Breakfast Revelations

Stephen stirred awake in the living room, his bed tucked against the wall where he’d slept for years, his wheelchair a silent sentinel nearby. The familiar clatter of pans and the sizzle of bacon drifted from the kitchen, one room over, where his mother, Anne, was preparing breakfast. The aroma of his father’s bacon-and-egg sandwich, his mother’s scrambled eggs with scrapple, and leftover bacon for his brother Jose filled the air, a morning ritual Stephen usually missed, sleeping through the early hours. His disability had kept him downstairs, unable to climb the stairs to the bedrooms where his parents and Jose slept, so Anne never cooked for him in the mornings, wary of wasting food. But today, he woke feeling invigorated, his body thrumming with a vitality that felt almost foreign. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, marveling at their effortless motion, as if the nine years of paralysis had been a fleeting nightmare.

The memory of the titanium rods and screws flashed in his mind, their impossible expulsion a secret too wild to share. Glancing at the scattered metal on his sheets, he quietly gathered them, their cold weight heavy in his hands, and dropped them into the trashcan beside his bed with a soft clink. Evidence of the impossible, discarded. His heart raced with a mix of exhilaration and caution—he wasn’t ready to explain this to anyone, not yet. Reaching for his phone on the nearby table, he opened X, the app alight with chaos. Videos flooded his feed: a teenager tossing tiny fireballs in a parking lot, a woman levitating a foot off the ground, a man sprinting at unnatural speeds. Captions screamed of “the end of days” or heralded “the coming of the Lord,” the religious fervor clashing with awestruck speculation. Stephen scrolled, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He understood what others could only guess at—the System, the Contest, the boons.

In the kitchen, Anne’s phone chimed repeatedly, cutting through the rhythm of her cooking. Stephen heard her pause, the clatter of a spatula quieting as she checked the screen. Messages from Kathy, an elderly friend prone to dramatics, flooded in—texts about the “reckoning” and “supernatural gifts” sweeping the world. Anne’s sigh carried through the open doorway, and the cooking resumed, the skillet hissing as she dismissed Kathy’s usual hysterics. She was unbothered, grounded in the mundane task of feeding her family, even as the world outside tilted into the extraordinary.

The creak of stairs announced Jose’s arrival, his footsteps heavy as he descended from the upstairs bedrooms. “Stephen, you won’t believe this—look!” he called, bursting into the living room and snapping his fingers. A crackle of electricity arced between them, tiny sparks dancing like miniature lightning. Anne poked her head out from the kitchen, spatula in hand, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?” she demanded. Jose grinned, snapping his fingers again, the sparks flaring brighter. “I can do magic, look!” Anne’s face drained of color, her voice trembling. “Oh my, Kathy was right… the world is ending.” Jose shook his head, leaning against the living room doorway. “No, Mom, it’s not ending. It’s some kind of war-of-the-worlds thing. I was told 10% of people get abilities to fight and protect our world. Like heroes! Though, I guess if we lose, it could end…” His voice faltered, the weight of his words catching up.

Stephen felt the moment arrive, a quiet certainty settling over him. He pushed himself up from the bed, his legs steady beneath him, and stood tall in the living room, the wheelchair idle by his side. The room froze. His father, who had just come downstairs and was pouring coffee in the kitchen, coughed and let out a sharp “HA,” his eyes wide with disbelief as he peered through the doorway. Jose’s jaw dropped, his sparking fingers forgotten. Anne’s hands flew to her mouth, tears welling as she stepped into the living room. “Stephen, you can walk?” Her voice cracked with hope and shock. Stephen nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, Mom. The System chose me too. My ability’s not like Jose’s—it’s Regeneration. I can walk again, and any injury I get just… heals.” Jose stared, then let out a low whistle. “You lucky bastard, you’d get an OP skill like that,” he said, his tone half-jealous, half-admiring, as if superpowers were just another sibling rivalry.

Anne crossed the living room in a heartbeat, enveloping Stephen in a fierce hug, her tears soaking his shoulder. “I’m so happy you can walk again,” she sobbed, squeezing him tight. Stephen squirmed, a faint smile breaking through. “It’s okay, Mom, little too gushy for me. I’m whole again, apparently.” Anne stepped back, wiping her eyes, her voice unsteady. “So what does this mean?”

Over breakfast, crowded around the kitchen table, the brothers explained, their voices weaving together as they recounted the System, the Contest, and the portals. Their father, ever the skeptic, nodded slowly, his fork paused mid-bite, processing the surreal truth. Anne’s worry etched deeper lines into her face. “So you’re going to have to enter these… portals? And fight monsters?” Her voice trembled, maternal fear clashing with the impossible reality. Jose leaned back, exuding confidence. “Yeah, but it’ll be okay. It’s like a video game—we level up, get stronger. If we take it slow and steady, we’ll be fine.” His reassurance was earnest, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in his eyes.

Stephen, seizing the chance to reclaim a piece of normalcy, decided to shower—properly, standing under the water for the first time in years. He grabbed his soap, a towel, and a washcloth from a shelf in the living room and headed toward the stairs, each step a quiet triumph as he ascended to the upstairs bathroom. Jose, true to form, couldn’t resist a jab. “Don’t slip and fall, idiot,” he called from the kitchen, smirking. “Fuck off,” Stephen shot back, grinning despite himself from the staircase. Anne’s voice cut through, sharp and familiar from the kitchen. “Now, now, boys, that’s not right—settle down.” It was a typical family moment, a thread of normalcy woven into the chaos of a world transformed.

The news that day was a fractured mosaic of hope and havoc. Some “chosen” wielded their powers for greed, robbing stores or terrorizing the powerless, their abilities flashing in grainy X videos. Others stood as guardians, shielding innocents from the chaos, their acts of heroism trending alongside the ****. The world, already scarred by malice and division, seemed to prove why it had been thrust into the Battle of Realms. Governments scrambled, their statements vague but urgent, promising plans to structure this new reality and ensure Earth’s survival. Time marched on, the world teetering between order and anarchy, as Stephen and Jose prepared to step into their roles in a contest that would decide everything.