In a high school far from Vexen, students stood in lines, hands behind their backs. The room smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant. Burn marks stained the walls—old, layered, painted over again and again.
The teacher stood at the front, clipboard in hand.
"Everyone here has a power," he said, voice calm, practiced. "You've had it since birth. Whether you like it or not, it will be part of your adult life, will follow you till death."
He paced slowly. "Raw energy types. Enhancement types. Manipulation types, mental types. You already know the classifications."
A few students nodded. Others stared ahead, tired.
"Raw energy users manipulate various forms of energy fire, lightning, and wind. Enhancement types reinforce biological systems. Muscle and bone regeneration, make them stronger. Manipulation types control external matter—water, ice, earth, metal, and as for mental it is related to reading minds or manipulating minds, or taking a glimpse into the future"
He stopped walking.
"All of them hurt you eventually."
Silence.
"Some of you will tell yourselves you'll be careful that you'll only use your power when you need to. That's a lie. Society doesn't function without you using it."
A student shifted uncomfortably.
"You will be tested for jobs. You will be evaluated in interviews. You will be judged. And if you don't meet the standards, you will be thrown away."
He turned toward the mats.
"Now about override."
The word carried weight. Everyone straightened slightly.
"Override is not a separate ability," he said. "It's a function of mastery. If two people possess the same power type, they can interfere with each other's control of something."
He gestured to two students. "Step forward."
Both raised their hands. Small flames flickered to life.
"When one of you initiates an attack," the teacher said, "the other can enter the same output frequency. Not overpower it—overlap it. If done correctly, the attack collapses."
As the sun dipped below the skyline, the world did not sleep—it settled into a restless quiet. Overcrowded apartment towers in Vexen flickered with lights threatening to fail, their glow punctuated by the distant wail of sirens. Hospitals operated at maximum capacity, yet their halls remained eerily calm—no screams, no chaos, just rows of exhausted patients, bodies worn down by years of strain. Many lay beneath enhancement-powered treatments—living proof that even reinforced bodies could break. Some damage was healable, but the scars from the drawbacks lingered, unending.
Beyond Vexen, across vast oceans and borders, this pattern repeated in countless forms.
In parts of Asia, cities stretched upward, steel stacking upon steel in a desperate scramble for space amidst relentless rebuilding. Entire neighborhoods worked tirelessly through the night, raising new structures after conflicts with other countries had razed the old ones. By dawn, candles flickered for the fallen. By night, the cycle restarted.
Along the coastlines, water manipulators pushed themselves until their lungs burned and their vision blurred, fighting back every enemy in sight. They were hailed as heroes—until exhaustion overtook them, and someone else stepped in.
This was the world now. Useful—until you weren't.
On a quiet rooftop in Vexen, four figures stood silhouetted against the city's ever-glowing horizon.
Mira leaned against the cold concrete ledge, arms resting lightly. Below, patrol cars streaked through the streets like veins of red and blue, their sirens humming in the distance. She watched silently.
Owen cracked his neck, breaking the quiet. "That's three Phoenix bases hit today."
"Two confirmed," Alec corrected calmly. "The third's still a rumor."
Irene shot a sideways glance at Mira, crossing her arms. "Chasing Phoenix isn't the same anymore—it's becoming hella common."
Mira's eyes flicked away slightly.
Irene sighed. "I mean it— and what we're doing is illegal, all those police officers are on our trail more than us. Phoenix isn't worth prison. We might find out the hard way, if the police ever catch us doing any of this we'll be fried."
Owen shifted uneasily. "And Mira…?"
She turned her head slowly, eyes sharp. "What is it?"
"I feel like you're always pushing for more power, more training. You don't need to do that."
Alec glanced at Owen then looked at Mira
Alec hesitated, then spoke carefully. "You're from a Great bloodline. Sylvia said so remem—"
"She didn't know," Mira cut him off. "She thought she knew. She was unsure."
The air thickened.
Owen frowned. "She named the lightning color—and the names of your parents. Great families are stronger. So if you carry that blood… why push so hard?"
Mira's jaw clenched.
"I don't remember much about my parents," she said quietly. "But I do remember this—"
She turned fully toward them.
"They didn't rely on some bloodline, they never did."
Silence.
"They trained," Mira continued. "Every day. They studied their limits—what to do, what not to do."
Her voice steadied, but beneath it, something sharper lurked.
"Being born strong doesn't mean a damn thing," she said. "Training's what keeps you alive. That's why I push you."
Owen scratched the back of his neck. "Well… now I feel like a jerk."
