Chapter 1: The Boy in the Shadows
The night was moonless, wrapped in a thick blanket of mist and silence. The sky over the borderlands between New Rhodesia and the Federal States of Britannia (FSB) pulsed with tension. It was a land stitched together with fences, searchlights, garud towers, and blood-soaked history. Yet tonight, beneath the veil of darkness, something sacred crossed over. something dangerous.
A child.
The transport vehicle hummed low as it crept along a forgotten dirt road, its engine nearly inaudible under the chirr of crickets and distant hoots of night birds. Inside sat a boy no older than ten, wrapped in a woolen blanket too large for his small frame. His dreadlocks clung to his damp face, his dark eyes scanning the windows like a caged animal bracing for another trap. He didn't speak. He hadn't spoken since they pulled him from the Rhodesian internment camps.
His name was Aryeh.
Aryeh crossed the border into the Federal States of Britannia with the same stoic resolve that had carried him through the horrors of New Rhodesia. The truck ride had been long and tense, with every bump and twist in the road making his heart race. Yet as they neared the border, the tension gradually eased. The checkpoint was manned by Federal State officers, and unlike the brutal overseers Aryeh had encountered before, these soldiers seemed almost indifferent to the cargo being smuggled in the truck.
After a short, muffled conversation between the driver and the guards, the truck was waved through, crossing into a new land. The Confederate States of Britannia was behind him now, but the scars of what he had endured remained etched deep into his soul. Aryeh couldn't help but feel a sense of profound disconnection as they passed into the Federal States of Britannia. Freedom, something he had dreamt of for so long, now seemed like an illusion—something distant and unattainable, as though the horrors of New Rhodesia, and the internment zones had severed him from any real future.
The truck eventually stopped in a small, quiet neighborhood far from the chaos he had grown accustomed to. Aryeh was led out and brought to the house of an old Black woman named Miriam. She lived alone in a small, modest home on the outskirts of the city, and her role in the resistance was clear from the moment Aryeh stepped inside. Her house was a safe haven for those who had escaped the confines of New Rhodesia, a place where they could begin to rebuild their lives in the safety of the Federal States.
Her orphanage in the FSB was just one stop on a dangerous, illegal route—a covert operation known only to a few as the Underground. A series of waypoints, safehouses, and lies designed to smuggle enslaved children and fugitives from the Confederacy into the heart of the Federal resistance. It was treason. And the price for it was execution.
But she did it anyway.
Every time.
Because somewhere deep inside, she still believed salvation came one soul at a time.
Miriam welcomed Aryeh with a warm smile, her eyes full of kindness and understanding. She was well into her sixties, her hair gray and her face lined with the wisdom of someone who had seen too much in her lifetime. Her hands were calloused, but her touch was gentle as she ushered Aryeh inside. The house smelled of herbs and old wood, a comforting aroma that reminded Aryeh of simpler, happier times—times that felt like a lifetime ago.
"You're safe now," Miriam said softly as she set a cup of tea in front of Aryeh. "You've been through a lot, child. But you're here now. We'll take care of you."
Aryeh nodded, though his heart felt heavy with everything he had been through. He was grateful for her hospitality, but he couldn't shake the profound sense of loss and trauma that clung to him like a dark shadow. He had lost the three most important people to him, his family. He had watched his world fall apart, piece by piece, and now, even in safety, it felt impossible to let go of the pain.
Days passed, and though Miriam tried her best to integrate Aryeh into this new life, he remained distant. He spoke little, barely acknowledging her attempts to engage him in conversation. His mind was clouded with anger, depression, and a profound sadness that seemed to grow stronger each day. He barely ate, pushing away the meals Miriam lovingly prepared for him. His eyes had become hollow, his once-vibrant spirit dulled by the weight of his experiences.
Miriam, sensing his deep inner turmoil, grew concerned. She had seen many escapees come through her home, each one carrying their own burdens and trauma, but something about Aryeh worried her more than the others. He was younger than most, yet there was a hardness in his eyes that spoke of unspeakable pain.
One evening, as Aryeh sat silently by the window, staring out at the quiet street, Miriam approached him with a gentle, motherly presence.
"You haven't been eating, Aryeh," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "You're not talking either. I know it's hard, child, but you need to take care of yourself. If you don't, you won't be able to heal."
