“This will protect you.”

Lorcán grimaced as the needle hit his skin. Despite having the majority of his left arm tattooed, he wasn’t prepared for the pain that came with the skin stitching currently being used to inscribe the protection rune onto the palm of his hand. It was to his own detriment that he chose to watch as the young woman carefully weaved the blood-soaked thread through his skin with each pull of the bone-whittled needle.

At first, Lorcán only saw his blood mingling with the application, but as the rune became more and more complete, a glow began to emanate from the palm of his hand until it became a brilliant light as the symbol was completed. Burning unlike anything that Lorcán had ever felt suddenly shot through his arms, his veins glowing beneath the skin and then just as suddenly as the incredulous pain began, it was gone.

The symbol on his hand scorched onto his skin, tar black in colour and the flesh completely healed. The woman smiled beneath her veil at Lorcán before she spoke again.

“This one is ready, bring the next one to me.”

Smoke flooded the sky as all days were drawn towards the screams from the top floor of the low rise apartment. The flame intensity had only increased, and all efforts to reduce them had been nearly wasted. The Vancouver Fire Rescue Services was doing the best they could now to contain the blaze, ensuring it didn’t spread further.

It wasn’t easy to get employed by the fire department. In fact, Aiden had needed to call in more than a few favors to get the documentation forged so Lorcán could present his qualifications. The whole family had needed to, even if they had been able to use H.E.L.P. as a referral, there was no telling the prejudice that Lorcán would have faced on the job as a known Hyperhuman.

Especially amidst an arson spree.

The timing was eerie, but along the same time Lorcán had begun working with the Vancouver Fire Rescue Services, the city seemingly had been laid siege to a series of suspicious fires. While British Columbia wasn’t immune to forest fires, and in fact was quite prone to them, October was hardly the time of year for such.

And forest fires were very different from building fires.

“HELP!”

The desperate scream brought Lorcán back to the present. An explosion shaking the building and surrounding sidewalk. He grit his teeth, looking between the squad while they steadied the hose. He couldn’t just stand here and idly let the people inside die.

Not again.

Lorcán suddenly pulled his mask over his face, securing his oxygen tanks before charging forward. Behind him came cries of protest, a hand tried to stop him, but Lorcán was among the fittest and fasted on the squad. His time spent surfing and the rigorous practical ability training under his father had made the young man into quite the athlete and he had more than aced the required physical examinations.

“ROOKIE!” The Captain yelled, “Stop! You’re going to get yourself killed!” But the Captain’s words fell on deaf ears. The smoke and debris around Lorcán only served as an encouragement to not allow history to repeat itself again. Laughter echoed in the flames as he pushed through the building, hastily climbing stairs that were thankfully built upon blocks lest they collapse beneath his weight. A horned silhouette was cast on the wall, the vision of what was described to him when the dust settled. Blue eyes filled with sudden fear before she was gone, dragged straight to a hell not meant for her.

Among the flames, Lorcán could see himself, his eyes and the adrenaline playing tricks on him as the doppelgänger ran alongside him. The flames responded to his movement, parting along his path, the heat subsiding around Lorcán as he bent it to his will.

But his own reflection watched him, taunting him to fail as ember hued eyes stared out through the inferno. Opting to ignore the voices, Lorcán took a breath, closing his eyes before continuing. By the time they opened again, the vision was gone and he was alone.

His insubordination would be reprimanded later. Lorcán realized he might even be risking his employment. Employment his family needed if they wanted to keep the roof over their head, employment he needed if he ever wanted to buy a ring worthy of Aurora.

But he couldn’t allow any more death.

“Roth!” The radio crackled to life, “Kenny! Are you there?”

“I’m here, Burdock,” Lorcán replied, he had opted to go by his middle name for work, the others primarily referring to him as ‘Roth’ while some called him ‘Ken’ or ‘Kenny’. To some extent, it felt like a fresh start, something he needed after all his friends left. Even Cass and Ripley had moved back to Crestwood Hollow on the other side of the country.

For the most part, Ken Roth lived and Lorcán had died with Pacific Royal.

“Chief is fuming, he’s going to kill you if you live.”

“I’ll live,” Lorcán replied, “I’ll expect Chief to take a strip off me, but I can’t just let them die.”

“You’re a fool and an idiot, but godspeed.”

The higher Lorcán climbed through the mid-rise, the more dense the smoke became. He wasn’t smoke proof and he knew that. Once his tank was empty, he was done. The screams for help became louder, the raspy voice of desperation echoing inside his mask as laughter filled the hallway again. Lorcán’s own gaze met the ember eyes of his failure, staring through the wall of fire, as his heart leapt into his throat.

This would not be a repeat of that night.

No one was losing anyone today.

Using his abilities to feel the heat from the flames, Lorcán pushed it back from the door before bursting in. Quickly moving to the mother and her children, Lorcán felt sweat beginning to form on his brow, a trickle of blood dripped from his nose onto his lip while he strain to push the heat and flames back from the room and hallway.

Guiding them through the building, he did everything he could to protect them before bursting forth onto the ground level, exiting the building just before a resounding crash echoed behind him as the upper floor began to cave in. Guiding the family towards the ambulance, Lorcán stumbled away in a haze, his ears deaf to the applause as his vision began to spin.

Never before had he strained his abilities like that.

