Might of will

The warm glow of the evening sun bathed the living room in a golden hue. There sat a boy, Om, in front of his laptop, seemingly submerged in his world of circuits and codes. The soft hum of the computer filled the room as his fingers deftly danced across the keyboard, crafting something only he could fully understand. The quiet ticking of a nearby clock echoed in the background, grounding the scene in an almost timeless serenity.

Suddenly, his mother's voice cut through the peaceful atmosphere, calling from the kitchen.

"Om! Dinner's almost ready. Come help me out!" Her voice was warm, but firm, carrying a familiar tone that Om knew well.

"Yes! I'm coming!" he replied, his focus briefly interrupted. His gaze lingered on the screen for a moment, as if reluctant to leave the code unfinished.

shoosh~~

He dashed toward her, his hurried footsteps echoing through the house. The wooden floor creaked under his weight as he skidded into the kitchen, the air rich with the scent of freshly baked bread and homemade spaghetti. His mother, Iryna, stood by the counter, preparing the final touches for dinner, her eyes twinkling as she saw her son enter.

"You! What kind of project steals away your hunger and keeps you busy even in the evening?" she teased, her voice light but affectionate.

Om scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Sorry, Mom! Well, it's not much. It'll be completed soon," he said, his eyes still shining with excitement about his work. For a moment, the circuits and codes still danced in his thoughts.

"Hmm, is that so?" she replied with a raised eyebrow. "You can tell me all about it after you cut these cucumbers for the salad. Let's get ready for dinner!"

He began slicing the cucumbers with delicate precision, arranging them neatly on the plate. His hands worked methodically, almost as if programming the vegetables into a perfect array. For Om, everything was a project—even something as simple as preparing dinner had a process, an order.

As he worked, his younger brother, Pietro, burst into the kitchen, rustling through the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"Hey, Om! Are you working on something cool again?" he asked, eyes wide with admiration.

"Always!" Om replied, flashing a grin. "You should see it when it's done! I'll make sure it's awesome!"

Rustle~~

Their father, Olek, had just arrived from work. The familiar creak of the front door announced his return, followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps entering the kitchen.

"Iryna," Olek said with a smirk as he spotted Om slicing vegetables, "why do you always make a businessman work in the kitchen? He must have his 'oh-so-important' project running in his head even now thinking of sacrificing his dinner."

Their mother chuckled, shaking her head. "Maybe we should start charging him rent for all the time he spends here, then!"

Om rolled his eyes, a smile creeping across his face. "If I charge you for my genius, it'll cost a fortune!"

Olek smirked, looking at his wife. "Now, look, Iryna, your son has started to make a fortune. Soon you'll be rich, and I won't even have to go to work since his genius can earn us all the money."

"Yeah!" Pietro chimed in, bouncing on his heels. "Then we can buy a that Leo's mall! He will get my answer through action. "

Om felt a flush of embarrassment but dared to retort, "That's what I keep saying, but you never believe me!"

Just then, his younger sister Wanda entered the kitchen, her laughter ringing like music. "What are you all laughing about? Will Om again stay at night at Stacy's home?"

"What! you betrayer! just you wait, little sis," he replied with a grin. "remember, I am remembering this betrayal!"

Wanda, who had just come in with a tray of freshly baked bread, winked at her brother. "sorry my brother why would you hold grudge against your little sister, would you?"

Om laughed sheepishly, while Pietro felt his hair up as he remembered Om kicking him when he had rebelled against him.

Anyway, laughter erupted once again as the Maximoff family gathered around the kitchen, each moment woven with warmth and joy. The lighthearted teasing and familial bonds filled the room with a sense of belonging that Om treasured deeply.

Just then, Pietro, remembering Om's unfinished work on his laptop, asked, "Should I turn off your laptop?"

"Nah! Leave it," Om replied, waving him off casually.

"Fine," Pietro said, confirming as he sat down at his place.

The family settled at the dining table, the aroma of homemade food enveloping them like a comforting embrace. The table was adorned with their favorite dishes: a vibrant salad sprinkled with fresh herbs, the crisp cucumbers glistening alongside juicy tomatoes and crunchy bell peppers, all drizzled with a tangy dressing which Wanda had finally made edible over time.

