The crisp bite of October 2023 settled over Winnipeg like a thin veil of frost, transforming the city into a landscape of muted golds and reds. Leaves crunched underfoot on the sidewalks, and the air carried the faint, earthy scent of impending winter—mixed with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional whiff of woodsmoke from neighborhood chimneys. Neelin High School stood as a sturdy anchor in this seasonal shift, its red-brick walls etched with decades of graffiti and weather stains, the flagpole creaking in the wind. Inside, the hallways buzzed with the energy of teenagers navigating a world forever altered by the rifts: lockers slammed with superhuman force, whispers of portal sightings echoed between classes, and the faint glow of abilities flickered like faulty lightbulbs in the corners of rooms.
Michael Amadike moved through this chaos with a measured grace, his footsteps silent despite the weight of his muscular frame. At fifteen, he had grown into his body even more since the camp incident—broad shoulders straining against his school hoodie, arms corded with veins that pulsed subtly with his aura whenever he tensed. His crimson eyes, a lingering gift from the afterlife encounter, drew stares; some called them "demonic," others "mesmerizing." He ignored the whispers, focusing instead on the rhythm of his day: math class where equations danced in his mind like aura flows, history lessons on the First Rift that made him think of the being's warnings, and gym periods where he held back just enough to avoid breaking equipment. Again.
Alvin Ifeanyi Orike, on the other hand, embraced the spotlight with the enthusiasm of a flame chasing oxygen. His laughter echoed down the corridors, often accompanied by a playful spark of blue fire that he twirled between his fingers like a coin trick. The basketball team had elevated him to near-legend status after he led them to a crushing victory in the season opener, his inferno cloak turning dunks into pyrotechnic spectacles. Girls clustered around him at his locker, giggling as he signed notebooks with a charred flourish. But beneath the charisma, Alvin carried the weight of guilt from Michael's death—though revived, the memory haunted his quieter moments, making him train harder, push further.
Their home life provided a grounding contrast. Aunt Uche's house on the outskirts of the city was a cozy haven: wooden floors creaking underfoot, the kitchen always smelling of jollof rice or poutine experiments, and the backyard transformed into an impromptu training ground where snow patches melted under Alvin's heat. Assurance practiced her portals there, opening gateways to fetch groceries from downtown or sneak peeks at distant landmarks, her energy draining like a leaky faucet after each use. Audrey, the energetic twelve-year-old, tested her sonic blasts on empty cans, sending them flying with shouts that rattled the windows. Uche herself balanced work at the local superhuman clinic—healing rift-related injuries—with family dinners, her gentle reminders to "focus on studies" a constant refrain.
It was during one such ordinary school day, October 3rd to be precise, that the first ripple of conflict disturbed their routine. The cafeteria at noon was a cacophony of clattering trays, overlapping conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter or sparks from a misfired ability. Michael and Alvin claimed their usual table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the frost-kissed quad. Michael's tray held a balanced meal—grilled chicken, veggies, and a protein shake—fuel for the aura that demanded constant nourishment. Alvin's was piled with fries drowned in cheese curds, his flames absentmindedly warming the plate.
From across the room, eyes bored into them. Marcus "Brick" Okoye, a hulking senior with earth-manipulation powers, sat with his crew like a king on a throne of plastic chairs. Brick's skin had a perpetual gritty texture, as if dusted with sand, and his temper was legendary—rumored to have buried a rival under a mound of conjured dirt during last year's rift drill. He'd been the basketball team's enforcer until Alvin's arrival dethroned him, and the grudge festered like an open wound.
Alvin spotted him first, nudging Michael with an elbow. "Trouble at three o'clock. Rock-boy's staring holes."
Michael glanced up, his crimson eyes meeting Brick's dark glare without flinching. "Ignore him. Not worth the detention."
But Brick wasn't one for subtlety. He rose, his chair scraping like grinding stones, and lumbered over with two sidekicks in tow: a lanky kid with metallic skin that gleamed under the lights and another whose hands crackled with static electricity. The cafeteria quieted in waves, students sensing the tension like animals before a storm.
"New blood thinks they own the place," Brick rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. He planted his hands on their table, fingers digging in as the plastic surface began to petrify, turning gray and brittle under his touch. Cracks spiderwebbed outward. "Heard you shattered the backboard last week, Amadike. Compensating for something? Or just showing off like your flashy cousin here?"
Alvin's flames ignited at his knuckles, blue and hot, casting shadows on the table. "Back off, pebble-brain. We're eating."
Michael set down his fork deliberately, his aura stirring like a coiled spring. He could feel it— the potential humming, ready to boost his speed or strength in an instant. But he kept it leashed. "It was an accident," he said calmly, voice even. "I'll cover the repair costs. No need for this."