“Whoa! Roth!” Burdock was suddenly beside Lorcán helping him to his feet. “Easy there, Swells, you’ve taken a lot of smoke, get some oxygen into you.” He insisted, handing a breathing mask to Lorcán.

“You’re a damned fool, but a brave soul.”

“Reckless.” Another voice spoke as Lorcán managed to look up, meeting the captain’s gaze.

“Damn reckless,” The captain repeated, “No sane man would have taken that risk. And admittedly lives would have been lost. There will be repercussions but,”

The captain paused.

“I’m proud of what you accomplished, but no more lone hero antics. This is a team, and team’s stick together.”

Lorcán nodded slowly, taking another deep breath before wiping the blood from his nose. A resentful thought echoed violently inside his head in response to the captain’s words.

“So how’d you do it, freak?”

The voice interrupted the rushing water that was falling on either side of Lorcán’s head, the smell of smoke seemingly wouldn’t wash off as he tried to find a moment of relaxation in the shower. Steam rising all around him, obscuring his vision so much that he didn’t see Miller enter the shared shower.

“How’d you survive in a fire where most people would have passed out by the second floor? You got to the fifth and back?” The angry man shouted, passing behind Lorcán who continued to ignore his tirade hoping he’d get bored and leave.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you, Kenny!” Miller roared, his hand shooting past Lorcán before turning the shower tap straight to cold. The sudden change in temperature caught Lorcán off guard and he didn’t react fast enough to stop the steam from rising off of his body as the frigid water splashed against his bare skin.

“I bet you started that damn fire to play hero,” Miller accused, poking Lorcán in the chest before shoving the younger man. “You come in here, lying about what you so obviously are, I bet you even came from that island of your kind. Even heard they shut you all down.”

A smug expression crossed the older man’s face.

“That’s right, I know all about it. The truth is out there if you know where to look.” It was only now that Lorcán noticed for the first time the red cross tattoo on the underside of Miller’s forearm.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t place where he had seen that mark before.

“Serves you lot right, you’re inhuman, genetic mistakes. What gives you the right to come in here and take a job from people who worked a whole lot harder to be where you are? Huh?!?”

Miller gave Lorcán another shove, the slick floor catching the younger man off balance as he tumbled backwards, managing to catch himself before his skull cracked against the hard floor. A boot met his ribs sending him onto his back, exposed and vulnerable.

“C’mon, freak, fight back. I know you want to. Show me what makes you so special.”

“There’s absolutely nothing special about me,” Lorcán groaned, fighting every instinct in his body. He wanted to fight back, he wanted to scare Miller, but he knew he couldn’t, if he did, they’d go for Aurora next and then his parents and it would just continue to ripple from there.

“This handy app on my phone says otherwise,” Miller retorted, holding up the device. The screen was one of the numerous apps that claimed to be able to detect Hyperhumans. It was of course false, cell phones didn’t contain that sort of technology. It was nothing more than a cheap way to cash in on paranoia.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing an inhibitor, freak?” Miller asked, before another kick caught Lorcán in the ribs.

“I’m not a fr-” His protest was cut short by a fist to his face, his eye almost immediately swelling shut. Lorcán had trained alongside the likes of Katja and he was still caught off guard with how hard a human could hit.

“Hey!” A shout came from outside the shower as Burdock ran in, pushing Miller off of Lorcán.

“What the hell?”

“He’s one of those Hypes!” Miller protested, “That’s how he survived, he’s taking our jobs!”

“You’re a moron, Miller, everyone knows those apps are fake.” Burdock snapped, “Get out of here,”

“The captain will hear about this!” Miller roared as Burdock nodded in reply.

“Yes, yes he will.” He stood his ground as Miller stormed off before tossing Lorcán a towel and helping the younger man to his feet.

“People are so paranoid these days, can’t do anything without being branded a damn Hyperhuman.” He stated, his eyes watching where Miller had left, “You could tell me though, if you were one.”

“Like I told Miller,” Lorcán replied through gritted teeth.

Holding a near melted ice pack over his eyes, Lorcán gingerly opened the door to the diner, the wafting aroma instantly making his stomach growl before he made his way to the front counter and took a seat on a nearby bar stool.

He winced as he bent his torso to sit, placing a hand to his bruised ribs before a mug slid his way, the fry cook calling a familial greeting towards his newest regular. Behind the counter, the staff moved about, the ever-busy diner keeping each of the wait staff on their toes as full tables alternated between waiting for food and enjoying the piping hot dishes placed in front of them.

There wasn’t anything particularly fancy on the menu, in fact it was surprising that the diner did as well as it did. Everything felt about fifty years in the past, an anachronism in the middle of the bustling city.

Maybe that was the appeal, a reminder of a slower time.

For Lorcán however, the draw was far nearer to his heart. She had a head of radiant red hair that spilled over his shoulders like a copper water fly while sapphire blue eyes illuminated the moment she saw him.

The classic outfit and the apron were cute on Aurora, Lorcán certainly couldn’t complain. As she turned around, he saw her eyes immediately go wide at the black eye before Lorcán managed one of his signature grins and greeted his girlfriend.

“Hey, Dream Girl, how’s your day going?”

