WHISPERS OF OCTAVIA

CHAPTER 1

Axel

The squeak of sneakers and the sour tang of sweat hung in the gymnasium. Mr Tate stood at the front with his clipboard, stopwatch in hand, his expression grim enough to suck the air out of the room.

“End-of-term fitness assessment. Let’s see how you’ve progressed since the last one,” he announced. “You all know the drill. Beep test. No excuses.”

Groans rolled through the class, a chorus of teenage despair.

Axel flexed his shoulders, rolling the stiffness out. A tight pressure coiled beneath his ribs – not nerves, not excitement, just that sharp, wired feeling that had been living there lately. The need to prove himself. To push. To hold the line – not against an enemy, but against the quit, the fallback, the easy way out, even if it was only a stupid shuttle run.

His best mate Connor clapped him lightly on the back. “You’ll smoke us all, man. As usual.” His easy grin took the edge off.

Hayley adjusted her braid a few places down the line. She didn’t look at him, but Axel caught the flicker of her lashes behind her Calvin Klein frames and the way she smoothed her shirt hem. He swallowed and forced his eyes back to the painted line in front of him.

Focus, idiot.

Beside Hayley, Chelsea was impossible to ignore – petite with a sharp black bob that swung when she moved and chocolate eyes that didn’t miss a thing. There was a spark about her, a sass in the way she folded her arms like she was already daring the rest of them to keep up.

The first beep sounded. The line of bodies surged forward.

At first it was easy. Jog, turn, jog, turn. Sneakers slapped in unison, breathing still light. A few kids started talking, laughing, but Axel shut it all out. Kept his rhythm tight. One step, then the next. He had a job to do.

By level seven, the chatter had died. By level ten, kids were peeling off, collapsing in heaps on the sideline. Connor was still in, his grin turning grim, sweat streaking down his temple.

Axel pushed harder. His lungs burned, legs heavy as stone, but the coil tightened, that relentless knot in his chest pulling the reins and driving him on. Every turn felt like it mattered. If he gave up early, it would mean something … weakness. Failure. He couldn’t wear that.

The gym narrowed to the slap of his shoes, the high-pitched command of the beep, the thunder in his chest.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

Hayley’s braid whipped as she bailed, her breath ragged. Chelsea slapped her thigh in frustration as she bowed out too, muttering under her breath. A few more peeled off, one by one, until only Axel, Connor and two wiry athletics kids were left.

Axel surged past one, then the other, his legs screaming, lungs on fire. Every stride was a war between his body begging to quit and that relentless knot in his chest demanding more. The pressure beneath his ribs flared bright, the coil winding tight enough to steal his breath.

The sound bent. The lines blurred. Connor’s face smeared at the far line. The beep stretched into a shrill whine that made his skull ring.

He tried to keep going. One more length. Just one—

White … then black.

When he came to, he was lying on the court, sweat soaking his shirt, the world tilting around him. A circle of faces leaned over him, wide-eyed and murmuring.

Connor crouched at his side, his hand braced on his shoulder. “Easy, Axe. Don’t move.”

Mr Tate’s whistle was sharp enough to cut through the fog. “Back up, all of you! Give him space.” His voice softened as he bent closer. “Might be low blood sugar. Someone get him a juice box from the office, now.”

Sneakers squeaked as a kid sprinted off.

Hayley hovered a few feet back, chewing her lip, warm brown eyes fixed on him. Chelsea crossed her arms, her gaze sharp.

Axel forced a breath into his lungs, heat and shame burning just as fiercely as his muscles. “I’m fine,” he rasped as the room rocked around him.

Mr Tate studied him with narrowed eyes, then scribbled something on his clipboard. “Sit out. That’s an order.”

Connor’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Told you you’d smoke us all. Just didn’t think you’d smoke yourself too.”

Axel managed a breathless laugh, but the tightness still pulsed under his ribs – that same sharp pressure refusing to ease.

~ ~ ~

Nate

“Hey Axel!” Nate called, jogging to catch up with his twin brother.

Axel slowed, waiting.

“You okay, bro?” Nate asked. “Connor just told me what happened in PE.”

Nate caught up, and together they pushed through the gates, starting the walk home.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just got knocked out cold for a bit. Woke up flat on my back with everyone staring down at me.” Axel chuckled, but Nate wasn’t convinced. His brother always shrugged stuff off, but the worry was written across his face.