Aryeh didn't respond. His hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, knuckles white as he struggled with the storm of emotions inside him. His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger and sorrow, replaying the horrors he had witnessed over and over again. death, suffering, the twisted brutality of the Confederate States—all of it haunted him.
Miriam watched him for a long moment, her heart heavy with empathy. She had seen trauma like this before, but Aryeh's pain ran deeper than most. She placed a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of her touch breaking through the icy barrier he had built around himself.
"You don't have to keep everything inside," she whispered. "It's okay to feel. It's okay to cry, to be angry, to mourn. But you need to let yourself heal."
Aryeh finally turned to look at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of anguish and exhaustion. He had cried so many times before, screamed until his throat was raw, but now, all that was left was emptiness.
"I lost them," Aryeh muttered, his voice barely audible. "They're all gone."
Miriam's face softened with understanding. She knelt beside him, taking both of his hands in hers. "You've been through more than any person should ever have to bear. But you're still here. And as long as you're here, you have a chance to live. To honor their memories by surviving."
Aryeh's grip on her hands tightened as he fought back the overwhelming wave of emotion threatening to consume him. He had survived, but at what cost? The anger, the pain, the loss—it was all still there, festering inside him like a poison. How could he move on from something so devastating?
Miriam didn't push him further. She simply stayed by his side, offering silent comfort, knowing that the road to healing would be long and difficult. But she also knew that Aryeh wasn't like the others who had passed through her care. He was different—stronger in some ways, yet more fragile in others.
In the coming days, Miriam kept a close eye on him, watching as he moved through her house like a ghost. He helped with small tasks when asked but spoke little and kept to himself. The meals she made remained untouched, his body growing weaker from his refusal to eat. Each passing day brought more concern to Miriam's heart, but she also knew that healing couldn't be rushed. Aryeh would have to find his own way through the darkness.
But even as he remained withdrawn and silent, there was a fire within Aryeh that hadn't gone out. It burned deep inside him, a mixture of hatred for the world that had taken so much from him and a determination to keep going, if only for the sake of those he had lost.
One night, as Aryeh lay awake in the small room Miriam had given him, he felt the weight of his katana beside him. The blade, though a symbol of power and survival, had also become a reminder of everything he had fought for and lost. He clenched his fists, staring up at the ceiling as the memories swirled through his mind.
He didn't know what the future held for him in the Federal States, but one thing was certain: Aryeh's journey was far from over. The rage within him would not be quenched so easily, and the scars left by the Confederate States would take a lifetime to heal—if they ever did.
As the night stretched on, Aryeh closed his eyes, his heart heavy but resolute. He couldn't let himself fall into despair. He had to keep going. The world might have tried to break him, but Aryeh wasn't done fighting yet.
Aryeh woke the next morning with the same heaviness in his heart. The weight of his memories threatened to pull him under, but he forced himself out of bed. His body ached from days of barely eating, and the exhaustion of sleepless nights had begun to take its toll. Yet, despite it all, a grim determination drove him forward.
Miriam noticed him moving more than usual that morning. She had become accustomed to Aryeh's ghostlike presence, his silent brooding and refusal to engage. But today, something was different. He moved with purpose, albeit slow and methodical. His steps were heavy but deliberate as he made his way to the kitchen.
"I see you're up early," Miriam said gently, watching him from the stove where she was cooking breakfast. "You hungry?"
Aryeh didn't answer right away. He stood in the doorway, his eyes distant as though his mind was elsewhere, yet there was a slight shift in his posture—an almost imperceptible softening of the rigid walls he had built around himself.
Miriam sighed and turned back to her cooking. She had been patient with Aryeh, giving him space to grieve and process, but it had been over two months, and she knew something had to change soon. Otherwise, he'd waste away before her eyes.
She placed a plate of eggs and toast on the table, nodding for him to sit. Aryeh hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the plate, then slowly, he sat down. It wasn't much—just a few bites—but it was the first time in days that he'd touched any food.
Miriam watched him closely as he ate in silence, her heart relieved but still wary. She could see the battle he was fighting within himself, the war that raged beneath his stoic exterior. She had known many escapees, but Aryeh was different. There was something more raw, more volatile, simmering beneath the surface with him. Something that couldn't be soothed by mere kind words and gestures.
"You're stronger than you think, Aryeh," she said after a long silence. "I've seen many come through here, broken and lost. But you—you still have a fire in you. I can see it."