It still felt like only moments ago that Lorcán and Aurora had been completely lost in blissful ignorance before returning to the aftermath of the Chernobog’s attack. The news of P.R.C.U. closing had been like a knife repeatedly stabbed in Lorcán’s chest before twisted and left there. All around him were faces he couldn’t be sure he’d ever see again.

His leg bounced nervously up and down, the sand surrounding his foot had been compressed into a crater while his nervous waves caused the fire to emit off waves of heat far hotter than it should have. His free hand tapped a beat against the thigh of his bouncing leg while his other gave Aurora’s hand a tight squeeze.

More than even Lorcán, Aurora was having a difficult time with the changes facing them. After everything with her home life, she had found a new home at P.R.C.U. and next to Lorcán himself, she had been there longer than any other gathered member of Blackjack or Eclipse.

They had discussed solutions, and while it was clear that Lorcán would not be going to the Foundation, it was not up to him to speak for Aurora either. There were just no words that could communicate what he was feeling, the turmoil inside of him as he looked between Gil and Rory realizing this may very well be the end of the ‘Wolfpack’.

In particular his eyes dwelled on Rory’s legs, bittersweet memories of running the Hyperball field together before realizing there would be no more of those memories to be made even if Rory fully healed. He looked to Haven next, and the absence of the shadow her wings would normally had cast, clothing covering her that didn’t need any modifications to accommodate the large wings only further drove the point home they were gone.

How envious Lorcán had once been to fly above the campus and soar like Haven had. Now that ability was taken from her and Lorcán could only wonder if such an outward ability was more curse than a gift.

How could Lorcán have been so selfish to abandon his team that night? If he and Aurora had stayed at the dance, maybe they could have made the difference. Maybe he and Amma could have teamed up, it wasn’t like Amma hadn’t boosted his powers before.

She could have boosted both of them, Aurora could have gotten people to safety while Lorcán cooked the Chernobog from the inside. How stupid he was to abandon them when he needed them most. Lorcán couldn’t blame any of them for wanting to leave.

He had failed them, he had let his friends suffer.

Cleo’s voice stirred him from his thoughts, Lorcán lifted his reddened eyes up to meet her gaze as she quietly spoke. Nodding his approval of her choice, he muttered a quiet reply of his own.

“You’ll be safe there.” The words were hollow, a half truth that he lied about to himself. Lorcán still didn’t trust the Foundation, but with Jim in custody and the grounds seized, there wasn’t a better place for young Hyperhumans. He had heard stories of the outside world. He had heard Amma’s warnings too.

Did that thing come from the Foundation? Or was it merely a repercussion for their actions? If the Foundation and H.E.L.P. had worked together all this time, wouldn’t they all have been safe?

“We’r-” He paused, reminding himself not to speak for Aurora but instead to give her room to tell her own story and revelations. “I’m,” He corrected before continuing to speak, “I’m going to Crestwood Hollow tomorrow to stay with Cass and Ripley.” Lorcán explained.

“My parents thought it best if I was aware from here while the dust settles and they get their affairs in order. They’re going to be trying to get jobs to keep the house in the village. If that doesn’t pan out,” His voice trailed off, his thoughts reminiscing on the first time he felt Amma through the fire and how odd it was that she wasn’t here with them now.

“I guess, we’ll all move to Crestwood Hollow and live with my Aunt and Uncle until something permanent works out.” He poked at the fire with a stick. Last time they were all sitting around a fire like this, Lorcán would have done anything to get off this island and see the world.

Now he’d give anything to be able to stay a little longer.

The hairs on the back of Lorcán’s neck stood on edge and his eyes darted around, expecting to find something watching him. Part of him expected the white stag to be looming from the nearby cliffs but beyond the circle, his eyes only found darkness. Not even a lightning bug illuminated the dark, cool, fall night.

It was only when Lorcán looked away that a pair of ember-hued eyes stared back.

The echoes of tormented souls and trapped monsters reverberated through Lorcán’s ears as he slowly opened his eyes, finding himself laying upon the damp sand of a shore. Fog with hues of pink and purple danced along the forest’s edge as the blood red moon overhead illuminated everything in its crimson light.

Lorcán had stood on this beach many times before, and yet there was something so distinctly unsettling about it. It bordered on the uncanny, and he could feel his heart throbbing inside his chest before looking at the faintly glowing rune on the palm of his hand.

Tapping his body, Lorcán ensured his armor was secured as a nearby howl turned the blood in his veins to ice. A gun was firmly holstered to his thigh while the pair of short swords sat strapped across the back of his waist.

The air somehow smelled fresher here, as though free of pollutants and the forest dotting the edge of the island was denser, less developed. But Lorcán no longer could feel any HZEs in the air, his powers seemingly were unresponsive as he tried to warm himself against the bitter cold of the night.

It may have looked like home.

But it was far from it.

Stephen Anderson didn’t understand why Scylla was so determined to return the belongings of the dead, near-obsessive to obtain personal effects to sign and hand over to family members; answers met with acknowledged fear and hopeless truth; children sent across the ferry to learn, grow, to be safe in like-minded graces away from the world that would never understand them otherwise. When he asked, watching her turn that damned ring through her trembling fingers, she muttered with glassy-lined eyes of silver that she would want someone to do the same for her, to find the remains and allow them to be given a final rest for life undone. Peace, she breathed, that they once had here- it wasn’t always like this, she muttered and curled her palm around the ring once more, holding it close as if cherishing the discovery. He didn’t bother asking her again after that; he couldn’t really blame her for not recognizing that he would follow her onto whatever path and endeavor she forged, only desiring her safety above all else. He had family back on the mainland and offered her his home. His mother would welcome her happily, he said, but Scylla had merely shook her head and denied the comforts proffered; there is more I have to learn, she claimed, more that I can possibly do.

