“That is, if they aren’t keeping any other weirdly strong guys down in the Other Island…” George hypothesized, but Kreig quickly shut it down with a shake of his head.

“I was alone. I would have known.”

George shrugged and continued, though the rest was brief. The fifth such creature had attacked only the other day. A wyrm. According to the reports, its level had been somewhere above 500, though for some reason IOCRO wouldn’t give any official statement on it, apart from that the loss of lives was a tragic one, but the wyrm was defeated soundly. Here, Sam poked her nose in, describing in the words of someone who had been there, that people on the internet were discussing if there’d been a cover-up. Though most theories were all disregarded as hoaxes, including the one where a person who had allegedly been there said that a prisoner cracked open its skull and set it aflame.

Kreig could feel a sweat coming on. He turned to stare down at the table, hunching his back. “The former theory is correct.” At least his voice didn’t waver, although it was rather quiet.

Both his siblings turned to him, and all of a sudden he just wanted to retreat into himself like a turtle. “Is that so?” Sam asked, leaning over the table, eyebrow quirked. “And you would know… how? Met any other high-levelled prisoners down there? Capable of killing that wyrm?” Kreig froze, eyes fiercely staring at a certain spot on the wall. His mind went blank. Sam grinned while George’s complexion faltered. “Unless, my dear brother… You had something to do with it?”

Kreig swallowed. Why was he feeling so nervous about admitting this? It wasn’t anything strange. “Yes. They asked me to kill it. I followed their orders.”

If it was the truth, why did he expect outrage?

Sam turned to George. “-Makes sense.”

George nodded. “Yes. Though, now that we know that the strongest Fighter has a level of around 630, I don’t see why he couldn’t have fought it, or any other high-level individual…”

“It had a level of 700.”

That quieted the both of them. “...Seven hundred? Isn’t-, isn’t that, like, a lot?...” Sam said, squinting as she tried to comprehend the number. Kreig just shrugged. Levels weren’t too important, the real crux of any foe was intelligence and skill. “Okay. In other words, you fought a strong thing so they didn’t have to use a nuke?” ...Kreig supposed that was what happened (God only knew what a nuke was), but he didn’t like what happened, either. If Gerald hadn’t been there to pull him back out… “-Good work! Isn’t that great?”

Her smile was enough to quiet his worries. “...Yes.”

Still… Although she seemed happy he’d killed the wyrm, and although he could understand that killing it was good, he didn’t feel good about it. In fact, while trying to tell her that he killed it, he’d felt a kind of guilty anxiety he usually only felt while expecting to be a disappointment. He’d expected a scolding. He received praise.

It felt wrong.

And while Kreig devolved into an emotional breakdown fueled by confusion and uncertainty, George stood up, almost entirely unnoticed by both Sam and Kreig, and wandered away. Through the hall and into his room. When he returned and sat down, he did it with a bubble-wrapped packet in hand. Kreig lit up at the sight of it, instantly pulled out of his darkening thoughts.

“The hell is that?” Sam asked, clearly not in the know about it. That’s why, when George then handed the package to Kreig, she just got more confused.

Kreig ran his hands over it for a moment. Smiled, and handed it to Sam. “Thank you.”

Sam was just about to hand it back to George when he stopped her. “No, no, it’s a gift for us. Open it, you dingus.”

Kreig was too excited to really register the quick banter that flew between his siblings while Sam tore off the bubble wrapping (made out of a material called ‘plastic’) and touched the inside. She stopped mid-curse, turning to look at the painting in her hands. George’s tongue stalled equally quickly. Kreig leaned over the table, getting a good look at what he had spent too long to paint.

A simple scene. Painted in warm colours and friendly smiles. Kreig in the middle, wearing regular (peasant, not noble or royal or armour) clothes and a soft smile, with Sam (in a warm pear-green dress) on his left and George in orange on his right. Behind them, a warm fireplace crackled, and all three of them held the faintest smiles on their faces. Although Kreig was too shy to touch them in real life as casually as he did in the painting, there, he had one arm on each of them. They were together.