"Don't," Mira said. "I'm not forcing anyone. If you don't want to chase Phoenix, you don't have to."
Alec studied her, then spoke carefully. "Mira… if you really want answers—about your parents—maybe it's time we visit Sylvia, or Jessica."
Mira hesitated. Lightning flickered faintly along her fingers before vanishing.
"…Maybe," she finally said.
Below them, the world moved on.
At first glance, the street looked ordinary—traffic crawling along familiar routes, vendors packing up for the night, workers reinforcing their limbs to haul crates into trucks until power flickered and exhaustion overtook them. Life, strained but familiar.
Mira rested her arms on the ledge, eyes unfocused.
Then she noticed a sign.
It was small—just a piece of frayed cardboard, marker bleeding through the back. A man stood nearby, shoulders squared as if at peace with whatever was to come.
"THESE POWERS ARE A CURSE," the sign declared.
No shouting. No crowd. No movement—just stillness.
People passed by him as if he weren't there, yet Mira knew they saw him. Their eyes flicked away too quickly; conversations cut short as they drew near. One woman hesitated, pulling her child closer and crossing the street.
Owen leaned forward. "That's… bold."
"Stupid," Irene muttered. "That's Illegal."
Alec kept his gaze fixed on the man.
The sign trembled slightly in his hands. His posture was rigid, as if he'd been standing there a long time.
Mira watched him.
Two figures approached from opposite sides, neither rushing nor angry. Their dark, clean uniforms halted a few feet away.
One glanced at the sign.
The other spoke—quietly.
The man shook his head once.
"I'm not hurting anyone," he said loud enough for Mira to hear. "Just telling the truth."
Suddenly, a hand rose.
The man's breath left him. He crumpled to his knees, gasping. The sign slipped from his grip, landing softly on the pavement.
Owen stared. "That's what happens when you break the rules."
"Yep," Irene said. "Why is America the only country doing this?"
The men guided him away without a fuss—no sirens, no crowd. No one intervened.
As if he'd never been there.
Mira's fingers clenched into the concrete.
Alec finally broke the silence. "Are things ever going to change?"
"No," Mira replied quietly.
Owen swallowed hard. "Sometimes I forget disrespecting these "gifts" is against the law."
"Only out loud," Mira said softly.
The city kept moving.
Somewhere below, the truth had been prevented from being said out loud.
"Let's visit Sylvia," Mira said softly, her voice tinged with thought. "I've been thinking about her for a while, I guess."
They all nod in agreement.
They arrived at the most active part of Vexen, then advanced towards Sylvia's house. They then saw ice first.
It crawled across the street in jagged veins, swallowing pavement, climbing walls, freezing railings mid-drip. The temperature dropped so fast that Mira's breath fogged instantly.
Then they saw Joel.
Pinned near the center of the street, water locked half-formed around his arms as frost climbed up his shoulders. Hiro darted in and out of the battlefield, striking fractures in the ice with brutal precision. Varin stood behind Crystal, visibly strained, one hand lifted as he fed controlled pulses of energy into her.
Crystal herself was shaking.
The air around her wouldn't settle.
"Joel—!" Owen shouted before he could stop himself.
"Irene—Crystal—!" Mira yelled, already moving.
The moment they stepped forward—
The air left their lungs slowly.
Mira staggered, chest tightening as if something invisible had wrapped around her ribs and slowly begun to squeeze. Owen dropped to one knee, coughing, fire sputtering uselessly in his palms. Alec's focus shattered as pressure crushed inward, his vision dimming.
A calm voice carried through the frozen street.
"Don't move."
She stepped out of the drifting frost.
A woman.
Black hair pulled back tight, a smooth mask covering the lower half of her face. Her presence was quiet but absolute, the wind bending subtly around her as if listening.
She raised one hand slightly.
The air sharpened.
Mira felt it brush her skin—thin, precise, cutting. A shallow slice opened across her sleeve, then her arm, blood beading before she even felt the pain.
"She can control air," Alec rasped. "Be careful…"
The woman's eyes flicked toward Crystal, Joel, and Hiro. "You don't belong here."
Crystal's head snapped up.
"Shut up!" Crystal shouted, thrusting both hands forward.
Ice spikes were thrown winning at the woman, fast and lethal.
The woman moved very swiftly, as if it were easy, effortless.
The wind shifted, nudging her aside as the spikes tore past, shattering harmlessly against a wall.
She tilted her head. "Impressive reaction time."
The ice vigilante stepped beside her, pale blue eyes glowing. Ice surged again, reinforcing the frozen ground, spiking outward in controlled waves.
