POV: Elijah Grant
Elijah Grant believed in good. That wasn't some naive teenage optimism or a line he recited to sound better than he was. It was a choice. A daily decision.
Every morning, he stood in front of the mirror, stared into his own brown eyes, and told himself the same thing: "People need kindness more than they need anything else." And even when the world didn't give it back, he gave it anyway.
That Tuesday morning was like any other. Birds chirped through his cracked bedroom window, the faded sound of traffic hummed in the distance, and his little sister, Mina, was already complaining about her school uniform being itchy.
"Eli! The tag's stabbing my neck again!"
"It's not stabbing, Mina," Elijah called from the kitchen as he flipped pancakes, "It's gently poking. There's a difference."
"Well, it feels like a dagger!"
He chuckled, plating the food with the precision of someone who found comfort in small, deliberate actions. Their mother was already at work—double shift at the hospital. Their dad hadn't been around in years. It was just them, and Elijah liked it that way. Quiet. Predictable.
The clock on the wall ticked to 7:14 AM. He turned off the stove and set the plates on the table.
"Eat fast. I want to catch the 7:30 train. I promised Anthony I'd help him study before first period."
Mina rolled her eyes. "You and your savior complex."
"It's not a complex if people actually need saving."
8:05 AM – Midtown High
Elijah sat across from Anthony Saunders, a sophomore with the attention span of a housefly and a math grade to match. They were in a corner of the science lab, heads bent over a problem set about projectile motion.
"So you plug in the initial velocity here," Elijah explained, pointing at the formula. "And that gives you the max height."
Anthony blinked. "Dude, you're like... if Mr. Rogers and Tony Stark had a kid."
Elijah laughed. "I'll take that."
The bell rang. Students flooded into the classroom, loud and energized. Mr. Kapur, their science teacher, gestured Elijah over.
"Grant. I need a favor. Can you monitor the projector while I handle the lab setup?"
"Sure, Mr. Kapur."
Elijah took a seat at the front of the room, his hand steady on the remote. He didn't mind helping. He liked the feeling of being useful—of making things smoother for other people.
But beneath his calm surface, a question always whispered: Does it matter? Did the world really change because of one good person?
He had to believe it did. He had to.
Lunchtime
Elijah sat outside on the school lawn, sunlight warming his face. He nibbled on a peanut butter sandwich and watched a group of juniors argue over basketball stats. Someone bumped into him. Hard.
"Watch it, loser."
Troy Weston. All-state track star, certified jerk.
Elijah offered a smile. "Sorry. My fault."
Troy looked annoyed that Elijah didn't escalate. "Whatever. Freak."
As the guy walked away, Anthony appeared, his tray wobbling.
"Why do you let people talk to you like that?"
"Because it costs me nothing to be kind," Elijah replied. "And sometimes, people need kindness most when they least deserve it."
Anthony shook his head. "You're gonna get eaten alive in this world."
"Maybe. But I'll be full of pancakes and peace when it happens."
After School
Elijah stayed late to clean the chemistry lab. He liked the silence of an empty school. The hum of the lights. The way dust danced in golden rays.
At 7:43 PM, he stepped outside into the cool Manhattan air. A soft breeze tugged at his hoodie. The streets buzzed with life: food trucks, late-shift workers, tourists.
He stopped at a bodega to buy Mina her favorite lemon tea.
"You know," the cashier, Mr. Choudhury, said, "you're one of the only kids who still says please and thank you."
"Manners are free."
"Not these days. Maybe you should run for mayor."
Elijah laughed. "I'll consider it after I graduate."
8:00 PM – Ground Zero
He was three blocks from home when it happened.
The sky split. No thunder. No warning. Just a low-frequency hum, like the city itself was holding its breath.
People stopped walking. Phones lost signal. Streetlights flickered.
Then: white.
A pulse radiated outward from the Hudson, shimmering like glass under pressure. Windows cracked. Car alarms screamed. Elijah's knees buckled. The lemon tea dropped from his hand.
And then came the explosion.
But it wasn't fire. It wasn't a bomb. It was energy. Like time fractured. Elijah saw colors he couldn't name, felt memories that weren't his. He was lifted off his feet, weightless, suspended in light.
He should have died.
He didn't.
When he slammed into the concrete, the world was silent.
Sometime Later
Smoke. Sirens. Screaming. He sat up slowly, his ears ringing.
Buildings were cracked open like toys. People were lying motionless in the streets. A woman stumbled by, bleeding, crying, dragging a man by the shirt.
Elijah looked at his hands. They were glowing faintly—a pale blue shimmer. His body ached, but there were no bruises. No broken bones. Not a scratch.
He stood up, shaken. A chunk of concrete fell from a nearby awning. He reached out instinctively—and caught it with one hand. Like it weighed nothing.
He stared at the slab. It had to weigh two hundred pounds.
More screams. More panic. A boy was trapped under a flipped cab. Without thinking, Elijah ran over.
"Hey! Hold on!"
He braced his feet, reached down, and lifted.
The car rose.
Metal groaned. Elijah's muscles strained, but it moved. He held it just high enough for the kid to crawl out.
The boy stared up at him, terrified. "Are you... like them? Like the Avengers?"
"No," Elijah said, heart pounding, eyes wide.
"Anyone please HELP!"