Brick leaned in closer, his breath smelling of cafeteria burgers and malice. "Accidents happen to weaklings who don't belong. You immigrants strut in here with your fancy auras and flames, stealing spots from real Canadians. Prove you're not just hype."
The slur hung in the air, but Michael didn't rise to it. Instead, he smiled faintly—a cold, confident curve that made Brick's lackeys shift uneasily. "Gym. After school. No powers. Just you and me. Winner buys the backboard."
Brick barked a laugh, but there was uncertainty in his eyes. "You're on, pretty boy."
As Brick retreated, the cafeteria erupted in murmurs. Phones were already out, texts flying: Fight after school. Aura King vs. Brick.
The rest of the day dragged like molasses. Classes blurred—English lit on post-rift poetry, science on quantum anomalies behind portals. Michael texted Favour during a break: Minor drama here. Miss Nigeria's heat. Her reply buzzed back: Stay safe. Portals flaring up again—beasts in Abuja. Call later? He smiled, pocketing the phone.
After the final bell, the gym filled like a coliseum. Students packed the bleachers, teachers hovering at the edges to prevent escalation. Principal Chen, a stern woman with telekinetic abilities that could lift a car without breaking a sweat, stood center court. Her graying hair was tied back, and her eyes scanned the crowd. "This ends clean," she announced, her voice amplified by an unseen force. "No lethal moves. First to yield, pin, or knockout wins. And no powers—I'll know if you cheat."
Brick stripped off his shirt, revealing a torso like carved granite, veins of earth pulsing faintly under his skin. He cracked his neck, the sound echoing. Michael removed his hoodie, leaving him in a tank top that hugged his defined muscles—abs etched from aura-enhanced workouts, shoulders broad and powerful. Whispers rippled: "Look at those arms." "He's ripped."
They squared off on the mats. The air thickened with anticipation.
Brick lunged first, a bulldozer charge fueled by raw mass. His fist swung like a wrecking ball, the air whistling. Michael sidestepped smoothly, no aura needed yet—his training from Nigeria kicking in. He countered with a jab to Brick's ribs, the impact solid but restrained. Brick grunted, swinging back wildly.
The fight intensified. Brick's punches turned the mat to stone where they missed, cracks forming. Michael dodged, weaved, his footwork a dance—left hook glancing off Brick's jaw, right uppercut to the gut. Brick roared, grabbing Michael's arm in a vise grip, trying to crush it. Pain flared, but Michael twisted free, sweeping Brick's legs.
They grappled on the ground, Brick's weight pinning Michael briefly. The crowd gasped. But Michael bridged, flipping them over with explosive core strength. His fists rained down—not full force, but enough to bruise. Brick's nose cracked, blood splattering in a gory arc, red against the blue mats.
"Yield!" Principal Chen shouted.
Brick tapped out, gasping. "Enough... you win."
The gym exploded in cheers. Alvin rushed in, flames extinguished, pulling Michael into a back-slapping hug. "That's my cuz! Aura King reigns!"
Michael wiped sweat from his brow, aura subtly healing the minor bruises. Girls in the crowd eyed him appreciatively, one whispering to her friend about his "sexy scars." But his thoughts were on control—he'd held back, but the power begged to be unleashed.
Principal Chen approached, her expression a mix of sternness and approval. "Impressive restraint, Amadike. But that's two detentions this month for property damage—the mat's ruined. Report to my office tomorrow."
As the crowd dispersed, two figures lingered by the doors: twins, watching with keen interest.
The girl stepped forward first, her presence cutting through the lingering adrenaline. Emily Thompson was striking—warm brown skin, tight curls gathered in a high puff that added inches to her height, and violet-tinged eyes that seemed to pierce thoughts. She wore a Neelin hoodie over jeans, a notebook tucked under her arm. Her brother, Devin, hung back slightly, broader-shouldered with a white streak in his dark hair, his shy demeanor contrasting her confidence. Both were fifteen, born June 15, 2008, and already legends in their own right for a rift incident the previous year.
"That was badass," Emily said, extending a hand to Michael. "I'm Emily. This is Devin. We saw the whole thing—your form's impeccable. No wasted movement."
Michael shook her hand, feeling a faint psychic brush against his mind—polite, not invasive. "Thanks. Michael. This is Alvin."
Devin nodded, his voice soft. "You're the one they call Aura King. I transform—white tiger form. Claws, speed, the works. Took down a wyrm in Toronto last summer."
Alvin's eyes lit up. "No way! I saw the video—epic shredding. Blue flames here. Inferno."
Emily smiled, a spark of interest in her gaze as she looked at Michael. "We're forming a study group. Powers theory, rift strategies, combat sims. You two seem like you'd fit. Tomorrow after school? Library back room."
Alvin glanced at Michael, who nodded. "We're in."