“How’d you end up on the floor? Someone bump you?”

“Nah. Frikkin’ beep test.” Axel rubbed the back of his neck. “I got this weird feeling – like my chest tightened for a sec, my body went all light, mind blanked out, then bam.” He clapped his hands. “Next thing, I’m waking up, everyone gawking down at me. So embarrassing, man.”

“Connor said you were out for like, two minutes.”

“Yeah, Mr Tate gave me some OJ, said it might’ve been low blood sugar or something,” Axel said with a shrug. “I was completely fine, but he sent me to the nurse afterwards and she called Mum. Mum didn’t pick up – thank christ.”

“You think that’s it then? Low blood sugar?”

“What else could it be?”

“Yeah, dunno.” Nate frowned. Axel wasn’t the type to keel over. He was tough as nails, always pushing himself. Something about it didn’t sit right. Nate’s brain always snagged on the one thing that didn’t add up and refused to let go. But Axel looked fine now, and Nate hated seeing him rattled. Better lighten the mood.

He elbowed Axel in the ribs with a grin. “You think Hayley noticed?”

That got him. Axel lunged, clamping Nate in a headlock and grinding his knuckles into his hair. “You’re goddamn right she did! How could she miss it?”

They wrestled down the footpath, schoolbags swinging. Nate was quick with comebacks, but Axel had him in strength.

They untangled from their scuffle and fell back into stride, an easy rhythm between them. Nate wiped his brow, sweat sliding down his back. The afternoon was the kind of hot that clung to their uniforms. The roughhousing had shaken off the day’s weight – Axel with his weird fainting episode, Nate’s worry about it, and their shared daily frustration of just being at school in general.

They cut through the last stretch of suburbia, jacaranda petals scattered on the footpath, before the dirt track wound up toward the coast.

Home was just outside town, perched on a hillside above the beach. From school, it was a few blocks of houses then nearly three kilometres along a dirt track through the bush, winding high with the coastline glittering below. The walk always cleared their heads, readying them for training with Grandpa Stan.

Pa. Retired army general – that was the story, anyway. The boys never pushed for more. He carried himself with a soldier’s poise, but there was something else about him – something grounding, like an oak that had stood through centuries of storms. He didn’t waste words.

“What d’you reckon the Stan-meister G’s got lined up today?” Nate asked as they hit the dirt track.

“God, hopefully not dodging the knife thrower,” Axel groaned. “I’m too beat for that kind of concentration today. I’m hoping for tyre drills. Just moving heavy shit. Clear my head.”

That was Axel all over – chop wood, lift weights, carry whatever Pa set down. Nate couldn’t see the appeal. Strength training was just hard work – and boring as hell. Nate preferred things that needed aim, speed or ideas, not just brute force.

“Hopefully target practice!” Nate said to his twin, grinning as they veered closer to the coast. He could feel the sea breeze on his face now and smell the salty air. It was sweet relief after the hot stillness of the track.

“Yeah, you would, ya prick. Bloody Hawkeye incarnate. I’m praying it’s not that. My brain can’t handle that kind of concentration today. I don’t get why we can’t do different things. Shouldn’t we be playing to our strengths?” Axel asked, frustration edging his voice.

“Yeah, dunno, bro. I guess he wants to make sure we’re well-rounded.” Nate shrugged.

Axel huffed, but some of the fight went out of his voice as he kicked at the dirt. “Yeah … I guess. Well-rounded for everything, I reckon. Like, it’s not just about rugby or basketball or whatever. It’s like he’s shaping us into … I dunno … proper men. The kind that don’t break easy.”

Nate nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. And honestly? I like that he believes we can handle it. It’s kinda sick knowing he trusts us with his kind of training. If Pa thinks this stuff matters, then it does. Makes me feel kinda proud, you know? Like we’re carrying on whatever he started.”

“Same. He must have been one hell of a leader back in the day. He’s bloody awesome at everything.”

Axel’s grin matched his brother’s now, boyish and bright. “And hey – can’t complain about the results.” He yanked up his shirt to flash his abs.

“Dude, you think yours are good? Check these babies out.” Nate lifted his own shirt.

They stood there like idiots, shirts up, abs out.

Nate raised his brows – what are we doing? Both cracked up, dropping their shirts and laughing until their sides ached, slapping each other on the back.

