now."
Zack smiled — a crooked, tired thing. "I'm not going to get stronger lying around."
She didn't argue.
She just nodded once and kept unpacking, both of them pretending like this was just another normal evening in their little, collapsing world.
But inside, they both knew better.