So Stephen decided to go to The Foundation, too; he would not allow her to go alone.

She took that ring and made inquiry attempts to Ryan about Amma’s family, which was met with an eerily drawn-out silence until she admitted quietly that she didn’t have any. All academic records of Amma Cahors had been taken and destroyed and were suddenly missing, plucked so carefully, and done so thoroughly. As if she did not exist, for someone had meticulously seen to extract any trace of her, her room in shambles, her belongings taken, and now any lead into her past suddenly not there. There was no next of kin, Ryan had explained, her mother’s whereabouts lost to time, her father unknown, only the mutterings of spires of a church in Rouen where she was born being the only knowledge they possessed. The Cahors name was so loosely spun through fate and was now suspended over the dregs of never-there and used-to-be—a chasm of both Charlotte and Amma, mystery and wavering shadows betwixt their shared likeness. Torres would’ve been the next person to ask, maybe the one to give such a sentiment to, but news of her death had spread fast, and Scylla (anyone really) didn’t know Amma Cahors well enough to look further into where she had come from.

Giving such to The Foundation just seemed wrong.

And perhaps that was why Stephen and Scylla found themselves on the beach, watching from the edges of browse and sand, the hazed figures of Blackjack and Eclipse set off into the distance with a smothering air of uncertainty and woe worn as a blackened cowl. There was enough chill that Stephen took his jacket and allowed Scylla to slip her trembling hands through and pull taut over her shoulders against the cold; her white-blonde hair pulled up high from her nape, green eyes bruised and troubled, and tired. He knew exhaustion pinched and buzzed through his own amber gaze, black hair crazed and shoved under a baseball cap. They would be leaving tomorrow, and various fires scattered down the beach revealed many who were also enjoying their last nights on the island. Somber music that plucked through the night, bittersweet laughter and cries, Scylla and Stephen had stood on this beach not long ago lost to sand and surf and sunlight. Team Raindance, 08, their brand as a simplified rendering of a water droplet that they wore as necklaces, given that day for all the years they had spent together.

Under the moon, such a once familiar tradition was bathed in the finalities of silver shadow, melancholy that writhed as lamented cloaks of loss attached to every figure she recognized as the infamous team of Blackjack. There were few left of their own team, a couple she spotted further down, waving them over. Most were returning to their homes, and she couldn’t blame them for such a choice, no matter if such wrought her heart through and through—she didn’t want to be alone.

In the pocket of her jeans, the ring weighed like a stone, and every step grew more and more cumbersome as she trekked, Stephen at her heels, an immediate shoring of his guard as she stumbled, listing to one side where the ring burned beneath the fabric and seemed to shudder in the presence of those gathered. The lingering pieces of conversation fell upon her ears as they came closer, Stephen carefully holding Scylla at his side, hand around her elbow, steadying her through the cumbersome sorrow she wore, courtesy of her powers, everything profoundly felt and doubled. His own abilities cried and sang in their electrifying summons, purple hues of energy with pinkish undertones shimmering through his eyes as Scylla greeted those gathered and said:

“We don’t mean to disturb you,” she began in a whisper. “I’m Scylla Fluerane, and this is Stephen Anderson from House Gulo.”

“Team Raindance,” he tacked on carefully, unable to keep himself from studying their profiles, the injuries sustained, and the pain they must’ve felt.

“I—we—I just want to say we don’t believe all the rumors. No one really knows what happened that night.” She shook and trembled but carried on with a soft sigh. “But that’s not why we are here. I’m leaving tomorrow for The Foundation. " Why she felt compelled to admit such, she did not know, but nonetheless, it was out there as a plunked stone.

“We are,” Stephen amended, holding her all the more, and nodded for her to continue even when shock lapsed through her speech– gazes held for a long moment before she returned her silver-lined eyes to the fire and those surrounding it.

“But we found something in the dorms, one last look through; I don’t know if any of you have been there, but everything is gone. I don’t know what happened. No one knows anything about her; there’s no next of kin, nothing that Ryan could find, and –”

“Scylla.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I know what it is like to be… unwanted—never seen. And I don’t want that for her. No one deserves that.” She carefully reached for the ring in her pocket. “It seemed only fair to give this to you, her teammates.” In her delicate fingers, the jewel of red centered there seemed to glow as it captured the light of the fire, flames reflecting and licking off the bronze and golds twisted there, shimmering in the malformed and curious make, such a mundane thing that swelled with the profoundness of its discovery, the only token that remained of the infamous girl taken that dreaded night. Scylla glanced at each member of Blackjack before her green eyes landed on Gil, the last person she witnessed with Amma at the dance– would he want such a thing? She pondered who else would accept such before approaching the celebrity and carefully dropping the ring into his palm; if anyone else had reservations about such an action, Scylla ignored them in favor of whispering.

“I’m sorry.”