Aryeh glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. The mention of his strength almost felt like a bitter irony. Strength? What was strength when everyone you cared for was gone? When you were left alone, a hollow shell of the person you once were?
"I don't feel strong," he muttered, pushing the plate away after a few bites. "I feel... angry. Empty."
Miriam nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "Anger's natural. And emptiness... well, that's just part of the process. But it doesn't last forever."
Aryeh clenched his fists under the table, his jaw tight as he
thought about everything he had lost. The three most important people in his life, their faces haunted him every night, it was too much to bear. The rage inside him was a constant companion, and though it gave him the strength to survive, it also consumed him.
"They took everything," Aryeh said quietly, his voice trembling with a mixture of sorrow and fury. "Everyone I cared about. How am I supposed to move on from that?"
Miriam placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't move on, child. You carry it with you. The pain, the loss—it stays with you, but it doesn't have to define you. You're still here for a reason. You have a life ahead of you, and you can still make something of it. Don't let them take that from you, too."
Aryeh didn't respond. He couldn't. His mind was still too clouded, too overwhelmed by everything he had endured. But her words lingered in his thoughts as the days passed, and though he continued to keep to himself, something inside him had shifted.
He spent more time outside, practicing with his katana in the small backyard of Miriam's home. The blade had become an extension of himself, the only thing that made him feel connected to the world around him. Every swing, every strike, was a release—a way to channel the anger that burned within him. But it wasn't enough. No matter how many hours he spent training, the emptiness remained.
Miriam watched from the porch, her eyes full of quiet concern. She didn't push him to talk, didn't force him to confront his pain, but she remained present, always there when he needed her, even if he didn't realize it.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Aryeh sat in the backyard, his katana resting beside him. The sky was a deep, bruised purple, and the air was cool, carrying with it the distant sounds of the town. For a moment, Aryeh let himself breathe, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly. But as the darkness settled, the weight of his memories returned, heavy and suffocating.
He thought about his brother, about their bond. He had always been the strong one, the one who had given Aryeh hope when all seemed lost. And his mistress, her fierce spirit and unyielding kindness—he couldn't shake the image of her suffering in that dungeon. And her niece... his heart clenched at the thought of her. Where was she? Was she alive? Or had she met the same fate as the other two? The probability was very high.
The questions gnawed at him, unanswered and torturous. Aryeh closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him. But amid the sorrow, a spark of determination began to flicker. He had survived for a reason. He couldn't let their deaths be in vain. He couldn't let the Confederate States break him.
Miriam came out onto the porch, watching him in silence for a moment before speaking. "There's a resistance group in the city," she said softly. "They're always looking for people like you. Fighters. People with a purpose."
Aryeh looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve.
"You don't have to decide now," Miriam continued, her voice gentle but firm. "But when you're ready, I can introduce you to them. Maybe fighting for something bigger than yourself will help."
Aryeh didn't respond, but her words settled in his mind. He wasn't sure if he was ready to fight again. But he also knew that he couldn't remain idle forever. The rage inside him demanded action, and maybe, just maybe, this could be a way to channel it.
As the night deepened, Aryeh sat in the darkness, his mind filled with memories of those he had lost. But for the first time in months, he felt a small glimmer of hope—a hope that, somehow, he could still make a difference.
Aryeh sat at the kitchen table, staring down at a stack of pamphlets Miriam had laid out in front of him. They were from various private schools in the city, each promising a bright future for its students. The thought of going to school hadn't crossed his mind, not since he lost everything. But now, the idea of it was beginning to take root.
Miriam had gently suggested it a few days ago. "You need knowledge, Aryeh," she had said. "Not just strength. If you want to make a difference, to truly help the world, you need to understand the world you're living in now."
At first, Aryeh had been resistant to the idea. School felt trivial compared to the pain, anger, and the burning need to fight. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Miriam was right. He wasn't the boy he used to be. He had a mission now. And to achieve it, he needed more than just his sword. He needed education, strategy, and training. He needed to learn the adversaries ways.
After several days of consideration, Aryeh finally made his decision. "I'll do it," he said, looking up at Miriam, who had been quietly watching him from across the table. "I want to go to school. I want to learn. And after that, I want to join the military. I need the training."
Miriam smiled softly, a look of pride in her eyes. "I knew you'd come around, Aryeh. This is the right path for you."