"Crystal!" Joel shouted. "Now!"
Mira forced lightning into her limbs, jolting her system hard enough to steal back a breath. She surged forward, electricity crackling, while Owen reignited his flames in a wide arc to disrupt airflow.
The woman smiled faintly behind her mask.
The wind reaches Mira and Owen.
Blades of compressed air tore through flames, slicing the ground, forcing Mira to skid back. Owen threw up his arms just in time, heat distorting the air enough to soften the blow—but the force still sent him crashing into a frozen car.
Alec hurled debris, metal screaming as it twisted through the air
and then stopped.
Mid-flight.
The woman closed her fist.
"Air touches everything," she said calmly. "And it tells me where you are, and what is coming before it comes."
Crystal gritted her teeth.
She froze the moisture inside it.
The wind faltered.
Just enough.
Irene surged forward, fire threading through the sudden instability, while Mira followed—lightning condensed, focused, violent. The man stepped in front of the woman, ice walls rising to intercept, but they cracked under the combined assault.
For the first time, the woman staggered back.
She raised her hand.
Then lowered it.
"Enough," she said.
The wind died instantly.
Everyone froze.
She straightened, posture relaxed, eyes steady. "Your strength rivals that of legends," she admitted. "Mighty is the strength you each carry."
The man next to her turned sharply. "Hiru, we can still—"
"I yield, it is my loss," she said quietly.
Silence fell over the ruined street.
She looked directly at Joel. Then at Hiro and Crystal.
"But understand this," the woman continued, voice calm, even gentle. "Should you cross this threshold again, and continue to disrupt the peace"
The air screamed.
A massive storm erupted around them, wind spiraling upward in a violent column, ice lifting with it. Mira shielded her face as debris tore free from the street, the pressure nearly knocking her off her feet.
Within the storm, the woman's voice carried clearly.
"The three of you will fall before me."
Then—
Nothing. The wind collapsed inward. The storm vanished.
The woman and the ice user helping her were gone.
Only silence remained.
Joel sank to one knee, breathing hard. Hiro steadied Varin before he collapsed completely. Crystal stood frozen, fists clenched, heart racing.
Owen finally exhaled. "…those people are so annoying."
Joel wiped frost from his face, expression grim. "I know right? They're not even actually serving justice."
Mira looked at the destruction around them.
"Do you always have to deal with this?" Alec asked.
Joel met their eyes. "Yeah.. we have some areas that are limited to us only due to it, we built a reputation for ourselves, not a good one "
Crystal stared at them. "So.. we didn't expect to see you guys here, thought you were after Phoenix, what brings you all here?"
Mira glanced at her.
"We still are, we're here to talk to Sylvia just as you guys I'm assuming," she said
Mira's eyes drifted to Crystal's group again—Crystal's tight posture, Varin's shallow breathing, Hiro's arms folded. They didn't look surprised to see Mira.
Mira exhaled slowly.
Joel glanced at her, then nodded. "Yeah, till they attacked us., again"
Owen shifted. "Honestly; I would have no problem with them if they were actually going after bad people."
Mira let out a sigh
"That's enough catching our breath, let's move."
She turned her attention back to Joel. "Yeah let's start walking "
Crystal lifted her head slightly. "And if you're wondering why we're here it's because we need something ."
"Resources," Hiro added. "Varin needs to rebuild a lab from scratch and we at least need money for an entire lab."
Varin swallowed, then spoke quietly. "We won't get much done without a place specifically made for experiments."
The walk to Sylvia's house was quieter than it should've been.
Mira felt it in the way the city seemed to lean inward as they moved—lights dimming just enough, conversations cutting off mid-sentence when they passed. The streets here were too clean. Too maintained. The kind of place where conflict didn't linger because someone always made it disappear, if they saw it, they wasted no time putting an end to it.
She walked near the front, eyes forward, lightning humming faintly under her skin—not active, just awake.
Joel kept close. Crystal lagged half a step behind Joel, her shoulders still tight from the fight. Varin's breathing hadn't fully steadied yet. Hiro walked like he always did—hands loose, posture relaxed—but Mira noticed how his eyes never stopped moving.
What's even the point of this, Mira thought as they made it closer to the house.
Owen leaned closer to her. "So," he muttered, "How are you feeling?"
"Honestly," Mira replied quietly. "I don't know what I want anymore."
Irene glanced at Mira. "What do you mean?" She said with confusion in her voice
Mira didn't answer.
The house appeared at the edge of the block like a relic pulled from another age—gray stone, elegant and solid, untouched by the frantic chaos that swallowed many parts of Vexen—a lush garden wrapped around it, flowers everywhere.