“Anyway, Friday night tomorrow. Arcade after my game?” Nate said, still chuckling. “Mr B promised me and the boys free chips if we win. We can drag Connor and the girls along too.”

Axel smirked. “Yeah, sounds good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking away, trying not to look too keen.

Nate rolled his eyes. His brother was smitten.

Axel got all the obvious strengths – the muscle, the marks, the kind of grit teachers noticed. Even his hair cooperated, all sun tipped and surfer smooth. Meanwhile Nate’s curls had declared war on gravity years ago. Nate’s strengths were quieter. The kind that hid behind jokes and sunshine. He noticed things – little tells, little patterns – the stuff people didn’t realise they were giving away. His brain was always running in the background, stitching things together, like a program solving for X, even when he wasn’t trying. Not the kind of thinking teachers cared about – which was fine, because Nate hated school anyway. Sitting still, memorising formulas, pretending his brain worked in straight lines? Nope. His mind liked loops and shortcuts and weird angles.

Still, after the faint today and everything else they juggled, he knew one thing for sure – the two of them always showed up for each other.

The cottage came into view: a pale-blue weatherboard with white trim, a grey tin roof and their family name “Hartz” painted on a little sign beside the front door. A veranda wrapped around the whole place, its white railing matching the trims. Wildflowers sprawled higgledy-piggledy along the edges – just as Mum liked them. The front faced the ocean, and every bedroom looked east to catch the morning sunrise. Nature’s alarm clock, Mum called it.

And the best part? The whole place sat just up the hill from one of the best breaks in town. As far as Nate was concerned, nothing beat rolling out of bed and straight into the ocean. And they took full advantage of it.

Old Cooper was waiting at the gate, panting in the warm afternoon. Their boxer had been with them since they were babies, and now his muzzle was going white. The twins were sixteen, their seventeenth birthday a little over a week away, and Coop had aged right alongside them. The moment he spotted them, he jumped up, tail thumping, eager as a pup.

“Oh man, can you smell that?” Axel inhaled deeply, a grin spreading.

“Yeah, baby – banana muffins. Thank you, Mumma, here we come!” Nate picked up his pace.

They burst through the gate, giving Coop a quick pat before charging for the door, the dog bounding after them. All three piled inside to the familiar creak of the hinge and the loud snap of the screen door slamming shut. They could have fixed it with a squirt of WD-40 and a buffer, but no one had the heart. That sound was stitched into the nostalgia of home.

“Hi, boys! How was school?” Mum called from the kitchen, back turned as she slid muffins onto a cooling rack. The air smelled of banana, sugar and butter. She wore her usual yoga get-up, her blonde hair piled high in a messy knot.

She spun, grin wide, holding two muffins like prizes. “Here you go.”

Axel took his slower than usual, breaking it in half, nibbling at the edges. Unusual. Nate clocked it but didn’t push … not with Mum watching.

“Geez, Nate – bit peckish, hey?” Mum laughed as Nate inhaled his whole muffin in two bites. Her green eyes twinkled.

“I’m starving!” It came out muffled – more “I’m farving.”

“Growing lad. You’re like a bottomless pit.” She reached up, ruffling his hair, then stroked his arm with a fond smile. Her fingers paused. “Wait, what’s this?”

Nate glanced at the faint mark she’d brushed. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a burn in woodwork today. Nothing to stress about.” Christ, she didn’t miss a thing.

Mum frowned but let it go.

“Ready for Pa’s sesh?” she asked, voice lifting again.

“Yeah, guess so,” Axel said, but the usual spark was missing.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothing, Mum. I’m all G. Just a bit tired.”

“It’s probably because—” Nate started.

“I’m all G, Nate!” Axel cut him off fast. Nate filed the reaction away. Normally, Axel didn’t mind confiding in Mum. Maybe he just didn’t want her worrying.

“Thanks for the muffins, Mum.” Axel ducked out before more questions could land.

Nate slung an arm around his mother, puffing his chest to get to full height, looking down at her with a grin. “Thanks, Mum. Love you!” Then he bolted too, pleased with the reminder he was taller than everyone else in the house now – even Pa.

Nate dumped his school bag in his room and pulled on some training gear: tight black active-wear under loose shorts and baggy singlet. Then he slipped out the back door, through the gate and into the bushland behind the cottage.