“We also encountered something else, though I don’t even know how to describe what it exactly was,” Stephen carried on next, glancing down the shoreline where the remainders of their team beckoned. “Something evil; we assume that’s what maybe tore apart her room; they blocked most of it off, though. People are cruel.”

“It’s too bad The Foundation couldn’t find the deed; at least we’d be able to stay here. This place is a home to so many of us.” He carried on, offering his hand to Scylla next as she stepped away from Gil; her body lightened as soon as she passed the ring onto another, a sort of easy calm spread through her to know that those who knew her best would see to its safety now that she was no longer here.

“Maybe we’ll see each other around,” Scylla uttered with a soft farewell hung upon her words as she slid her hand into Stephen’s grasp, held tight, and allowed him to lead them down the shoreline one last time.

At least they’d be together from here on out- for now.

Rory sat like a log for most of the conversation amongst his gathered comrades. He gave Haven a single look at her words, before his eyes returned to the fire before them all. He was stuck here in this position, unable to freely move to follow Gil and Lorcán as they broke off to have a heated discussion of their own. So instead, he just simmered. He tried, desperately, to push down the boiling contempt and frustration that rose like bile in his throat. All the talk of safety, home, and justice felt like wasted breath to his ears. It was less substantial than the sand beneath their feet.

He finally began to understand Jim's frustrations.

After everything, they hadn't learned a thing.

Rory's heart broke.

"I won't attend your funeral, Olly." Rory's eyes didn't move from the flame... or perhaps more accurately, they never moved from that spot behind the fire his glazed eyes were fixed upon. But the nickname, one he had not used for the Aussie in ages, was more than enough of an indication of the man he was speaking to. His words dripped with a certainty that made his voice seem like someone else's entirely. "If you want justice you can get..."

He didn't need to look to feel the slight bump that reverberated up his spine with Katja's approach. The anger continued to seep out of his mouth, his voice growing ever so slightly in volume. "Why not start with her?" Rory's eyes finally moved, his head turning in Katja's direction as he clenched on to the arms of his wheelchair tight. His voice carried across the beach, crashing like the waves that lapped the shore. "Come to finish the job, Kruger?"

He didn't wait for the confused expressions or questions. The second Rory had laid eyes on the person he had pined for since they first met, he lost any semblance of self-control left. "Been out high fiving your Orcinus pals? Or were you busy leaving flowers for Hyperion?" He let the accusation hang in the air, shifting slightly in his seat as he hunched forward. The torrent of anger couldn't be contained. Neither could the tears that began streaming down his face.

"A few days ago, I just wanted answers. I wanted to know what they could have promised you that would have made it so easy to turn on us. How you could have possibly chosen the janitor over your own team. Or if you thought leading us to where Haven was kidnapped would make up for nearly getting her killed the first time. If you thought playing the hero then would make up for what Harper, Gil, and Calliope went through. Or if you even fucking cared."

Rory shook with rage, his knuckles white against the arm rests. His voice quivered with a manic energy as his eyes shifted down to those two useless appendages connected to his waist. "But you know what... I don't care about answers anymore, Kat. Or excuses. I can't stop you or hurt you. I can't do anything!" His words rose to a shriek, shoving off any attempt of comfort or care Haven could possibly extend as he panted and frothed.

"The only justice, Kruger, is that you're alone. Hyperion and his children are dead and gone. There's no more Pacific Royal, no more Blackjack. You've burned everything to the ground. No one loves you."

He leaned back in his chair, a small sadistic smirk rising to the corner of his lips. Piecing together what little details he had picked up from the dance and the morning before the Trials, he had one final thorn to lash out with.

After all, subtlety wasn't his strong suit.

"Not even Amma."

The sand shifted, pooled and slid between his fingers, scratchy and light, loose, like dust underfoot, like an itch beneath the skin, like a pencil’s shavings left behind on a page…. Lucas watched the grains raining from his hand to join the rest on a very long, very old strip of land and glanced sideways at the man beside him, glad he was using a pen. Glad, for a moment, that everything was crackling heat and susurrating waves and flickering falling light flashing shadows and shapes on the sand while everyone else seemed to curl into themselves. They were all quiet in their own worlds, but when he glanced around at sullen, despondent faces and eyes avoiding eyes, Lucas didn’t wonder what those worlds were. Even he was sure he knew, this time, what was weighing on everyone’s minds.

Too much, too fast, too final, too broken. Too many breaths stopped before the next one came. Too many pools warm and thick. Too many screams ringing in ears they couldn’t cover. He’d tried. It hadn’t worked. It never did.

And now the school was closed. Foreclosed, forsworn, foregone conclusions… Should have closed sooner. Shouldn’t have promised everything was fine or safe or going to get better. Should have known what was coming. He felt no particular way about any of what was happening, too distant in his own mind following all the livid whispers and new promises offered by rumours and recruiters both, too practised at letting memories flow in and out and past, too jumbled up to focus on working through any of it. There was only the vague, familiar disappointment of life changing all over again in ways he couldn’t fight or change or fully understand. So, he poked at the sand instead, knowing without really knowing that he had a choice to make and it hadn’t changed since he’d first understood that the school was closed and he couldn’t stay. No one could stay.

