Section 1 – A Boy Without Powers
I'm married to May, my rock for over a decade. Together, we're raising our nephew, Peter Benjamin Parker, my brother's son. His parents—Richard and Mary Parker—were brilliant Oscorp scientists, taken from us in a mysterious accident years ago. Whatever they were working on was top secret, dangerous enough to warrant cameras outside my house and a reinforced door in my basement. Whatever they worked on was buried, burned, and never spoken of.
Peter didn't inherit any of the world's usual gifts. No Quirk. No Semblance. No Sacred Gear. In a world obsessed with power and spectacle, that should have made him invisible.
But Peter has something rare: his mind. Brilliant, relentless, curious. While other kids wanted to become Heroes or Hunters, he was studying quantum mechanics and organic chemistry in middle school.
I remember the night he taught me chemistry over dinner.
"Uncle Ben," he asked, maybe twelve, "how do you synthesize a recombinant protein without denaturing the chain?"
I nearly dropped my fork. "Kid, I couldn't even spell half those words at your age."
He grinned. "I'll teach you."
Most people would have felt threatened, jealous, frustrated. We didn't. Peter's brilliance wasn't a threat—it was something to nurture.
His parents had considered enrolling him in a prestigious private academy, but I convinced them he needed time to breathe, to be a kid before the world demanded too much. But the world didn't wait.
That's why I found myself now, in the sleek, glass office of Ms. Avery, Director of Admissions at Horizon Labs—one of the few institutions that still believed intelligence alone could change the world.
Her dark hair was tied in a tight bun, crimson skirt suit immaculate. Her notepad looked more like a dossier than notes. Her eyes missed nothing.
"How did Peter's parents react when they discovered he had no gifts?"
I blinked. "They loved him. No hesitation. Even in their busiest moments, Peter was their son. Not a failure."
She arched an eyebrow. "You'd be surprised how rare that is. Most parents, especially in high-level science or military fields, start drafting power plans before their child can walk. And if the child doesn't show potential..."
I leaned forward. "Not Richard and Mary. They understood something most people forget—it's not power that makes a person. It's character."
A slight nod. Then she set her notepad aside.
"Why are you really here, Mr. Parker?"
"To give Peter a future. One that doesn't require tights or a license."
⸻
Section 2 – The Church of Quiet Things
St. Gabriel's Church had survived the Merge. Most of the city bore scars, the chaos of worlds colliding leaving fragments of magic, technology, and lawless power scattered across streets. Yet this church—wedged between two crumbling apartment complexes in Queens—stood silent, unmarked, untouched. Its brick was weathered, stained glass patched in mismatched colors. Candles flickered against long shadows. No Grimm markers. No Atlas drones hovering. No holy wards from Heaven or Hell. Just wood, stone, and quiet.
Ben Parker liked that.
He sat in the third pew, shoulders slumped, hands folded—not in prayer, not really. More a habit, muscle memory from grief. Loss had hollowed him in ways EMT training never prepared him for. You could save strangers. Fail strangers. But family? That stayed. That carved its mark deep into your chest.
