My name is Astra Noire.
I was born into an ordinary, peaceful family—one father, one mother, and an older brother.
We were never rich, never poor. Just… comfortable. Warm. Safe.
We laughed together, ate together, dreamed together.
Back then, life was simple.
My brother, Arin, always wanted to become a hero.
He wasn't a genius, and he wasn't blessed with anything remarkable. But he had a dream.
And he worked harder than anyone I've ever known.
When he awakened his Nexas at the age of ten, we celebrated.
I was six at the time, watching him jump—just a little further, a little higher than normal people, much so, that it can be called a nexas ability.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't strong.
But it was his power, and he treasured it.
Our parents encouraged him:
"You don't need to be the strongest to be a hero."
He believed them.
He held onto that hope with everything he had.
Until the day I awakened my Nexas.
I was eight.
My mother and I were crossing the street on a sunny afternoon when a truck—its driver asleep—raced toward us uncontrollably.
I didn't think.
I didn't plan.
I simply raised my hands.
And the world shattered.
The impact should have killed us.
Instead, the entire front of the truck crumpled like paper—stopped by a little girl's hands.
A girl who hadn't even realized she could do such a thing.
My mother screamed my name—then hugged me, trembling.
And the world around us changed instantly.
I discovered I could fly.
I could move faster than a bullet train.
I possessed strength beyond human understanding.
People called me "The Child Blessed by the Gods."
They looked at me like I was something divine—untouchable, perfect, destined for greatness.
Everyone celebrated me.
Everyone except one person.
My brother.
The day he saw what I could do, something inside him broke.
He tried to smile… but his eyes trembled.
He stopped talking about becoming a hero.
Stopped training.
Stopped dreaming.
And eventually, he stopped looking at me.
I wasn't arrogant.
I wasn't trying to outshine him.
I loved my brother. I admired him.
I never wanted to take away his dream.
But I did.
The more the world praised me,
the more he disappeared inside himself.
Our home stayed the same, but it didn't feel warm anymore.
My wings lifted me higher…
and left him behind.
Years passed like that.
Praise. Expectations. Pressure. Loneliness.
Until the day of the entrance exam to Lionel Academy.
The day I met a boy who stood on stage without wings…
Raze Arcwell.
A boy with no Nexas.
No shining aura.
No overwhelming power.
Yet he stood with his head held high,
in front of thousands who looked down on him.
He looked at the crowd and said—
"Power isn't what makes a hero."
"I'll show you what it truly means to be one."
For the first time in years…
my heart moved.
Watching him felt like watching my brother before he lost hope—
a version of what he could have become.
And before I realized it…
I wanted to see how far that powerless boy could soar.
Perhaps…
wings are not only for those born with them.
Perhaps heroes are not decided by destiny.
And for the first time,
I found myself looking forward to the future.
"The day I met that boy…"
"…everything began to change."