Without wasting time, Miriam made the necessary calls. She had connections, people who could forge documents and ensure that Aryeh would be accepted into a prestigious private school, one that could offer him the kind of education he needed. Within a week, Aryeh was officially enrolled.
But there was one more step to take before his new life could truly begin.
Late one night, after Aryeh had fallen asleep, Miriam welcomed a visitor into her home—a hoodoo priest she had known for years. The man's name was Papa Zeke, an elder with deep knowledge of the spiritual realm and the ancient practices of their ancestors. He had helped countless escapees from the Confederate States heal from the horrors they had witnessed, using rituals to suppress traumatic memories and ease the burden of their minds.
Papa Zeke stood in Aryeh's room, watching the young man sleep. His brow furrowed, his breathing shallow—clearly, even in sleep, Aryeh was haunted by his past. Miriam stood by the door, her hands wringing nervously.
"Are you sure this is what you want for him?" Papa Zeke asked in a low voice, his eyes never leaving Aryeh's form. "It's a powerful thing I'm about to do. Suppressing memories... it can change a person."
Miriam nodded. "He's drowning in those memories, Papa Zeke. He can't move forward with all that pain. He needs this. Just until he's ready to face it again. He needs to stay focused."
The priest nodded, understanding. He began to prepare, lighting candles around Aryeh's bed, marking the floor with chalk symbols, and mixing herbs in a small bowl. He muttered incantations under his breath, calling upon the spirits to aid him in his work.
As the smoke from the herbs filled the room, Papa Zeke placed his hand gently on Aryeh's forehead. The young man stirred slightly but remained asleep. The priest's voice grew louder, the words of the spell flowing from him like water, old and powerful. The room grew heavy with spiritual energy, and the symbols on the floor seemed to pulse with life.
In Aryeh's mind, the memories of the horrors of the Confederate States, began to slip away. The vivid images of blood and fire, of loss and pain, faded into the depths of his subconscious, locked away in a place where he could no longer reach them. The nightmares that had plagued him for months quieted, replaced by a calm, dreamless sleep.
Papa Zeke finished the ritual, his voice softening as he whispered the final words. The smoke dissipated, and the room returned to normal. Aryeh's face relaxed, the tension in his body easing for the first time since his arrival at Miriam's home.
"It's done," Papa Zeke said, turning to Miriam. "His memories are suppressed. He'll still be the same boy, but the pain is locked away. He won't remember anything about his traumatic past... not until the time is right."
Miriam let out a relieved breath, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you, Zeke."
The priest gave her a small smile, packing up his things and heading to the door. "He's strong. Stronger than he knows. This will help him focus. But be careful. One day, those memories will surface again. And when they do, he'll need to be ready, and do will you."
The next morning, Aryeh woke up feeling different. There was a lightness in his chest that hadn't been there before. The nightmares that had haunted him were gone, and with them, the deep sense of dread that had followed him like a shadow. He couldn't quite explain it, but everything before his time with Miriam felt distant, hazy—like a dream he couldn't quite remember.
He went about his morning routine in silence, but when Miriam placed breakfast in front of him, Aryeh ate without hesitation. It wasn't much, but it was the first time in months that he had a real appetite. Miriam watched him with quiet satisfaction, knowing that the spell had worked.
As the days passed, Aryeh's focus shifted entirely to his new life. He began attending school, immersing himself in his studies with a single-minded determination. The academics came easily to him—math, history, science—but it was the physical training that he excelled in. Aryeh joined every martial arts and fencing club he could, honing his body into a weapon.
The memories of his past, all of it was buried deep within him, no longer a burden he had to carry. Aryeh felt... free, or at least as free as he could be in this new world.
But even as he thrived in his studies and training, something dark lingered at the edge of his consciousness. A deep, unshakable anger still burned within him, though he couldn't remember why. He chalked it up to the injustices he saw in the world, the suffering of people like him. Yet, there was more to it, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Still, Aryeh pressed forward, his mind clear and his heart set on one goal: to join the military, to train, and eventually, to help the less fortunate. And with every day that passed, he inched closer to that goal, unaware of the memories waiting for him in the shadows of his mind, locked away but never truly gone.