~ ~ ~

Axel

Pa Stan’s shed looked like nothing more than a place for rakes and paint tins – a weathered old thing tucked out back. Only Pa, Mum, the boys and a handful of their closest mates knew better. Behind a pile of rusted roofing tin at the rear wall was a locked door with a combination pad. Axel took that secret seriously. Some things weren’t for outsiders.

Their mates treated it like one of those Hartz-family things – every family had their quirks, and this just happened to be theirs. Unusual, yeah, but cool enough that no one questioned it anymore.

The boys called it the Forge. And they loved it. It wasn’t a hideout for mischief like other kids had. This was a place for sharpening edges. Every session made them feel like they weren’t just two teenagers from Cove Beach but heroes in training.

Axel was just stepping into the front room when Nate joined him. The padlock was already undone, which meant Pa was inside. Of course he was. The old guy practically lived in his shed, cleaning weapons and sketching out new ways to break the boys down and build them back up.

They pushed through the hidden door, and the space opened up around them – a cavern of steel and shadows. Weapons lined the back wall: bows, antique broadswords, fencing blades, hunting knives, even a pair of nunchakus – Mikey’s weapon of choice. Because of course Nate had claimed Michelangelo as his hero years ago – the wisecracking goofball with a big heart, always diving into things with a grin and a joke. That was Nate to a T.

Axel’s was Raphael. Always had been. The intense one. The one who felt everything too deeply and hid it behind that don’t-mess-with-me stare. Raph would do anything for his brothers, and Axel was the same. Back when they were little, he’d always throw himself between Nate and the imaginary bad guys, no hesitation.

Nate used to call Pa Master Splinter behind his back. Axel never admitted it, but he kind of loved that. Their whole childhood had been like that – half play, half training, all heart.

In the far corner stood Axel’s favourite part – the gym. It had a power cage for benching, squats and deadlifts, plus enough kit to make Arnie proud. He’d even rigged a sound system in there, blasting playlists as hard as he pushed his muscles. That was his sanctuary – where everything made sense.

Sure enough, Pa was already at his workbench, poring over papers. His long grey hair was tied back with a leather strip, his frame solid, carrying the strength of a man who’d never once let himself go soft. He didn’t need to fill the room with noise; his silence was its own command. Axel always thought he looked like Vesemir from The Witcher – a mentor forged in battle, still dangerous no matter his years.

Pa wore his usual training kit: shitkicker boots, camo trousers, dark green tee – a uniform as steady as the man himself.

They’d never known their dad, never even seen a photo. Pa was the one who had steadied their feet and taught them to hold the line. In every way that mattered, he was the one who had raised them alongside their mother.

“Hey, Pa,” the boys said together.

He turned towards them. “Hay is what horses eat.”

Nate smirked at Axel, who stifled a smile.

Pa clapped his hands together, a twinkle in his eye. “Righto, lads. Ready to work?”

Pa lived for this, watching them both sharpen.

God, Axel loved this. Loved seeing that spark in Pa’s eye – the one that said they were worth the effort.

“Yes, sir.” Their voices snapped to attention. Game faces on.

“Blades today.” Pa gestured to the back wall. His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Pick your poison.”

Axel whispered, “Yesss,” while Nate muttered, “Oh, man.”

Heavy weapons suited Axel. He was built for it – steady, grounded, close range. Nate belonged behind a crossbow, not up in the crush.

Axel lifted the oversized broadsword with the ornate golden hilt. The weight settled into his hands. Every time he picked it up in the Forge, it was like stepping into another life. It sat perfectly in his grip, heavy but balanced, like it belonged there. Nate picked the lighter blade, it’s leather-wrapped grip worn smooth, the steel bright and clean. Pa never said where he got all his weapons. The boys never asked.

“Warm-up drill.”

They squared off. Hands on hilts. Swords out front. Feet set. Knees bent. Grounded.

Axel led, swinging slow toward Nate’s middle. Nate blocked, blade vertical, sliding into place. Shing. Steel rang out, bright and sharp. They circled, feet scuffing across the mat.

“Good,” Pa said from the sideline, his voice low but warm. “Feel the steel as part of you. Anchor your stance. Breathe with it. Let the blade move with you, not just in your hand.”

Axel adjusted, rolling his wrist, focusing on his breath and letting the blade flow. The weight didn’t drag him down – it steadied him. Every swing felt more natural, like the broadsword wasn’t just in his hand but a part of him.

Nate darted forward, quicker, aiming high. Axel deflected, steel sliding against steel, and pressed back with a counterstrike that forced Nate to step aside.

