CISPA:Sons of Storm

"Don't go chasing ghosts." That was what Liam heard next. His mother's hollow voice stopped him. And in that moment,he contemplated whether he was really seeing things or the man was real. All of a sudden again,he didn't care anymore. He just dropped on the couch like a bag of beans.

Margaret's feet was shaky as she moved to him. Liam could hear how unstable her steps were. He didn't show it in that moment but he was just as empty inside as she was. He had to stay strong for both his mother and brother. Right from that day on, he's the new 'David Thompson' of the house.

"Don't break. Chasing ghosts won't bring him back," Margaret settled beside him, her hands on his shoulder. In less than six hours,her hand already feels so lifeless and thin. She continued."You have to be strong for your brother. He needs you now more than ever."

Liam just nodded softly, accepting the responsibility his 'old man' left him.

---

The house had grown quieter in the months since Colonel David Thompson's death—but not gentler.

The photographs remained on the walls, untouched. The flag-folded triangle in its glass case rested atop the fireplace mantle, always watched but never acknowledged. No one could bear to move it. To Liam, it was more coffin than memorial.

Their mother, Margaret, withered slowly without anyone's knowledge.

Her smiles became rare things—pale, flickering, like dying embers. And once she smiled, it was for her sons. She moved with the weight of unshed tears and slept like a woman afraid of dreams because she was. She feared seeing David in her dreams and then waking up to seeing the memorial. It wasn't a nice feeling. Some nights, Liam would find her staring at the garden David once tended, whispering to the shadows like he might answer.

And Ethan…

Ethan stopped talking much altogether.

At fourteen, he carried the kind of silence that only war widows and orphaned soldiers wore. He had stopped being a child the moment that knock came at the door. He became angrier. He took extra fitness and defense class in school. He fought at the slightest mistake someone—anyone— makes against him. He got suspended twice in just a term.

One night, Liam came home late from part-time work at the mechanic's shop and found Ethan in the garage, punching the wall.

There was blood on his knuckles.

"Hey," Liam said gently, "Stop. You'll break something."

"I already did," Ethan muttered.

Liam noticed: it wasn't just the wall that was cracked—it was their father's old toolbox. Bent, dented. Ethan had smashed it with something heavy. Or with his fists.

"You think it's your fault?" Liam asked.

Silence.

Then Ethan whispered, "He was only on that mission because of he wanted to do good. He said he needed to 'create a better world for his sons'... as he always says. He went because it was his duty as a soldier. He said he was going to return! He never breaks his promises."

Liam stepped forward. "Ethan, don't—"

"He died being our hero... But how many people are aware of his death. And I just stood there when they told us. I didn't do anything. We didn't even get to say goodbye. They couldn't even find his body."

Liam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"You were thirteen."

"That's no excuse."

---

Later that week, Margaret was rushed to the hospital after collapsing in the kitchen. Her condition, long kept quiet, had worsened. The doctors said she'd been skipping treatments. Her lungs were deteriorating. The grief had taken its toll.

Liam stayed beside her, refusing to leave her side. Ethan… didn't come for the first two days. When he finally did, she was barely conscious.

And even then—she smiled when she saw him.

"My boy... always running late," she rasped. "But I'm glad… you came."

"Don't leave," Ethan begged. " You're all we've got left."

Her frail fingers brushed his cheek.

"Look after Liam… for me. You're both stronger together."

And that was the last thing she said.

...then her heart stopped. Seconds before it did,he knew he was all alone.

---

The funeral was a blur. Fewer people than they thought came. No relative in particular came. Some neighbors offered warm food while some offered words that didn't do much good but all was appreciated.

The priest said something about hope. About eternity. Neither Liam nor Ethan heard a word of it. They just stared. And stood under the low cemetery rain without umbrellas. They just felt like being washed by the rain. The boys wanted their pain ,sorrow and loss washed by the rain.

When the earth hit the coffin, Ethan flinched.

---

That night, Ethan sat in the attic, staring out through a dusty window. Rain again. The same kind of storm that had taken their father. The same kind of silence that followed.

Liam entered quietly, holding a cup of warm milk. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, a soft reminder that the house was still alive, even if it's barely.

"I know it hurts," Liam said. "But I'm still here. You still have me."

Ethan didn't respond.

"I'm going to do right by them," Liam continued. "I'll finish school. I'll get a job. We'll be fine. We'll build something. Dad would've wanted that."

Ethan turned. His eyes were red, but not from crying. From rage.

"I don't want to build something, Liam. I want to destroy the people who took everything from us."

Liam didn't argue. He just placed the cup down and left.

---

The next morning, Liam woke to silence.

Ethan's bed was empty.

A half-eaten sandwich sat on the kitchen table. A drawer was left open. The attic window gaped wide, the curtains fluttering in the early light. The photograph of the family—David in uniform, Margaret in her garden dress, and the boys between them—was gone from its frame. And David's dogtag.

Ethan had taken it with him.

Liam searched for hours. On foot, then by bike. He asked friends, neighbors, even a police officer outside the deli. No one had seen a kid in a hooded jacket carrying a black backpack..

By nightfall, he returned home, soaked and exhausted.

Ethan was gone. Has he failed?

---

Miles away, Ethan walked along the shoulder of a two-lane road, headlights sweeping past him like ghosts. He kept his head down. His hands were blistered. He hadn't slept.

The city faded behind him. Concrete gave way to dirt, houses to forests. His stomach growled, but he didn't stop. Each step away from home was a step toward something else—he just didn't know what.

At a bus station hours later, he sat on a bench beneath a flickering light, clutching his father's compass and staring at a map he barely understood.

He circled a town several miles north—one that his father had once mentioned in a story. A place where old comrades retired. A place where names were forgotten.

He boarded the next bus with the last of the money he had.

His journey had begun.

Not as a hero.

But as a boy who no longer wanted to be one.

---

Back at home, Liam sat in the attic, staring at the same window Ethan had used to disappear. He held the compass case—the one that once held their father's most treasured item.

Empty now.

Just like everything else.