Joel slowed first.
"This is it," he said.
No one spoke as they walked up the gravel path. The crunch under their boots sounded too loud in the still air. Mira felt the wards before she saw them—soft pressure against her senses, layered and deliberate. Not defensive. Observant.
Hiro raised his glance at the door, hesitated for half a second, then knocked.
Footsteps answered almost immediately.
The door opened.
Warm light spilled out, carrying the scent of lavender and spiced tea. Sylvia stood there, silver hair catching the glow, light purple eyes sharp and amused even as they swept over the group.
She smiled.
"Well," she said lightly, "you're all alive. That's nice, did things go well?"
Hiro exhaled, tension finally slipping from his shoulders. "Good to see you too, Sylvia."
Her gaze flicked to Joel next. "You look worse than the last time I saw you."
She let out a laugh:
"You're so funny," Joel replied dryly.
Then her eyes landed on Mira.
They lingered.
Something unreadable passed over Sylvia's expression—not surprise, not recognition. Interest.
"Mira," Sylvia said, stepping aside and opening the door wider, "I missed you darling!"
Mira met her gaze evenly.
"Hii," she said with a smile.
Sylvia's smile widened just a fraction. "Come inside. All of you."
They stepped across the threshold together.
Mira felt the pressure on her chest—just slightly.
They stepped fully inside.
The door closed softly behind them, sealing off the city noise as if it had never existed. Warmth wrapped around Mira immediately—not just heat, but something heavier. Safe. Too safe. The kind of place where the world couldn't touch you unless invited.
Sylvia gestured toward the living room. "Make yourselves comfortable," she said lightly. "I'll make you all some tea."
Mira barely registered the words.
Her chest still felt tight, and she was sweating a lot.
Sylvia noticed.
She always noticed details, no matter how small how little.
"Mira," Sylvia said gently, already turning down a side hallway. "Come with me."
Mira hesitated only a second before nodding. She followed, footsteps quiet against polished floors. The hallway grew narrower, softer—family photos lining the walls, old ones, newer ones, all carefully framed. People smiling. People who had lived long enough to grow old.
The door at the end opened into a small sitting room. Bookshelves. A low table. A window overlooking the garden.
Sylvia closed the door behind them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Mira stared at the floor, fists clenched at her sides, her heart racing.
"…Were you able to confirm if those were my parents, that's kinda why I'm here," Mira said finally. Her voice was steadier than she felt.
Sylvia didn't react.
"Yes," she said quietly. "The day you left I called their close friend and confirmed it."
Mira swallowed. "Wait who?"
Sylvia's expression softened.
"I believe she went by the name Jessica," she said.
Mira laughed once, sharp and breathless. "I know her!"
Silence stretched between them.
Mira forced herself to look up. "Special bloodline huh," she said. "Honestly, I don't know what I want to do anymore, I'm confused."
"And that's okay darling."
"Also I forgot memories of my parents" Her voice cracked despite her effort. "No matter how hard I try to search for memories of them I can't"
Sylvia closed her eyes briefly.
"They died and were not in your life long enough," she said. "So okay dear it's okay."
Mira's heart slammed against her ribs.
"It's not that I'm forgetting them, my memories of them just aren't vivid," Mira whispered.
Sylvia opened her eyes widely. "Repressed memories?"
Mira felt dizzy. She leaned back against the table, breath unsteady.
"That's why I don't know
If I should go after Phoenix or not," she said slowly. "I don't know if my parents would want me to avenge them or not."
Sylvia watched her carefully. "Is that why you've been hunting them?"
Mira nodded. "It was just… anger. They hurt people. They took my childhood." Her voice dropped. "I wanted to avenge my parents ."
She clenched her jaw. "But I'm not
Sure if me doing that ever meant something."
Sylvia stepped closer. "Mira—"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Mira said suddenly. "Even if Phoenix dies my parents will still be dad and my happy ending won't even be ensured." Her voice trembled. "But I don't know what they would want me to do."
"I don't even know why I'm fighting, for something that won't benefit me much."
Sylvia reached out, resting a hand on Mira's shoulder.
"Honey you're allowed to be lost," she said softly. "And knowing them.. they would've wanted you to live a happy life with or without them, they were bright people."
That did it.
Mira's composure shattered.
She covered her face as a sob tore out of her chest—quiet, raw, uncontrollable. Tears spilled through her fingers, hot and humiliating and impossible to stop.
"I just wanted to understand them," she cried. "I just wanted to know who they were, so I could know what they would expect of me."