So, it surprised him when someone broke the silence. Surprised him even more that it was Immanuel’s voice suddenly filling in all the empty space of little words and small voices and shaky sobs he didn’t know who was making or holding onto. Didn’t know if it was a crack in the dam or a goad or a road towards relief or maybe it was the thought of home that wiped away the quiet. But slowly, then faster and faster the flood caught them all up and surged along.

He didn’t know the whole story. Didn’t really know anyone’s story, except for Manny and Cleo beside him, only knew the obvious. What he could see was loss. Wings had lost them, Haven, it took him a moment to remember. And Rory—Rora and Ro… he knew who that was now—he’d lost his legs. Another guy was missing an arm. He didn’t know if the other girl had always been blind or not though. What he could hear was confused. Divisive.

The fabric holding them together, already worn thin, stretched, strained… snapped. Violence begets violence. But now he knew who’d been sobbing so hard.

He was still staring at Rory, and the tall, red-eyed lady he knew nothing about, as another voice joined in, but it was Cleo’s shout that made him jump, turning to stare at her and the thin glow surrounding her. He hadn’t noticed the first red aura beside the fire, but this one was white light the way too many paint colours made brown. Overwhelmed… Yeah… “All right. Angry sad’s okay, but that sharing isn’t caring.” They didn’t need an audience. He stood up too, reaching for Manny’s arm to haul him up alongside. “Can I miss your home too? Mine are full of ghosts now.”

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Aiden looked up to see his wife’s smiling face as she took a seat beside him, following his gaze to the fountain in front of the administration building.

“Y’know, some women would be upset if you spend so much time with your ex-girlfriend.” She teased as Aiden looked at the dedication to Vanessa Bordeaux. She had been killed by her best friend, Autumn Miracle, the first known protégé of Yakob Kowalski. She had also had the ability to impart Hyperhuman abilities in others.

Aiden himself only had abilities because of Vanessa. The original eight all only had their abilities because of Vanessa. Her house party, the night of her murder, they had all been there and in their interactions with Vanessa that night, she bestowed her gift, or for some, her curse. Aiden, Minnie, Summer, Viktor, Rita, Emma, Sebastian and…

He paused. There were eight houses, eight students from Crestwood and yet, Aiden for the life of himself couldn’t remember his final classmate. Glimpses of a figure, a voice, a laugh. Pain, panic, tears and fears all hovered at the edge of his mind, just out of reach of his memory.

Aiden recognized Summer’s handiwork, but why would she have hidden one of their friends from him, from them? Questions formed rapidly in his mind, threatening to consume him before a gentle tug at his arm stirred him back to the moment.

“I’m just teasing, Love,” Tori stated gently, leaning her head against his arm. “You really think we’ve lost this time?”

“Jonas didn’t leave me the deed,” Aiden replied sadly, “Not that you’re asking but I know it’s the question everyone wants the answer to.”

“I knew you would have told me if you had it.” Tori replied, “I think we should send the kids to Crestwood, they’ll be safer with Alexis and Calvin while we figure things out. Think you’ll continue teaching?”

“A Hyperhuman teacher?” Aiden’s mouth turned up slightly in a wry grin that had been inherited by his son. “No, I still have a couple connections in law enforcement, I should be able to secure a job there. Won’t be pretty but it should be more than enough money to keep us stable. Maybe present an opportunity to find out what the Foundation’s real angle is.”

“Promise me you’ll be safe, we’ve lost too much already and I can’t lose my husband, let alone abide by my son losing his father. It’s not just Lorcán that needs you either, Cassander, Ripley, even Aurora all look to you.”

“I know.” Aiden whispered, “And I will be.”

“What about Jim?” Tori asked, “Do you think he knows?”

“I’m not sure Jim ever had a relationship with Jonas, but if Kowalski had the deed, then there’s only one person alive who knows where it is.” Aiden paused, his wife’s eyes meeting his before he spoke the name she knew was coming.

“Summer Carlyle.”

Lorcán returned to the fire as Benny gratefully left. While not everyone on the team shared his feelings of animosity towards their Australian classmate, Lorcán took particular issue with the fact that Andrew didn’t even take the proper time to learn to say Aurora’s name, instead always referring to her by a term that felt vaguely sexual.

He had often assumed Andrew felt some sort of kindred spirit with Aurora and now that Calliope was gone, Lorcán didn’t want to give Andrew any reason to try to get any closer to his girl.

One look at Aurora told him that whatever Andrew had said while departing had further upset her. He looked from Rory to Aurora again, taking one last look over his shoulder at Gil before a quick headcount told him that the remaining Eclipse members had departed either before or along with Benny.

Every eye around the fire was locked on Katja, watching what she did next. It didn’t take a genius to piece together that her presence was what had caused tempers to flare. He caught a few words here and there, the dilemma at hand, but no matter the outcome, no part in Katja remaining would quell the fires between her and those who remained.

“Uh, brah, I think you should leave.” Lorcán said, looking from Haven and Rory to Aurora again. Their eyes burning, tears welled up in the corners while Harper sat with her head low, a wrap around her eyes. It was odd, Lorcán didn’t recall being told that Harper was severely injured during the Chernobog’s attack, yet here she was with bandaged eyes mirroring the injuries sustained by Haven and Rory.