Four years had passed since Aryeh first arrived in the Federal States of Britannia, and in that time, he had become a completely different person—focused, driven, and hardened by the passage of time. At fourteen, Aryeh had grown taller, his body lean and strong, his mind sharp as a blade. The intense physical training at school had molded him into a weapon, his every movement refined through constant repetition. The memories of his old life had faded into a distant blur, locked deep within his subconscious, never forgotten but buried under layers of discipline and survival instinct.
His life now revolved around studying, training, and preparing himself for the inevitable—a future with the resistance, a fight for freedom that loomed on the horizon. But amidst the relentless structure, Aryeh found his moments of solace in running. Each time he took to the streets, it was a chance to escape the weight of expectation, to lose himself in the rhythm of his pounding feet and the wind rushing past his face.
This afternoon was no different. As soon as school ended, Aryeh laced up his sneakers and set off for a five-mile run along the outskirts of the city. The buildings quickly thinned out as he hit his stride, his body pushing past the burn in his muscles, his mind emptying with each step. The world faded away, reduced to the rhythmic beat of his heart and the steady sound of his breath.
As he passed an old, rusted sign—its faded letters barely legible—Aryeh registered its warning without concern. "Do Not Enter: Metahuman Training Zone." It wasn't the first time he had seen those signs, and he had learned to tune them out. But as he sprinted past, the ground suddenly trembled beneath his feet. A thunderous explosion shattered the stillness, and Aryeh skidded to a stop, instinctively dropping into a crouch as debris flew through the air. Heat washed over him as dust and smoke filled the air, and when the chaos cleared, Aryeh's eyes locked onto the source of the destruction.
Two figures stood amid the wreckage, locked in combat. One hurled massive fiery explosions from his hands, the fiery blasts lighting up the space between them, while the other controlled water with fluid, deadly precision, turning streams of liquid into razor-sharp whips. They fought with wild abandon, their powers wreaking havoc on the landscape, but neither seemed to notice Aryeh standing on the edge of the battlefield.
In a split second, the combatants launched themselves at each other again, their eyes blazing with fury. But Aryeh realized, too late, that they were both heading straight toward him. His body moved on instinct, the few years of training kicking in as he ducked low, sweeping the legs out from under the water-wielder with a clean, practiced move. As the water user hit the ground, Aryeh spun, his foot catching the explosive user squarely under the chin with a powerful upper kick. The force of the blow sent the man soaring through the air.
Without pausing, Aryeh grabbed the dazed water-wielder by the collar and, with a precise throw, sent him flying into his airborne opponent. The two combatants collided mid-air, their bodies crashing into the side of a nearby building with a resounding thud. Rubble rained down around them, but Aryeh didn't wait for their recovery. His cold, calculating eyes stayed focused, ready for the next move.
Groaning, the two young men stood, exchanging bewildered glances. "Is this part of the test?" one asked, rubbing his head. "Must be," the other muttered, dusting himself off.
Without hesitation, they lunged at Aryeh again, this time attacking in unison. But Aryeh was prepared. His hands moved like lightning, deflecting their attacks with effortless precision. The explosive punches and water strikes were no match for his sharpened reflexes. It was as if he had seen their attacks coming before they even began.
Frustration quickly mounted in the combatants. The explosive user unleashed a barrage of energy blasts, while the water-wielder conjured a vortex of spinning blades, aiming to slice Aryeh apart. Yet even as the air crackled with power and water hissed through the air, Aryeh moved with deadly grace, weaving through the chaos with the calm focus of a seasoned warrior.
On a nearby rooftop, two figures observed the battle with growing interest. The man, tall with slicked-back hair, scribbled something on his clipboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. "This is... unexpected," he murmured, his eyes locked on Aryeh.
The woman beside him, clad in a sleek combat suit, nodded in agreement. "He's not even supposed to be here," she said, her voice laced with curiosity. "But look at him. He's handling them like it's child's play."
Back on the ground, Aryeh parried one final explosive punch before delivering a rapid series of strikes that left both fighters gasping for breath, bruised and exhausted. They stumbled back, stunned and winded, while Aryeh stood tall, his breathing steady, his expression cold. He hadn't even broken a sweat.
"Who... who are you?" the explosive user wheezed, clutching his side.
Aryeh didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back on them, ready to leave the battlefield behind. He hadn't come looking for trouble, but trouble, it seemed, had found him. Just as he was about to walk away, a voice called out from above.
"Hey, kid!"
