MinuteTech

The heavy stone hearth was suffocatingly quiet, saved only by the low, erratic crackle of red static zapping the air. MinuteTech sat motionless at the long wooden table, his massive, imposing frame draped in the plush, cream-white fur cloak that usually brought so much warmth to the room. His soft dark hair caught the firelight, and his wide, luminous amethyst eyes were fixed on the floor with a profound, lingering sorrow. He wasn't angry—just deeply, terribly tired. A few paces away, standing in the doorway like a ghost trying to sneak back into a life he had ruined, was Spoke. The younger brother’s pitch-black hair was a messy, unruly nest, and the brilliant green star at his crown pulsed with a faint, nervous light. He tried to plaster a smug, defiant gremlin grin onto his face, nervously spinning a jagged kinetic dagger between his fingers, but his appearance completely betrayed him. His sleek black cat-like ears were pinned entirely flat against his skull in a visual scream of intense guilt and defensive fear, his vibrant rainbow hair extensions trembling against his neon-yellow tech jacket.

Minute slowly lifted his head. The ancient End runes on his netherite armor flickered dimly as he looked at the boy who had betrayed him. There was no shouting, no drawn broadsword. Instead, Minute just offered a faint, heartbreakingly gentle smile, extending a heavy, armored hand toward his estranged son. "You look cold, Spoke," Minute murmured, his low, patient rumble cracking slightly with an ache that cut deeper than any blade. "Come sit by the fire."

Spoke froze, his crimson eyes widening as his cat ears drooped even lower in pure, agonizing shame. He wanted to mock him, he wanted to run, but the unconditional kindness was paralyzing. He took a hesitant, static-laced step forward, completely unsure if he deserved to be there.

"And where's Wemmbu?" Minute asked, his pupiless white eyes darting towards Spoke's figure, and the absence of his older brother.