Sylvia pulled her into an embrace without hesitation, holding her firmly, grounding her.
"You will," she murmured. "But not tonight."
Mira stayed there for a long moment, shaking, until the storm inside her finally dulled into something survivable.
When she pulled back, she wiped her face quickly, ashamed.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
Sylvia shook her head. "Don't be."
They left the room together a few minutes later.
The living room fell quiet the moment Mira stepped back into it.
Everyone saw her tears.
Owen froze mid-sentence. Irene's eyes softened instantly. Alec straightened. Crystal's expression tightened with concern. Joel said nothing, but made a concerned expression.
Mira didn't meet their eyes. She wiped her face again, breathing unsteadily.
Sylvia cleared her throat.
"Now," she said, shifting the mood with practiced grace, "you didn't all come here just for emotional revelations."
Joel nodded. "We kinda need help."
Crystal spoke next. "What do you mean kinda? We do. We need Resources. Equipment."
Hiro added calmly, "A place where Varin can be at peace."
Varin dipped his head slightly. "We won't beg."
Sylvia studied them all for a long moment.
Then she smiled—sharp, knowing.
"I can help," she said. "And I'm assuming it's for research?"
Mira looked up then.
Her eyes were red. Her expression was raw.
Sylvia met her gaze and smiled.
"Let's begin."
And somewhere, far beyond Vexen, a country surrounded by walls—
The school bells rang.
It echoed through stone corridors and open courtyards, a deep metallic sound that carried history in it. Not hurried. Not sharp. Just final. The end of another day.
Students filtered out through iron gates into a calm afternoon. No patrol drones. No armed watchers. Just people leaving school.
Two girls walked side by side, uniforms loosened, bags slung low, their steps unbothered.
One of them let out a long sigh. "That class was painfully boring."
The other scoffed. "You say that about every class, and this peace won't last forever, enjoy it while you can."
"I know, but I mean it this time," the first replied, dragging her feet a little. "Yapping about the history of this country for three hours? Listening to that was NOT fun."
"At least it wasn't about combat and override," the second said.
"Oh god, don't remind me."
They reached the edge of the street, pausing as a tram rolled past. No one glanced at them twice. No scanners activated. No authority presence lingered.
The first girl smirked. "Kinda funny, though."
"Funny how?"
"We had to rob people in America to reach this. Stolen money in a dozen districts." She shrugged. "And now we're stuck sitting through boring lectures."
The second laughed quietly. "Not only did we just rob a bunch of people."
"We did it and escaped, we're finally free," the first added.
Their amusement faded just slightly.
"We barely made it past the walls around this small country," the second said more seriously. "And in America, we're marked criminals there, going back isn't an option."
"Yeah," the first muttered. "We did get in here though, this place is full of peace and nice people."
A beat of silence passed.
"I'm glad we made it," the second said at last.
The first nodded. "Me too."
They continued down the street, blending into the crowd as they belonged.
"Erisol is different," the first said. "No one's forcing us to use our powers every day. No mandatory service."
"Not like America," the second replied. "There, if you have power, you owe it."
"Here," the first said quietly, "it's just… part of you. Or not. No one cares."
She glanced sideways. "It really does depend on the country."
The second smiled faintly. "Yeah."
"Hey," the second said, stopping. "Try not to fall asleep in class tomorrow."
The first laughed. "No promises, Tenten."
Tenten smirked. "Figures."
She smiled. "Let's go home, Koda."
Behind them, the school stood quiet.
Far away, in some parts of the world, powers caused nothing but chaos, and government was strict. But the world kept spinning.
The sun began to set, and it began to get dark outside.
I still smell the alley before I see it.
Burnt oil. Melted plastic. Something coppery underneath it all—the faint metallic scent lingering in the air. The kind of smell that crawls into your lungs and refuses to leave, embedding itself deep within. When I breathe too deeply, even now, my chest tightens as it did back then.
I was small. Small enough that the walls felt impossibly tall, the night too expansive and oppressive.
This all happened on November 6th 2023
My parents stood in front of me.
That detail is burned into me more vividly than the flames.
My mother, Miranda, didn't look back when the first wave of heat tore through the alley. Her shoulders squared, her jaw set firm, as if steeling herself against an inevitable storm. Lightning seemed to ripple along her arms, dark veins of energy twisting just beneath her skin, almost like veins of storm clouds. My father stepped slightly to the side, just enough to shield us—his stance steady, grounded. His presence altered the flames around us, bending heat and fire as if he commanded the very air. He didn't need to touch me; I just felt protected near him.