A family picture. Kreig smiled just glancing at it.

He hadn’t dared to so much as put it up in his cell. That wasn’t where it deserved to live, that wasn’t its home. This, on the other hand? Here, much like how Kreig himself felt, here it was home.

It didn’t have a frame. Yet, Sam carefully ran her calloused and hard hands over the edge of it, feeling the organic bumps and ridges in the stale oil, shaping them into life. “It’s… it’s beautiful. Did you paint this, Kreig?” Of course, he nodded. “I… thank you. George, let’s just-, let’s put it up now, right away.”

George had no words of opposition, merely giving a smile as warm as the painting’s glow. He stood up, and within mere moments, the painting sat nailed to the wall, right there in the living room for all to see. Then, he returned to the kitchen table, where only half-a-cake and a pile of bubble-wrap remained. George took the bubble wrap in hand and was just about to throw it out when a hand fell on his. It was Sam. “Dude. You are not throwing out unpopped bubble wrap. It’s criminal!”

He put it back on the table and sat down. “I hate to admit you’re right.”

Kreig had no idea what they meant until George took hold of the bubble wrap and gave one part a squeeze.

Pop!

Sam grinned and followed suit. Pop! Pop!

This went on for a few seconds until Sam turned to Kreig. “Kreig. Why aren’t you popping your bubbles?”

Well, if they invite him so cordially. Though, even as he reached out for it and took the odd thing in his hand, he couldn’t help but feel afraid. What if he couldn’t pop it? What if he was a disappointment to his siblings? He held a bubble between his thumb and forefinger. He just had to squeeze, going by what they did. Just a squeeze. Make it pop.

...It wouldn’t pop.

“...You can crack the skull of a wyrm but you can’t pop a bubble?” Sam asked indignantly.

Damn it. He had to prove himself now. Not a lot of strength. If he pressed too hard something bad might happen. And not too weak either. Kreig took a deep breath. Not too strong.

He pressed lightly.

It didn’t pop.

It exploded.

The scant air inside the bubble between his fingers escaped with such speed and force that the sound it created was nothing if not a small sonic boom. It didn’t cause any damage apart from the eardrums of all members present, merely because Kreig had snuffed it out between his fingers.

George and Sam looked very strange, their hands midway to protect their already damaged ears. Good God Below-,

Despite the immense regret he experienced at failing to pop the bubble, he was still able to heal the both of them to remove any long-term damage.

Collective Catharsis (X)

A warm, reddish glow enveloped all three of them as what little damage had been incurred was healed in a matter of seconds. A few seconds passed. Sam was the first to speak up. “Okay, yeah, uh. No bubble wrap. Maybe.” And Kreig could only agree. If he just didn’t think too hard, he wouldn’t use the wrong amount of strength. But he hadn’t had to control it for over thirty years before he came to Earth. And now, to suddenly start using the littlest strength possible to do mundane things…

It was harder than bisecting a dragon, that was for sure. But he’d do it. He’d make sure of it.

After that, the evening concluded rather simply. Sam and George showed him his birth certificate (they’d kept it all these years) and told him they’d introduce him to a computer and phone tomorrow, alongside updating his ID, since he currently didn’t have one (they’d lost it in the move). His tutor would arrive the day after tomorrow.

Until then, they’d get him a bit more acquainted with the world. Until then, they’d sleep.

Yes, as the evening grew to night and as the moon rose over the city, George and Sam both decided that enough was enough. They’d save the rest of the cake for later. They prepared themselves for nighttime, George showed Kreig his pyjamas (they’d bought it specifically for that day, but they’d need his help buying him clothes that fit) and told him to sleep. Usually, Kreig wouldn’t sleep at night, but since George told him to do so…

He put on the pyjamas and slipped into his new bed. It creaked. But it was larger and softer than the one he’d had in his cell.

He fell asleep without any further ado, giving a final look of gratitude at his portrait of the White Pope.

But his night wouldn’t be as peaceful as he might have wished.