Aryeh glanced up to see the two adults standing on the rooftop, their eyes fixed on him. The man with the clipboard gave him a curious smile. "You're not supposed to be here," he said, "but I think we've just found someone very interesting."
Aryeh narrowed his eyes, unsure of what they meant. But something told him that this encounter was the beginning of something much larger than he could have anticipated.
Before Aryeh could respond, the ground began to rumble beneath him. His eyes darted to the two defeated combatants, who were slowly rising to their feet, their expressions shifting from confusion to anger. The explosive user clenched his fists, flames igniting in his palms. The water-wielder mirrored his partner's intensity, streams of liquid coiling around him like huge pythons, shimmering with deadly precision.
"You're not getting away that easy," the explosive user growled. "No one humiliates me in my training zone durring my practical."
The air seemed to thicken with tension. Aryeh took a step back, his body instinctively lowering into a combat stance. His muscles were taut, his senses on high alert. He had dealt with them before, but something told him they were about to get serious.
From the rooftop, the man with the clipboard shouted, "That's enough, you two! The test is over!"
But the combatants didn't seem to care. Their combined powers surged, the ground splitting beneath them as water and fire twisted together, creating a deadly vortex of steam and heat. Aryeh's eyes flicked back to the two figures on the roof. The woman, who had remained silent so far, stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene.
"Caine, we can't let this escalate," she said. Her voice was calm but firm, like someone used to handling chaos. "They're pushing too hard."
Caine, the man with the clipboard, nodded but didn't move to intervene. His gaze stayed locked on Aryeh, as if he were waiting for something.
And then, it happened.
The vortex surged toward Aryeh with blinding speed. He braced himself, instinctively raising his arms to defend, but something deep within him shifted again. His body felt... different, lighter, as if the world around him had slowed. The heat and pressure from the attack washed over him, but instead of pain, Aryeh felt a surge of energy rise from deep inside his core. A familiar, yet foreign power.
Before he could fully comprehend it, Aryeh opened his mouth, and from within him came a roar of fire—an enormous, blazing fireball that shot out with an intensity that shocked even him. The flames collided with the oncoming vortex, overpowering it with raw, primal force. The explosive fireball expanded, its heat so intense that it evaporated the water within seconds. The two combatants barely had time to react before they were flung backward by the shockwave, their powers completely neutralized.
The battlefield fell silent, the air thick with the smell of scorched earth and steam. Aryeh stood in the center of it all, the flames from his attack still flickering in the air around him. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was calm, clearer than it had ever been.
From the rooftop, Caine's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you see that?" he muttered, scribbling furiously on his clipboard. "He's not just some ordinary kid..."
The woman beside him, Professor Lathena, smiled slightly. "No, he's something else."
Without warning, a portal opened in the sky above them. Its edges crackled with a strange, shimmering energy, and within moments, it absorbed the remaining fireball, pulling it into the void and sending it hurtling far into space. A few seconds later, a faint explosion could be heard in the distance, the remnants of Aryeh's power dissipating harmlessly.
Aryeh blinked, his eyes wide with shock, he was confused. He had no idea what had just happened, but something inside him knew—he had tapped into a power far beyond anything he had ever known.
As he tried to steady his breathing, Aryeh heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Professors Caine and Lathena descending from the rooftop, their expressions calm but curious.
"You've got quite the skill set," Lathena said, her voice smooth and authoritative. "One that's in desperate need of refinement."
Caine, his clipboard now tucked under his arm, studied Aryeh with an appraising eye. "We need to ask—are you a metahuman? Do you have powers?"
Aryeh's brow furrowed in confusion. "Metahuman? No. I dont even know what that is," he said slowly, shaking his head. "I've never had any powers before. I... I don't know what that was."
The two professors exchanged a glance, the silent conversation between them thick with intrigue. After a moment, Caine stepped forward, his tone softening. "What happened back there was extraordinary, Aryeh. We'd like to schedule a meeting with you—and your parents or guardian. You've got potential, and our academy is the perfect place to help you refine whatever it is you're capable of."
Lathena nodded in agreement. "We run the training program for Arcane Academy, a place for metahumans and gifted individuals. People like you. This power you've discovered... it's dangerous if you don't understand it. We can help you learn where it comes from and how to control it."