Phoenix filled the alley like a living, hostile creature—an aggressive, malevolent force.
Their fire wasn't natural. It didn't spread randomly—it hunted. Flames clung to the cracked, soot-stained walls, leaped between shadows, and shimmered with an unnatural brightness that seemed almost malignant. Their firepower was unnaturally strong, as if they were being boosted.
I just thought something was wrong.
"Stay behind us," my mother commanded, her voice unwavering.
Her tone carried weight, no tremor or doubt.
White Lightning cracked like a whip, sharp and deafening. White arcs tore through the alley, punching holes through heat and shadow with savage precision. My father continuously threw lightning at them. My mom and dad fought like seasoned warriors with routines, rules, and understanding.
Phoenix did not follow the rules.
A surge of fire slammed into my mother from an unseen angle—a flood rather than a blast, engulfing her before she could react or turn away.
I remember screaming, raw and uncontrollable.
I remember my throat began burning because I started breathing in the fire, and I kept coughing.
She disappeared inside the flames—no outline, no movement, just an overwhelming wall of blinding light so intense it hurt to look. When the blaze faded, she was gone.
My father froze for just a second—a heartbeat stolen in the chaos.
That second cost him everything.
He turned toward me. His face, a mixture of grief and resolve, split into a small, sad smile.
I don't understand why that hurts more than the fire.
Then the flames took him too.
There was nothing left but scattered ash on the wet concrete, smoke curling upward like the alley was exhaling its final breath.
I stood there.
I don't know how long.
The world felt hollowed out, as if something vital had been ripped from my chest. I tried to breathe and couldn't. I tried to cry and nothing emerged. My hands trembled so uncontrollably that I thought they might shatter.
Then something inside me ignited.
Pressure built behind my eyes, in my skull, in my heart—too much, too fast. I raised my hand instinctively, without understanding, and released what I didn't control.
Red lightning cracked and hissed through the alley.
It was the weakest, red lightning.
But it startled them.
I saw their heads turn. Their fire wavered.
That was all I needed.
I ran.
My feet slipped on the wet pavement. My lungs screamed for air. I didn't look back; I couldn't. The red lightning sputtered out behind me, leaving my arm numb and trembling.
I don't remember where I collapsed.
I don't remember who found me.
I just remember waking up somewhere quiet.
Life after that didn't come in pieces. It came in gaps.
People asked questions I couldn't answer. Names blurred. Faces slipped away if I tried to focus too hard. Every attempt made my head throb, my vision tunnel, and my stomach twist.
So I stopped pushing.
Jessica didn't.
Not like the others.
She never asked what happened in the alley. Never questioned how I was able to summon lightning at my age or why I flinched at fire. She simply gave me food, a bed, and a room with a lockable door.
"You don't owe me anything," she told me the first night. "Just breathe."
I slowly learned how to exist again—gradually, painfully.
I discovered that my power reacted unpredictably to emotion, whether I wanted it to or not. That pushing too hard made my heart race and my hands shake. That restraint was more important than output. Jessica noticed when I overused it before I did. She forced me to rest when I desperately wanted to keep going.
She taught me discipline without calling it training.
My memory of my parents' faces remained hazy. Whenever I tried to recall them, something blocked the image—like my mind had built a wall I didn't try to break. I hated that wall. I still do.
So instead of remembering, I prepared and moved forward.
I trained control. Precision. Efficiency. How to cut power before it cuts me. I knew how the world worked, fighting is what keeps, me alive.
It was all ever known, ever thought about.
Alec arrived later.
He didn't ask many questions about me.
That's why I noticed him.
When he heard my past, he didn't flinch or judge. He simply listened.
That mattered more than he'll ever understand.
Owen came loud, reckless, and unafraid of the consequences. Irene escaped her controlling family, fleeing into independence.
Between training sessions and late-night talks, we formed a bond.
But then Phoenix resurfaced—violent, relentless, more destructive than ever. Their crimes in Vexen increased.
Every time I saw their fire, my chest tightened. My hands trembled. My body remembered things my mind refused to acknowledge.
That's why I chased them and pushed my friends to come with me.
Not out of revenge.
Because running felt worse.
And now… I don't know.
I don't know if killing Phoenix will give me answers or just extinguish what's left of me. I don't know if my parents wanted vengeance or distance from the thing that killed them.
But I'm done letting my emotions control me.
The living room was warm in a way that made it harder to breathe.
Tea steamed gently on the low table, untouched. The lamps cast soft yellow light across old furniture and polished wood, the kind of place that felt too safe for the things sitting in Mira's chest.
Everyone had settled in—but no one was comfortable.
