Extra's Ascent

Eric Aldaman? Father to Aldrich and Saldrich Aldaman, awoke to a Monday morning cloaked in stillness, the kind that settles before the world begins its daily churn.

Yet beneath that calm was a familiar hollowness, a quiet ache that tugged at his chest. It was a sensation he'd come to recognize over the time, a sense that something once vital had been stripped away, leaving behind a lingering void.

Such is the life of a man among gods, a walking-class soul in a world dominated by the spectacular and the supernormal.

At precisely 6:30 a.m., he stood by the front door, neatly dressed in his work outfit, shoes shined, posture straight. The door stood ajar, his hand rested lightly on the knob, yet his feet remained still, hesitant. There was nothing holding him back, no chain or force but a weighty pause hung in the air, pinning him in place.

His gaze drifted back into the living room tidy now, almost too quiet. In that moment, he saw flashes of his children: Aldrich laughing far too loud at cartoons, Saldrich protesting over breakfast, both of them bursting into the peaceful silence like a storm of color and life.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He exhaled, long and slow. That fleeting memory, wild and warm, gave him the strength he needed. With a final glance, he stepped through the door and into the world.

Eric's children were his heart's rhythm, his anchor in a reality often tilted by chaos. They were the reason he rose each morning and met the grind of the day head-on. In a life filled with monotony and overlooked effort, they were his spark.

There was a time long past, painful years when Aldrich had fallen into an unexplainable coma, a deep sleep from which no physician could wake him. The times coupled with the heartbreak of his wife abandoning them, had broken something in Eric. For a while, he simply wasn't present not mentally, not emotionally. He had become a ghost in his own home, consumed by grief and spiraling guilt. In that silence, it was his daughter, Saldrich, still so young and undeserving of such burden, who picked up the pieces and held the family together.

That truth remained carved deep within him. Nothing he did could erase the toll she bore during those bleak years. And though he could never fully repay her, Eric lived each day in gratitude for the remarkable girl she had become, his guiding light, his "lucky star."

When Aldrich finally awoke, it was as if color had returned to a long-faded canvas. The emptiness receded, replaced with laughter, late-night conversations, the smell of burnt toast, and youthful chaos. Though once a family of four, they were now three, a little older, a bit more scarred, but whole again in their own way. And that, to Eric, was more than enough.

He boarded the early train, as was his routine, and arrived at work precisely on time. Eric, with his easygoing nature and respectful manner, had earned the admiration of everyone from the gatekeepers and gardeners to the executive staff. Despite his youthful age, many mistook him for someone older, perhaps because of the gravity he carried, or perhaps because of the maturity etched into his calm demeanor.

At thirty-six, having fathered his first child at twenty, Eric bore the sharp elegance of a man who aged with grace. He was lean, fit, and striking. His silver bob-cut hair glinted under the morning sun, setting him apart. He carried himself with quiet confidence, dressed neatly in the standard-issue black chauffeur uniform, his posture impeccable, his gaze steady.

Now, stationed beside the sleek, black luxury sedan, Eric stood ready, eyes fixed ahead. The soft click of approaching shoes broke the still air, and as the figure neared, Eric offered a small bow, his hand opening the door with practiced grace.

The man, Dravin Ramprandt, returned the gesture with a casual wave as he stepped inside.

Eric closed the door with care, circled to the driver's side, and took his seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror, subtly angling it to catch a glimpse of his employer's expression. Every detail mattered; a twitch of a brow, a frown, a glance. Eric made it his job to take all of that into notice.

Once all was in order, he started the engine and began the drive.

Moments passed in silence, the city still rousing from its slumber. Then, a weary sigh pierced the quiet.

Eric kept his eyes on the road. "Something troubling you, sir?"

Dravin, usually composed, exhaled again with more poundage. "Of all the fires I have to put out this morning, my daughter's tantrums top the list."

Dravin Ramprandt was a romantic by nature, a man who fell deeply and loved deeply. His wife, now gone, had died giving birth to their only child, a daughter he cherished above all else. Her absence left a hollow that no one ever filled. Choosing single fatherhood, Dravin never entertained thoughts of remarriage. Though he did get a lot of approach being the successful businessman he is, many desired to be married to him,likewise fellow competitors wished to be tied to him in conjugal way so they could drain benefits from him.

However, Dravin Ramprandt being that man choose the difficult path? Devoted himself to raising his daughter, determined to keep her world pure and undisturbed by influences of steps.

But love, though deep, cannot substitute time. His work as a prominent businessman consumed him, leaving little room for bedtime stories and school recitals. And now, at eleven, his daughter's frustrations boiled over into full-blown emotional warfare.

"You have kids, Eric?"

Eric smiled. "I do, sir. Two of them."

Dravin let out a sharp chuckle. "Two? My God, you're a doomed man."

Eric laughed heartily. "That's what you'd think."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Dravin insisted, eyes narrowed with mock seriousness.

If it had been years ago, Eric would have agreed in a heartbeat. Parenting wasn't easy, not when you're young and unsure, and certainly not when juggling two at once. Even with a partner, the weight was immense. For a single parent like Dravin, Eric could only imagine the challenge.

"You're not wrong, sir, not completely," Eric said thoughtfully. "If you'd asked me that seven years ago, I'd have nodded in full agreement. But not now. Not anymore."

Dravin leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "So what changed?"

Eric's gaze remained on the road, but a softness settled on his face. "I watched them grow."

There was a peace, almost divine, in witnessing the evolution of a child from unruly, noisy little things into young adults with dreams, discipline, and purpose. Despite their imperfections, every milestone, academic success, emotional maturity, kind gestures. All of that became a reward far greater than anything else life could offer.

"They mature," Eric continued. "You see them go from tantrums to taking responsibility. From needing your help to becoming your strength. That transformation, it's priceless. Nothing in this world compares to it. Not money, not fame… nothing."

Dravin stared ahead, silently contemplating those words.

Eric didn't say more. He didn't need to.

Sometimes, the quiet conviction of a man who has found contentment in the chaos of life speaks louder than any sermon.