Aryeh's mind raced. He had spent years training to be strong, to fight, to survive. But this—this was something else entirely. His body still hummed with the lingering energy of the fireball he had unleashed, and the invitation from these professors felt like a door opening to a world he had never considered.
Aryeh gave the professors a curt nod. "I'll think about it."
Satisfied, the professors exchanged information and then handed aryeh a business card befire they turned to leave. "We'll be in touch," Lathena said over her shoulder as they walked away.
When Aryeh finally made it back to Miriam's house, his usual stoic demeanor had returned, but beneath the surface, his mind buzzed with questions. As he stepped through the door, Miriam greeted him with her usual warmth, but she immediately sensed something was different.
"Aryeh," she said, concern in her voice, "what happened?"
Without hesitation, Aryeh told her everything—about the fight, the strange new power he had discovered, and the offer from the professors along with their business card. Miriam listened quietly, her expression growing more serious as he recounted each detail.
When he finished, she sighed deeply, rubbing her hands together in thought. "This... this changes things," she said finally, her voice soft. "If this school can help you understand what's happening to you, it could be important for your future. "
Aryeh nodded, already thinking about the possibilities. His life had been one of survival and preparation, but this power—this fire felt like it was something bigger. Something he couldn't ignore.
"I'll meet with them," Aryeh said firmly, his resolve settling like iron. "Let's see what they have to offer."
Miriam smiled faintly, pride and worry mingling in her eyes. "Good. But remember, Aryeh—no matter what, you make your own path."
The night passed quietly, but Aryeh's thoughts never stilled. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day's events over and over in his mind. The raw power he had unleashed during the fight stirred something deep within him. It wasn't just the fireball—there was something else. Something ancient and primal, lying dormant inside of him. For years, he had trained with discipline and focus, relying on his body and mind to overcome obstacles. But now, this new power had changed the equation.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to steady his thoughts. The resistance had always been his focus, the work that Miriam had done for the underground had truly inspired aryeh. His mission to fight back against evil was the one thing that drove him forward. Now, though, the Arcane Academy and his newfound abilities had added a layer of complexity he hadn't anticipated.
The next morning, Aryeh rose early. He dressed in his usual training gear and quietly slipped out of the house. The streets were still, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as he made his way to a secluded area where he often went to clear his mind. It was a small grove by his house, tucked away from the city, where towering trees offered shade and solitude.
As Aryeh arrived, he stopped at the edge of the clearing, his thoughts still heavy. He closed his eyes, focusing inward. He needed answers. The fireball had been instinctual, but if that power was truly his, he had to learn to control it.
He focused on the sensation he had felt the day before—the heat rising in his core, the overwhelming surge of energy that had poured out of him. He tried to draw it out, to summon the flames once more. But nothing happened. His body remained still, the power locked away, unresponsive to his attempts.
Frustration bubbled within him. Why had it come so easily during the fight, but now, when he sought it out, it felt unreachable?
As he clenched his fists, preparing to try again, a voice broke the silence.
"You're forcing it."
Aryeh spun around, his guard up, but relaxed when he saw Miriam standing at the edge of the grove. She had followed him, her face soft with understanding.
"This power of yours," she said, walking over to him, "it's not something you can control with brute force. It's like trying to capture the wind with your bare hands. You have to feel it, let it come naturally."
Aryeh frowned, frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "Then how do I control it?"
Miriam smiled gently. "You need to understand it first. Powers like this come from somewhere deep, from your very essence. Trying to control it without understanding will only lead to chaos."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on Aryeh's shoulder. "I've seen this before," she said quietly. "Not in you, but in others. People who've discovered abilities they never knew they had. Some of them went on to do great things. Others… let the power consume them."
Aryeh met her gaze, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He understood the warning, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this power was tied to something more—something bigger than himself.
"I have to figure it out," Aryeh said, his voice resolute. "The trainers and professors at the Academy—they think I could be something more. And if they're right, I need to learn how to use it."
Miriam studied him for a long moment before nodding. "If you're going to pursue this, you need to be careful, Aryeh. You can't lose sight of who you are. Power like this can be dangerous, especially if it's tied to something you don't understand. But if you believe this is the right path, then I'll support you."
Aryeh took a deep breath, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Thank you," he said softly.
They stood there for a while in silence, the early morning light filtering through the trees. Aryeh felt a sense of calm return to him, even if the questions in his mind remained unanswered.