Mira stood near the window, back to the room, watching the garden sway faintly outside. The wards hummed low, subtle, like a heartbeat beneath the walls.
She didn't turn around right away.
"I need to say something," she said.
The conversation stopped instantly.
Owen froze mid-sip. Irene straightened. Alec lifted his head. Even Joel's group went quiet, sensing the weight in her voice.
Mira exhaled slowly and turned to face them.
"I'm not going to chase Phoenix the way I used to anymore."
The words landed hard.
Crystal stared in confusion. "What?"
Owen blinked. "What do you mean Mira—"
"I'm not saying I won't fight them," Mira cut in quickly. "I'm saying I won't live for them, I'm done being fixated on them."
She stepped forward, stopping near the table. Her hands were shaking from the effort of staying steady.
"For a long time, everything I did was because of them," she said. "Every fight. Every night I couldn't sleep. Every time I pushed myself until my body screamed."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Alec, then back to the group.
"I told myself it was justice," she continued. "That they deserve it."
She swallowed.
"But really, I was just angry, doing it for my own selfish goals"
No one interrupted her.
"I don't care about revenge anymore," Mira said quietly. "It doesn't fix anything. It doesn't bring my parents back. It doesn't even make the pain quieter—it just makes me seem desperate."
Owen lowered his cup slowly. "So… what now?"
Mira met his eyes.
"Now I fight so others don't end up like me," she said. "Not because I have a personal grudge. Not because I want someone to suffer."
Her voice hardened just enough to matter.
"I fight so kids don't watch their parents die and spend the rest of their lives fighting for ghosts."
The room felt smaller.
Alec stood. "And Phoenix?"
"If they hurt people," Mira said, "we stop them. That doesn't change."
Joel crossed his arms. "You're sure about this?"
Mira nodded once. "For the first time in a long time."
Irene studied her carefully. "And if this costs us?"
Mira didn't dodge the question. "Then at least it'll cost us for the right reason."
Silence lingered.
Then Owen exhaled sharply. "You know," he said, forcing a crooked smile, "you could've just said you grew up."
Mira huffed once despite herself.
Alec stepped closer, his voice low. "You're choosing your reason instead of letting the past choose it for you, that is considered growing up."
Mira looked down, then nodded.
Sylvia, who had been leaning quietly against the doorway, finally spoke.
"That," she said softly, "is what your parents would've wanted."
Mira's breath caught—but she didn't look away this time.
The room didn't feel lighter.
But it felt honest.
And for Mira, that was enough.
Owen folds his arms. "So… what do we do?"
"Well," Mira said. "We fight smarter. We intervene when it matters. We protect. We stop destruction before it starts."
Irene scoffed lightly. "That sounds dangerously close to hero talk."
"Maybe," Mira replied. "But it's my style now."
Alec studied her for a long moment.
"This isn't an emotional decision," he said slowly. "You're choosing restraint."
Mira nodded. "Because rage makes you sloppy. And sloppiness gets people killed."
Owen rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess that means I've been sloppy as hell."
Mira didn't argue.
Instead, she said, "If anyone doesn't want to keep doing this—like this—you don't owe me anything."
That did it.
Owen sat forward.
"No," he said quickly. "That's not—don't do that."
Mira blinked.
"I fight," Owen said, voice rougher now, "because if I don't, I feel useless. As I disappear, when I was running around doing evil shit, I wanted people to know who I am."
He laughed once, humorless. "Fire just burns out fast, right? Everyone knows that."
The room stayed quiet.
"I don't want to be another name people forget," he admitted. "But… I don't want to be a weapon either, that's what made me change my mind, honestly, I don't even remember how I ended up with you guys that well."
Mira listened. Really listened.
"I don't really have a reason to want revenge on anyone," Owen finished. "But I don't care about validation as much."
Irene clicked her tongue softly. "Interesting."
They turned to her.
"I fight because I hate being told what to do," she said bluntly. "Specifically from my family, that household was prison to me, the freedom is nice."
She leaned back on her hands. "BUT if we're choosing who we protect instead of who we hate…"
She paused.
"…I can live with that."
Alec finally spoke.
"Well.. I fight to survive, understand chaos," he said. "I want to understand the world."
He looked at Mira. "I fail to comprehend what's going on around me, make sense of the chaos."
Mira nodded.
"So maybe," Alec continued, "So overall.. I just wanna understand the world before it breaks me, us, or anyone else I know"
The room settled into something new—not agreement, but alignment.
Mira felt it.
"Then that's it," she said quietly. "From here on out—we don't let this world decide what we become."