The centerpiece was a steaming bowl of her famous spaghetti, the pasta shimmering in a rich marinara sauce. Om's mouth watered at the sight, forgetting about the taste. This was his lifesaving since only this had passing rating which would allow him some energy and wanda was quite good. Wanda served him a generous portion, twirling the strands of pasta onto his plate.

"You've got to fuel that genius of yours, Om!" she said with a grin. "And don't forget to save room for dessert!" Om was surprised as well as filled with thankful feeling toward Wanda as she had fortunately made it great.

The clinking of forks and spoons filled the air as the family ate together. Conversation flowed naturally, from Olek's day at work to Pietro and Wanda's latest antics. Their mother asked about school and Om's college projects, her face lighting up as he spoke about his new ventures in circuits and robotics.

The house was nestled on the outskirts of Novi Grad, the capital city of Sokovia. Far from the urban center, their home sat perched on a gentle slope, offering a sweeping view of the rolling hills and dense forests that stretched beyond the horizon. The landscape here was starkly beautiful—rugged, untamed. The distant mountains loomed like silent guardians over the small villages scattered below, where the whispers of history and conflict could still be felt in the cobblestone streets and aged buildings.

Sokovia, with its rich yet turbulent past, had seen better days. Despite its natural beauty, the region was often overshadowed by the scars left from civil unrest and political upheavals. The Maximoff home, however, was a small haven away from those lingering tensions. Built from sturdy stone and timber, it stood as a testament to both the family's resilience and their need for peace. Large windows framed the views outside, letting in the light and the vast, open sky, creating an inviting atmosphere of warmth and stability.

As the soft, evening breeze blew through the open windows, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers, Om could hear the distant hum of the village below—a place where old traditions blended with the modern world, where neighbors still knew each other's names, and where life, despite its challenges, moved at its own unhurried pace.

The family's home wasn't too far from the town square, where markets bustled during the day, filled with vendors selling everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts. At night, the town quieted, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns hanging from iron posts. It was a humble life, one that Om had grown to appreciate over the years. Here, among these hills and forests, far removed from the chaos of the world's larger powers, he found a sense of belonging.

But Sokovia wasn't without its shadows. The memory of recent conflicts—both within the country and in the broader world—still lingered in the air. Despite its isolation, Novi Grad was not untouched by the events shaping the world outside. Yet, within the walls of the Maximoff home, these concerns were distant, almost forgotten.

Om felt at peace here, among his family. The warmth in the room, the love in every glance and word—it was a life he had dreamed of for years.

But as they laughed, a flicker of something stirred in the back of Om's mind. For a split second, an image flashed before his eyes—faces, places, a world he couldn't quite remember. He blinked, trying to grasp it, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Was it a dream? Or a memory?

Om pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present. This was his family, his life now. He couldn't let himself get lost in fleeting thoughts. He was here, with people who cared about him, and that was all that mattered.

Later that evening, the family migrated to the living room for game night. They piled onto the couch, laughter erupting as they played board games. Om's competitive side came out as he strategized his moves, drawing cheers from Wanda and groans from Pietro.

As the night wore on, the games slowed, and they settled in for a bedtime story. Om nestled between Wanda and Pietro as their father read aloud, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Om's mind wandered to the fantastical world as he listened heartly his father's voice, but something else lingered at the edges of his thoughts—a feeling, a whisper of something long forgotten. He felt grateful to experience this love and care of this family. Moreover, his brother seems too attached to him, supporting in every needy place. Sometimes, he feared his brother might be in his shadows and be limited. 

That night, after the family had said their goodnights, Om lay awake in bed. His eyes traced patterns in the dark as he stared at the ceiling. A heaviness settled over him, something he couldn't shake. He had these moments, sometimes, late at night.

Flashes of unfamiliar places would creep into his dreams—streets, people, sensations he didn't recognize but felt connected to. But why? They were always just out of reach, a blur on the edges of his consciousness, like memories from a past life.

His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the fragments, but sleep overtook him before he could find any answers.