Heat surged in Axel’s chest. The familiar kind – the warm, righteous ember he’d carried since he could remember. The one that flared whenever he stepped between danger and someone he cared about. When he stuck up for someone or stepped in for Nate. It steadied him, sharpened him, reminded him exactly who he was.

This was it. This was his element. Close, grounded, strong. The broadsword felt alive in his grip, every arc sharper, truer. Strength poured from his shoulders down his spine. But beneath the ember, deeper, another feeling tightened – the coil. The newer one. The one he didn’t understand.

“Better,” Pa murmured. Pride flickered in his tone. He didn’t hand out praise often, and Axel felt it hit deep.

He bore down again, heavy arcs of steel driving Nate towards the edge of the mat. Nate grunted, sweat already streaking his curls, while Axel felt like he was just warming up. For a moment, Axel felt unstoppable. The sword was his heartbeat, his rhythm, his centre.

Then – without warning – the light hit.

That wave, the same whiteout from earlier. His vision washed out. He couldn’t see.

Instinct alone lifted his blade against Nate’s counterstrike. The clang jarred through his bones, and Axel staggered.

“Not again!” The words tore out before he could stop them.

Then – nothing.

He came to on the floor, Pa and Nate above him, brows furrowed.

“Bro, you good?” Nate asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Axel said as the room tilted.

“Has this happened before?” Pa’s voice was steady, but it carried an edge that made Axel’s gut tighten.

Nate cut in fast. “It happened to him in PE today too.”

Axel clenched his jaw. He’d kept the others quiet – flashes all week, always on his own. He’d all but drowned himself in water, blaming the heat. Spring in coastal Australia could still hit hard in the warm days edging toward summer. But deep down, he didn’t think that was the problem.

Pa stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing. “That’s enough for today. We’ll rest and hit it again tomorrow. Axel, inside. Juice, banana, then feet up. I’ll be in shortly.”

Axel caught something else in Pa’s gaze. A flicker of concern – but not just worry about fainting. Something deeper.

The sight of it knocked something loose in his chest. Pa never looked worried – not for storms, not for broken bones, not for anything. He was the rock. If Pa was rattled – even for a heartbeat – what the hell did that mean?

The ember flared – hot and protective. The lifelong warmth that lived under his ribs surged, as if bracing him for something Pa wasn’t saying.

But beneath it … the coil tightened too. Sharp, wrong and unfamiliar. Two forces pulling his chest in different directions. He pressed a palm against his sternum, steadying his breath, but the feeling only deepened.

Nate held a hand out. “Come on, bro. Let’s get you inside.”

“Thanks, man.” Axel took it, and coolness rippled through him, running from his chest to his toes. His head cleared, the coil receding, and suddenly he felt sharper than he had all day.

“Whoa. Dude. Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Nate blinked.

“Er, nothing. Never mind.” Axel shut it down quick. No point making a fuss. But the ember continued to smoulder – quiet and insistent. He knew it wasn’t nothing.

~ ~ ~

Later, Axel lay sprawled on his bed, ankles crossed, hands behind his head. Sebastian, his black cat, was purring loudly across his chest, a steady rumble that settled his nerves. Nate was sunk into the grey furry beanbag, looking up at him.

“You worried?” Nate asked.

“Yeah. Guess so.” Axel sighed. “Didn’t faze me the first few times. But today – PE, then with Pa in training. It’s getting more frequent.”

“What the heck could it be, bro? I can’t help but think the worst. Like a brain tumour or something hectic like that.”

“It’s not a tumour.” Axel dropped his best Arnie impression. He couldn’t resist – Nate left it wide open.

Nate scoffed, unimpressed. “It’s not funny, Axe. I’m bloody worried about you.”

“Dude, it’s not that deep. I’ll be fine. Probably just growing pains. We’ll be seventeen in a few days.” Axel said it as casually as he could. Truth was, he had no idea. Nine times now, that he’d counted – nine whiteouts in less than two weeks. Twice today. That had never happened before. Yeah, he was worried.

“Dinner!” Mum called from the kitchen.

Nate levered out of the beanbag and sat on the edge of Axel’s bed. “Hey, man. Try not to stress. We’ll figure it out.” He slapped his stomach. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Axel rolled his eyes and hauled himself up, placing Sebby in a neat pile on his bed. “Shocking, dude.”