Katja had been at P.R.C.U. every bit as long as Haven and Rory, and certainly longer than either GIl or Harper. Lorcán had played Hyperball alongside her and against her many times. He shared fond memories of the field with her and Rory, but now those memories were tainted. If she truly had been the traitor Rory claimed, was their entire friendship a ruse? A means to an end to garner their trust and convert them? Hyperion had murdered Jonas, Lorcán’s grandfather, in cold blood.

Lorcán didn’t need Rory to cite his sources, he couldn’t care less about emotions running high. Katja had no excuse, she had lived through everything Blackjack had gone through, the Trials, Hyperion’s attack, Banjo, but now they all stood at a crossroad.

“There’s enough bad blood without you bringing more.” Lorcán replied, thinking back to his conversation with Gil and knowing Katja’s fondness for Amma. She could never be allowed to learn of their pact.

“I hope the tide brings you to calmer waters, but the tide did not bring you here.” He added, “Perhaps you’ll be a better fit at the Foundation, but you’re no P.R.C.Uer, and you’re definitely not part of Blackjack.”

Tall metal fences were placed on feet surrounding the building on the other side of the unkept field. What had once been home to numerous athletics now laid overgrown and abandoned just like the crumbling brick building. Following Cass’ lead, Lorcán looked around before using his abilities to boost himself over the fence.

Ripley and Aurora were off being treated to a girl’s day alongside Aiden’s sister, Alexis. With Lorcán’s uncle, Calvin, at work, that left the two boys to come up with their own fun. Someone that involved going to Mather Memorial Secondary School.

“This,” Cassander stated, landing in the grass with a heavy thud before Lorcán dropped to the ground gracefully beside him. “This is where it all began.”

“Careful, you almost sound reverent, dude.” Lorcán teased. “You uh, ever talk to Harper after the dance?”

“No.” Cassander replied quickly, his tone telling Lorcán to leave it alone. But Lorcán wasn’t that perceptive.

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested in long distance, and I’m definitely not going to the Foundation. Plus, she’s been different since the dance. I thought she was cute, I flirted a little, but with everything going on with her…” His voice trailed off, but the implications were obvious. Cass didn’t like to be attached or weighed down. Lorcán knew his cousin had been tentative towards dating to begin with, but Harper certainly came with some baggage to put it lightly.

“Plus, you and ‘Rora said she’s now Haven’s sister or something? So like, if you and Rora get married and then she and I worked it out, that’s one twisted family tree.”

“I’d be related to Rory!” Lorcán exclaimed only for Cassander to raise an eyebrow at just how excitedly the young man had reacted.

“You think Rory and Haven would stay together?”

“It’s not like he’s getting with Katja anytime soon, but eh, I don’t know.” Lorcán replied before the pair emerged from the long grass and looked up at the decrypted building. A wry smile crossed Lorcán’s face before he responded again.

“I can’t even imagine going here.” He let out a low whistle, “When was this place even built?”

“The brick over here is stamped with 1654.” Cass replied, “It was a courthouse during the Witch Trials.”

“Rad.”

“So this is where your Dad met Jonas?” Cass asked, “Why’d you want to come here?”

“Just was hoping that maybe Jonas would pop up here, I’d love to ask him where he hid the deed.” Lorcán sigh wistfully. It was true, given Jonas’ penchant for showing up whenever he needed help, he had thought he could force an appearance by going to a place where Jonas had been. He dug his hands into his pockets, his left curling around the strange object Jonas had previously gifted him as it hummed in his pocket.

“The deed?” Cass asked, shooting his cousin a confused look.

“Yeah, you like heard that guy back at P.R.C.U. The Foundation lost the school because they didn’t procure the deed, if we had the deed we could save the school.” Lorcán replied looking at the building.

“But I guess that was just wishful thinking.”

The cold weather in these times had been no comfort to Immanuel as his boots stepped down upon the snow-filled yard of the Golsons. There was no departure party, not a single soul from within the Golson house dared see the boy off back onto his journey with the system. Yet, in such a moment, he was greeted with the same sight his eyes had bore witness to dozens of times. That lady, God, that fucking lady. A woman whose mouth spouted naught but futile promises of a hint, a small crack in the rock in which a beam of light was supposed to shine through, of a normal life for him, and erroneous claims that each house devoid of a single ounce of compassion would be better than the rest.

Immanuel gripped his possessions tighter than he had before as he approached the gray Civic he had known so well. He skipped past whatever planned words Lorraine had to spew into his mind, opening the Civic door for what he knew wouldn’t be the last time, shoving but only a single bookbag laden with all his possessions in the seat next to his own. An all too familiar experience as he watched the likes of his social worker cross around the car to enter the driver's seat. His head pressed against frosted glass, his last sight of the home in which he had just exited obscured by fog that covered the window as his breath laid upon it. He hadn’t but the slimmest chance of hope they’d keep him while he lived within those walls. A family but so different from the ones he had lived with before, ones so normal that in his mind it only made sense they wouldn’t want to keep an outlier, a disturbance to the cushy lives they thrived in. He was privy to the arguments they spewed under the cover of moonlight over his place in the home. A unanimous agreement that the teen was not the child they were looking for. Maybe if he was happier, maybe if he talked more, maybe if he didn’t push them away, maybe if he fit within their rose-tinted view of life he would still have a warm bed to lie his head at night.

