Of the Forgotten: Cal Wants to Be Famous

Chapter 9: A Fragile Balance

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Cal's POV

"Serena? Miss Nightsky?" A familiar voice echoed as I heard them rushing through Serena's house.

This was right after breakfast.

I had hoped for a peaceful moment to gather my thoughts. Our breakfast had been heavy, leaving me drained after absorbing so many serious and dangerous revelations.

I opened the door and nearly bumped into Greg's familiar physique. "Uh—" He looked just as surprised as I was.

I moved aside to let them in.

The living room appeared smaller than I remembered, the tall, manly figures of Greg and George contrasting sharply with the house's light color scheme.

George offered a brief "hi" before plopping down on the couch. Serena emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of food in her hands.

Another serving of beans, sausages, eggs, and coffee. I felt a wave of emotion wash over me as I recalled our earlier conversation.

The look of concern on her usually bright smile hinted at urgency as she struggled to navigate the room with the heavy tray.

George sprang up to help her, his face a mix of determination and fondness. "I know you need this; get a bite first," she insisted, her tone firm, as if they were her own children.

"I know you're worried, but you can't do anything on an empty stomach," she chided gently, offering a small smile that felt like a mother's hug.

George hesitated, wanting to argue, but Serena's expression left no room for dissent. Even I found it hard to voice my thoughts in the face of that look.

Deciding to give them some privacy, I retreated to the bedroom I had been using.

I grabbed my crisscross strap backpack and made my way to the bathroom for a quick wash. Something told me that their early arrival meant we would soon be heading somewhere I wouldn't want to go.

After a quick bath, I slipped into a fresh white polo shirt and brown, loosely-fitting pants. My boots, magically mended, felt snug and comfortable. I secured the crisscross strap of my backpack and wrapped myself in my now-clean grey cloak.

With my hair tied in a bun, I finally stepped back into the living room.

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To my surprise, the guys had finished their meal.

"So?" I asked, a hint of annoyance creeping into my voice. I didn't want to dive into another guessing game with them; yesterday had been enough.

"Uh, so, Miss Nightsky..." George began, hesitating.

I raised my brows. "Just Cal, short for Calathea." I nodded to emphasize my point.

Greg, who had been quiet until now, mumbled an "Oh," as if realizing something.

"Ah! Okay, Cal!" George's eyes lit up momentarily before he slipped back into his awkward demeanor, hesitant to continue. "You see..."

Serena, sitting beside him, lightly slapped his arm. "Just say it!"

"Are we playing charades now? Just spit it out, already!" I added.

"We need your help," Greg finally declared.

He exuded a charismatic aura, a natural leader—proud yet grounded. He wore a fine grey t-shirt, and a strap for an arrow satchel was tightly bound across his chest, his cloak folded on his lap.

"And how can I help you?" I asked, confusion creeping in.

They exchanged glances. "There's a teleportation at the center," Greg replied, seemingly calculating his words.