They padded down the hall, the smell of rosemary and garlic pulling them faster. Coop thumped his tail against the floorboards as they entered the kitchen, already stationed on his colourful patchwork cushion beneath the window, tongue hanging out one side of his mouth, panting eagerly.

The old wooden table filled the centre of the room, scarred from years of meals, homework and late-night board games. Pa Stan had the head as always, posture straight, even when off duty. Mum sat nearest the stove, her apron still on and her hair still tied in a messy knot. Axel dropped into his spot opposite her as Nate slid in across from Pa.

“What’s on for tomorrow, boys? Must be happy it’s Fri-yay?” Mum asked, loading the centre of the table with dishes heavy with lamb cutlets, mash and greens.

Axel’s stomach growled on cue. Perfect – his favourite. He watched Nate heap food onto his plate with alarming speed, already poised to inhale it.

“Leave some for the rest of us, bro.” Axel swatted his hand, then looked back to Mum. “Not much, Mum. Got a maths test, but it’ll be a breeze.”

It would be. Nothing at school ever really stretched him.

“I’ve got Mr Douche for double science in the morning,” Nate groaned. “Lame.”

“Nate! Don’t call him that.” Mum gave him a look, but Axel caught the twinkle in her eye and smirked.

Pa shook his head at the two of them, a half-smile softening his features. “If your teachers ever saw you in training, they’d wonder where these mouthy hooligans came from.”

Axel snorted. There it was – soft Pa. Amused Pa. The one who surfaced again once they stepped out of the Forge.

They all tucked in, the usual banter flying: Pa reminding Axel how crucial his gait was in staying grounded with two-handed weapons, Nate teasing Mum for being the shortest in the house now. Even Mum fired back, threatening to put chilli in Nate’s cheese and Vegemite sandwich tomorrow if he didn’t quit it.

Pa lifted his fork and pointed it gently at Nate. “You menace your mother again and I’ll put chilli in your morning eggs as well.” His tone was deadpan, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.

“Save me, bro,” Nate gasped, “they’re ganging up on me.”

Axel smirked. “You’re on your own, bro.”

Pa huffed out a laugh and patted Nate’s arm.

The room glowed with the hum of plates and chatter. For a while, Axel forgot the whiteouts and the tightness in his chest. He felt normal.

When the plates were cleared, Mum clattered dishes into the sink. “Alright, let’s get some dessert and head into the lounge. One ep tonight?”

That was how evenings usually ran in the Hartz house. Mum had this thing about “retro” shows – retro meaning anything from the ’80s to the early 2000s. She said the old ones had more heart, more grit, so she’d raised the boys on a steady diet of classics – half action flicks, half monster-of-the-week dramas. Their mates didn’t mind; most sleepovers at their place turned into reruns and movie marathons. It ended up becoming their whole friend group’s shared language.

Mum, Nate and Axel sprawled in their favourite spots, chipping away at whatever show they had on the go. Right now, it was Supernatural – season four, a second viewing. Pa sometimes joined in from his armchair, but mostly he sat out on the veranda, pipe in hand, eyes on the horizon. Always scanning. Always waiting. Axel never knew for what. Leftover army instincts, he supposed.

“Sounds good, Mum,” Nate said. “Actually, I’m feeling a two-or-three-eps-kinda-night.”

Axel smirked. Anything to put off doing homework. Classic Nate. He hated sitting down to schoolwork, but when he actually did, he always spotted patterns and shortcuts Axel missed. Lazy tech-head. Can code all night, but baulks at opening a textbook.

~ ~ ~

Nate

Nate sprawled across his bed, textbook open but forgotten, his pencil drumming a restless beat against the edge of his journal. The late-night hush pressed close – cicadas outside, the low hum of the fridge down the hall, the kind of quiet that made his sketches feel louder than the world around him.

The familiar image had formed on the page before he even realised he was drawing: the girl, sword blazing with fire, her chest lit from within by something more than a heart – a fierce inner flame, burning bright with something that felt like magic. Behind her loomed a swarm of shadow-eyed figures, their stares cutting through the dark graphite lines like they wanted to crawl free of the paper.

Stuff like this had always come easy to him – shapes, shadows, expressions. His art teacher, Ms Perry, kept telling him he saw things other kids missed. She wanted him to knuckle down this year and next, said he’d have a chance at an art scholarship if he actually applied himself, but he hated writing the essays. It sucked to have to explain his work to someone else; he preferred to just feel it.