The group coalesced over the next weeks, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. They met in the library's dimly lit annex, surrounded by shelves of dusty volumes on superhuman ethics and portal quantum mechanics. The air smelled of old paper and the faint chill seeping through the windows.
Vera Singh joined on Emily's invite—born November 30, 2008, with cryokinesis that could freeze a room solid. Her alias, Ice Queen, fit her sharp features and cooler demeanor: long dark hair, piercing green eyes, and a wit that cut like frostbite. Devin crushed on her immediately, stumbling over words when she demonstrated by encasing a pencil in ice. "That's... cool," he managed, blushing.
Kate Miller and her twin Paul rounded out the core. Born April 22, 2008, Kate was bubbly chaos personified—blonde ponytail bouncing as she duplicated herself into multiples, each chattering at once. Paul was her mirror: quieter, using his duplication to merge into a single enhanced form for strategy sessions. Kate gravitated to Alvin almost instantly, their energies matching like fire and wind.
Sessions blended learning and laughter. Emily projected psychic holograms of rift beasts, dissecting weak points. Michael shared aura techniques, enveloping the group in a protective field that boosted their focus. Vera froze targets for practice; Devin sparred in tiger form, claws retracted. One evening, as snow flurried outside, Kate pulled Alvin aside during a break. "Your flames—they're hypnotic," she said, her duplicates forming a privacy circle. Alvin smiled, leaning in. Their kiss was spontaneous, warm—his heat melting the chill from her lips, a soft glow enveloping them. The duplicates giggled before merging back, flustered.
Michael and Emily's bond deepened more gradually. They lingered after meetings, walking the snowy paths home. Emily's telepathy allowed quiet conversations: Your aura feels like a shield, she'd think. Safe. Michael's response was a mental pulse: Yours is like clarity. No noise. One crisp night in the art room, surrounded by easels and the scent of acrylics, Emily used telekinesis to float brushes, painting his aura in swirling reds. "It's alive," she murmured. He pulled her close, their kiss lingering—soft at first, then deeper, hands exploring with tentative curiosity. Her fingers traced his scars, his aura responding with a gentle hum that made her shiver.
But alliances attracted shadows. Brick, humiliated, rallied reinforcements: Rick "Ironclad" Navarro, whose skin turned to unyielding metal; Gerald "Minotaur" Hayes, transforming into a bull-headed brute; and Lila "Whisper" Kim, manipulating sound into razor-sharp waves.
The ambush came after a late basketball practice, November 15th. The parking lot was a blanket of fresh snow, streetlights casting long shadows. Michael's aura sensed the spike—accelerated heartbeats, metallic clinks. "Ambush," he warned, voice low.
They emerged from the darkness. Rick charged first, iron fists pounding the ground like hammers. Devin met him, shifting to white tiger form mid-leap—fur rippling white, claws extended. They collided in a clash of metal and muscle, sparks flying as claws scored grooves in armor.
Vera spun, freezing the asphalt into a slick rink. Gerald, horns curling as he transformed, slipped and skidded, bellowing. Kate duplicated, five versions swarming Lila—dodging sonic blades that sliced the air with high-pitched whines. Paul merged his copies into a towering form, grappling Rick alongside Devin.
Alvin and Michael stood back-to-back. Blue flames roared as Alvin deflected Lila's attacks, the sound waves vaporizing in heat. Michael cloaked fully, crimson aura turning him into a spectral blur. He phased through a sonic blast, reappearing behind Lila— a precise strike to her pressure point dropping her without harm.
The battle was brutal but brief. Gerald's charge ended in an ice wall, shattering his momentum in a gory spray of blood from a split lip. Rick's armor dented under tiger claws and merged-Paul's fists. Brick, lurking, threw a stone projectile— but Michael's aura-boosted punch shattered it mid-air, then felled Brick with a restrained uppercut.
Principal Chen arrived with security, telekinetically binding the attackers. "Detention for all involved," she sighed. "But... Valkyrie Academy scouts are watching. Exams in December. Impress them."
Thanksgiving break offered respite. Assurance opened a portal home to Nigeria—stepping from snow to humid Lagos air. The visit was joyous: reunions with Ekene, Uche, Faith, and the others. A minor rift interrupted—shadow wolves emerging from a lagoon tear. Michael led, aura cloaking him in resilient red; fists crushed skulls in visceral bursts of ichor. Alvin's flames lit the night. Post-battle, Favour pulled Michael aside, their kiss urgent under palm trees—her heightened senses drinking in his scent, hands wandering with familiar affection.
Back in Canada, December approached. Valkyrie Super Academy loomed—a dream of cliffs, wards, and elite training. Whispers of Homelander's involvement stirred unease, but the group trained relentlessly.
In the north's embrace, bonds solidified. Powers grew. And the rifts, ever watchful, hinted at greater trials ahead.