With a deep breath, Michael started running.
He blurred through the night, his inhuman speed turning the world around him into a sar of wind and shadow.
He wasn't trying to hide, but drawing attention wasn't in his best interest either.
Brightgate's outskirts stretched for miles.
But as Michael pushed forward, the surroundings began to shift.
The lights grew brighter. Streets more organized. Signs of civilization returned.
And finally, the city welcod him.
Brightgate felt alive.
The scent of street food lingering in the air even this late and so many other things—all of it clashed against the mory of Woodstone's quiet, desolate streets.
Tall buildings lood in the distance, their glass windows shimring with light.
Stores remained open, even past midnight.
Digital boards displayed ads and news bulletins.
Michael also saw sothing that made his usually expressionless face light up, his eyes widening in surprise.
It was a car.
A low-hovering, flying car.
Sleek, silent, and gliding effortlessly across the sky above the main road—it looked like sothing straight out of a sci-fi movie. Michael couldn't help but slow his pace to a walk, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning everything around him.
The Federation's presence here was unmistakable.
Michael spread out his senses slightly, just enough to get a feel for his surroundings. His gaze paused on a group of uniford figures patrolling a nearby checkpoint.
At first, he thought he had sensed them wrong—but a second sweep confird it.
The weakest among them was at least a Rank 1 cultivator.
They weren't particularly powerful—most of them were barely above the threshold—but that wasn't the point.
They were genuine supernaturals.
Unlike in Woodstone, where Michael had only started encountering people like that after he himself beca one, here in Brightgate, they seed relatively common.
Michael glanced back at the flying car again, watching it disappear behind a row of buildings, then kept walking.
He could already tell—Brightgate was an entirely different world.
Michael sighed.
"Better keep the magic use to a minimum."
Still, a small part of him was relieved. Brightgate wasn't chaotic. It felt stable, controlled. Which ant his family would be safe here.
He pulled out his phone, checking the location his aunt had sent him earlier.
When he asked around, he realised it wasn't far.
Five blocks away, maybe six if he avoided the main boulevard.
Michael's steps quickened.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood before a gated estate.
A clean, modern neighborhood filled with small luxury hos—each one surrounded by trimd hedges
A security eyed him warily from its post near the entrance, scanning him from head to toe. Michael didn't flinch.
He entered.
The path was stone-tiled and lined with glow-shrooms that gave off a gentle blue light. His eyes settled on a single house near the center.
That was it.
Their new ho.
He walked up the porch steps, hand hesitating just above the door.
Then he knocked.
The sound echoed gently through the quiet estate.
Inside, a light flickered on.
And Michael smiled faintly
He was ho.
Hmmm.
Again.
The door swung open with a soft creak, and for a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then ca a gasp.
"Michael?!"
A blur of motion and warmth hit him as Aunt Mia pulled him into a tight hug.
She was still in her house clothes, hair slightly ssy and a pair of fuzzy slippers on her feet. But her arms were strong—comfortingly so—and she held on for a while longer than expected.
"I didn't think you'd make it this fast," she whispered, stepping back just enough to look at his face. Her eyes were a little wet. "You didn't even call."
Michael's expression remained faint, but he gave her a small nod. "Didn't want to disturb you Aunt Mia."
She let out a breath, half a chuckle, half a sigh. "Still as considerate as ever, huh?"
"Haha."
Aunt Mia gave him another look—one of those searching glances only family could pull off. Then she waved him in. "Co on. Get in. You've gotta be starving."
Michael stepped inside. The house was warm. Clean. Modern, but with personal touches that made it feel like a ho—soft rugs, warm lighting, faint traces of lavender in the air.
A small shelf by the door held frad photos. Most of them were of Lily, a few of Aunt Mia and her late husband, and one—just one—was of Michael when he was much younger.
He stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
"Lily's asleep," Aunt Mia said, noticing his pause. "She's been tired since the move. That girl's trying so hard not to show it, but the stress… it gets to kids differently."
Michael nodded once. "She doing okay?"
"She is now. Thanks to you." Aunt Mia smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair. "And don't even try dodging the credit. We wouldn't be here if not for you."
He said nothing, but his lips twitched faintly.
"Co on. I'll show you around."
The house wasn't huge, but it was well-designed. Aunt Mia led him through the kitchen first—bright, spotless, and stocked with more food than he rembered seeing in years.
"You like fried dumplings? Bought a bunch from this stall nearby. I'll heat so up later. I also learned how to make that soup you liked when you were little. It's been long I've had it. Too...…"
Too expensive was what she wanted to say until she recalled her bank account.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "You still rember that?"
"I'm your aunt. I rember everything." She smiled, then motioned to the side hallway. "Guest room's yours—though we can clear the study if you want sothing quieter. Lily took the back room. She wanted a window with a garden view."
She paused at the doorway to the guest room and opened it. Clean bed. Desk. Closet. Simple and peaceful.
"You can leave your stuff here. Tomorrow we'll pick up anything you need—clothes, supplies. We've got a bit of breathing room now."
Michael looked around the room, then gave a slight nod. "This is good."
Aunt Mia watched him quietly for a few seconds more, then spoke softly.
"You're ho, Michael. For as long as you need it to be."
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