He frowned, shading in the wings he’d half-sketched at her back. They always came out wrong – broken, faded or blurred at the edges, like he couldn’t quite work out what they were supposed to look like. Sometimes he caught himself rubbing at his own shoulder blades, as though the missing shape belonged to him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d appeared in his journals, but each version slipped away before he could pin her down. Different hair, different stance but always the same burning centre. The door creaked. Axel leaned in, sneakers double-knotted, loose tank, old shorts. Coop padded beside him, nails ticking on the floorboards. Axel’s gaze flicked to the notebook.

“Still on about your dream-world thing?” His lopsided grin showed he was teasing.

Nate set his pencil down, thumb smudged with grey. “Yeah. Just toying with some ideas. Can’t quite get this one to land.” He rubbed at his chin, eyes tracing the blurred lines of the wings again.

Axel stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. “Woah. That actually looks pretty decent. Like fantasy meets anime.”

Nate let out a soft huff. “It’d make a sick book one day, if I could get all the ideas together.”

From the hallway, Mum’s voice floated through, “I’d read it, babe.”

Axel groaned but didn’t mean it. “Yeah, me too,” he said as he turned for the door. “When I need a cure for insomnia.”

Nate smiled despite himself. For all the ribbing, Axel had lingered. That meant something.

“Night, boys,” Mum called. “Love you.”

“Night, Mum,” they chorused. “Love you too.”

Nate clicked off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room, but the fire-haired girl didn’t vanish. She burned sharper than ever – like her flame was meant for more than the page, eyes fierce, as though she was the one searching him. A lightness flickered low in his chest then disappeared so quickly he almost thought he’d imagined it.

From down the hall came Axel’s footsteps, Coop’s claws, then the familiar squeak-snap of the front door. The house settled, but Nate’s pulse didn’t. The girl lingered.

~ ~ ~

Axel

Axel hit the track at an easy jog, Coop loping at his side, never straying far. The night pressed warm and close. His shirt stuck to his back within minutes. The bush hummed with cicadas, loud and restless. They should’ve had another month of quiet nights before that racket began, but there had been a random heatwave. The seasons were out of step lately. But he barely noticed their hum – his head was louder than the bush tonight.

Nine times. Nine whiteouts in less than two weeks.

His feet pounded out the count – nine, nine, nine – until it felt like the number itself was hammering through his skull.

He tried to pin down the first one. Running, wasn’t it? No – in his gym, alone in Pa’s Forge. Bench press. The room had narrowed, the sound warped, his vision gone. Next thing he knew, he was waking up again. Thank christ for the safety bars. Then the others blurred together – night jog, his recent history paper, getting dressed for school. Random. No pattern. No trigger. No clue. The heatwave?

Coop veered into the bush, crashed through leaves, then reappeared on the path, tongue spilling out one side and tail wagging. Axel wished he could shake it off that easy.

He pushed himself harder, breath cutting sharp. He’d always liked the cooler months – the way winter bit his skin, the way the ocean went steel-grey and savage. Cold cleared him. Night cleared him. Out here, away from light and chatter, his head usually eased. If anything, he preferred the night. The air was usually cooler, the kind of chill that settled into your lungs and pushed the day out of your head. Even when the ocean was freezing in winter, he would stay out longer than Nate, body prickling, teeth chattering, because the cold cleared him, quieted the part that churned and overthought and burned.

Not tonight.

The loop ended at the boulder – a hulking slab of granite perched at the cliff edge above the track that ran from their house down towards the beach. The cottage glimmered further up the hill, a faint square of light in the trees. The surf rolled faint and steady below. Axel hauled himself up, shoes scraping the rock, and dropped onto the flat top. Coop pressed against his thigh, panting hard, ears sharp.

From here, everything looked small. The house. The track. Even the waves, silver under the moon.

But nothing in his chest felt small.

Two forces lived there now.

The first – the ember – the warm, righteous surge he’d felt his whole life. The heat that came whenever he protected someone or stood his ground for something he believed in. His North Star. The part that felt older than he was, like some instinct he’d been born with.

The second – the coil – the new one. Tight, sharp and wrong. A pressure that wound under his ribs like it wanted out. Every time it tightened too far … the world blanked out.

He dragged in a breath, thick with salt and cicadas, and let his head tip back towards the stars.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

Another story is unfolding in Octavia…