”For what it’s worth, Immanuel, I’m sorry.” Lorraine’s voice broke through the wall of silence that had been erected between them throughout the length of the car ride. Noise for unwilling ears, Immanuel’s mouth stayed closed as he heard her speak. He didn’t want to hear her pitty-laced voice within his mind, he had no desire nor yearning for the sympathy she threw his way. She had only been one in a line of caseworkers assigned to him and yet the experience had been the same each and every time. He’d be placed in a home, they’d find some reason or another to drop him, and then he’d be dragged off to another home for the cycle to repeat again.

”Are you hungry? I’m not sure if you had lunch yet, but I am starving. There’s this good dinner near the office where we could pick up something if you want?”

”Sounds good.”

The ride continued on in the absence of words from both of them as the last words were uttered from Immanuel’s mouth. Although his gripes with the woman never evaporated, deep within his mind, he did acknowledge that she tried. That through her actions may have been in vain, she had been the only one who had truly fought for him, the only one who battled against inefficiencies and fallibilities of the Missouri Department of Social Services for his sake. And as the Civic turned into a parking spot in the out-of-place-looking diner, Lorraine turned her head back to look at the boy behind her.

”I know I preach a lot of big talk to you, Immanuel, and I know a lot of the time my words don’t always seem to come true. But, I made a promise to you, a promise that I will help you for as long as I am your case worker. And kid, I don’t plan on giving up on you. There is a home out there for you, I know it.”

Naught but a scoff left Immanuel’s lips as he stared at the woman before him, the words dropped out of his mouth as the boy looked away to unbuckle his seatbelt.

”You’re a funny lady.”

Home? Immanuel was the last one who should spout words about a home.

For most of his life, he had no concept of a home. His home was the bag that he slung across his back every time he swapped fosters, his home stood within the words of his journal locked for only his eyes to bear witness. His home lay within himself, for the most part. In the years prior that sentiment held no truer, but during the days present he couldn’t help but realize his home was more. His home wasn’t a place, it bore no allegiance to a flag nor the land in which he stood upon, it was more than that upon which he owned, and it took form in those in which he came to hold bonds stronger than that of surface words and artificial emotions. The two in which he sat beside today, the nine others in which he sat beside prior. They were his home.

It wasn’t P.R.C.U.

The two souls who saw it fit to take in a child whose heart had become jaded and malformed through years under the wicked hands of homes the system deemed eligible to care for the likes of a child. And the young woman fresh out of university who put her all into getting Immanuel out of the system when he was but a wee boy and when his other caseworkers didn’t. They were his home.

It wasn’t St. Louis either.

Eclipse was his home. The Blaylocks were his home.

Yet in such a moment his mind could not find the connection to the essence of either. Both Cleo and Lucas were off in their own worlds despite being right on Earth beside him, and even Immanuel couldn’t help but feel as though his own feet were off the ground. As if he was free-floating in a vacuum not bound by anything, his mind ran amuck as the words of those few remaining souls of Blackjack, broken down to their last wits and spirit, filled his cranium along with sounds of nature’s movement beneath the likes of a pitiful group that they stood as. Harper, the one he had come to know soon after she had spoken about his own words, only seemed to express a lamentation of a home. A home that had changed for her, and one he assumed had changed for the rest. One which had come to ruin, now beneath the unforgiving grip of the Canadian government, and the covetous nature of the Foundation, which seemed to grasp onto as many students as they could.

He listened to all. The impartial listener. Cleo spoke next, her words unsure hidden behind that of a forlorn whisper out into the air. The talk of choices beyond the bounds of this night filled his ears like no other. The sound of feet shifting upon the likes of unsteady sand as two walked away, brother taking a shot at brother, the approach of another of which he had no knowledge of, the talk of the dead and lost of a week prior and bygone days spewed like vile forth from the mouth of one who he could tell hosted an eternal flame of rage within his soul during this very moment. Both of his senses saw the breakdown of Cleo and her retreat away. Now was the perfect time to leave, Immanuel knew he held no merit to be involved in the degradation of this conversation. For a night entrenched in the ideal of being a final, a last remembrance of their time upon these shores and the hours within the halls of the place behind them had devolved to that malice against one’s own comrade. If the true concept of a home is where you are surrounded by the people by which you hold closest, Blackjack had seemed to have lost theirs the night of the dance, only reinforced by voices of now. Fragmented, disjointed, on the eve of their twilight.

It was getting loud, too loud. It was at this moment he could see why Cleo left, he couldn’t imagine the angst and resentment that radiated out into the area. Before Immanuel had the chance to fully gather all that he had left, felt his body lifted up by that of Lucas’ arm.

“Can I miss your home too? Mine are full of ghosts now.”

”My home will always be open to you, Lucas.” Immanuel slipped his hand down to pick up the weight of his bag, a feeling laced with familiarity washed over his body as the bag slipped around his shoulder, but this time there was no gray Civic waiting on the street to pick him up. ”She doesn’t look like she’s doing too hot though.” Immanuel muttered, his eyes shifted in the direction of Cleo as he witnessed her all by her lonesome. While he got but the faintest idea of what she could’ve felt, he couldn’t begin to imagine the emotions of all those at once bombarding her in tandem with her own. A night unsuited to be their last, to be anyone’s last was a thought that floated across his mindscape as he trekked his way across the shoreline with Lucas beside him.

For as short as the night was, Immanuel could tell it was going to be a long one.