A beat passed.
Owen grinned faintly. "So… still punching bad people?"
"Yes," Mira said. "Just not for the wrong reasons."
Irene smirked. "That's good I guess. But I'll miss pointless violence," she said in a humorous tone
Alec allowed himself a small smile.
Outside the window, the garden lights swayed gently.
For the first time in a long while, the future didn't feel like a straight line toward destruction.
It felt… undecided.
They hadn't known Crystal, Joel Sylvia, and the rest long. Two months wasn't enough time to build trust, yet they talked about themselves out loud. They'd met in December. Now it was November, and everything had spiraled faster than any of them had expected.
Joel was the first to acknowledge it.
"…This is probably weird," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We barely know each other."
Crystal nodded. "Yeah. Normally, I wouldn't say half of that out loud, but I find it cute!" she said with a smile on her face
Owen let out a quiet breath. "Same. I don't usually… talk. About motives."
Irene crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, restless. "But if we don't know, we never will."
No one argued.
Mira sat near the edge of the couch, hands folded tightly in her lap. She felt exposed—like she'd taken off armor before knowing if anyone else had.
"I'm not asking us to be a type of family or anything," she said carefully. "We're not there. I know that."
Alec glanced at her, then nodded. "But we've already risked our lives together before. That counts for something."
Joel exhaled slowly. "In my experience, it counts for just enough to get people killed if they don't talk."
That earned a weak, humorless smile from Crystal.
"I don't trust easily," Crystal admitted. "Two months isn't enough time to say I know any of you, but I do like you guys."
She hesitated, then added, "But I know this—I've watched how you fight. How do you hesitate? How do you stop when you could keep going?"
She looked at Mira. "That matters to me."
Mira's fingers tightened slightly.
Owen shifted his weight. "I still don't know how to be… normal around you guys," he said. "I spent years being someone I'm not proud of. When I say I want something better, I'm not even sure what that looks like yet."
"That's actually fine," Irene said quietly. "None of us do."
She looked at Mira, then Joel. "I left my family because they decided who I was before I could. I don't want that again. Not from anyone."
Alec spoke last, voice low and deliberate. "Honestly."
A brief pause.
"… I've seen enough to know I don't want this group built on silence."
Joel nodded once. "Then let's be clear."
He looked around the room.
"We're not promising loyalty without question. What we're doing is choosing honesty while we get to know each other."
Sylvia, watching from her chair, smiled faintly.
"That," she said, "is how trust actually starts."
Mira took a slow breath.
"I don't want revenge to be the reason I wake up and fight anymore," she said. "But I still want to fight. Just not for myself."
She looked at them—really looked.
"If any of you decide to walk away from Phoenix, or from all of this… I won't stop you."
The room stayed quiet.
Then Joel spoke. "I'm not exactly walking away, but focusing on the real problem, not the symptoms."
Crystal nodded. "But we can still help you guys, give us a call," Crystal said with a smile
Owen shrugged slightly. "I don't know where this ends or how. But I'm here—for now."
Irene gave a small, crooked smile. "Same."
Alec met Mira's eyes. "We'll figure it out as we go."
And for a group that had only known each other for two months, that was enough to keep moving forward.
The conversation inside Sylvia's house eventually thinned into silence.
Outside, the light had changed.
The sun hung low over Vexen, its glow no longer harsh but stretched thin and amber, spilling between buildings like it was running out of strength. Long shadows reached across the streets, bending around corners, clinging to the edges of sidewalks. The city looked calmer like this, almost gentle, even though everyone knew it wasn't.
From the window, the sky burned in layered colors—orange melting into red, red fading into bruised purple. Lights flickered on one by one below, apartments illuminating unevenly, some bright, some barely holding on.
A narrow street cut between two concrete blocks, dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp.
A man walked past without slowing, boots scuffing against cracked pavement.
On the wall beside him, half-torn and freshly replaced, was a poster.
WANTED
The paper was thick, official. Government seal stamped in black ink.
A face stared out from it.
Beneath it, bold lettering
CRIME: DISRESPECTING THE GOD
CHARGES: BLASPHEMY.
A reward amount was listed below. Large enough to make someone rich for generations.
The man glanced at it for half a second.
Then looked away.
He kept walking.
Someone else passed, pulling their hood lower as they crossed the street. A woman tugged her child closer, eyes flicking to the poster before walking forward again.
The poster fluttered slightly as a breeze passed through the alley, the corner peeling just enough to reveal older layers beneath—different faces, same crime.
The City became silent, and only the wind was heard. And the poster remained on the wall.