June 20, 2022 - 9.47am

Tamara’s House, Abuja, Nigeria

Kuro opened his eyes in a room that he failed to find familiarity in day after day. But today was especially disorienting, as he woke up to see Tamara and her tiara-like visor looming over him with uncomfortable intensity.

He jumped up, startled.

“What’re you doing?!”

She stifled the urge to remind him that this was her house. She’d hate to sound old.

“I’ve been in contact with your mom.”

“Really?”

“Yep! I don’t just kidnap teenagers, you know. But, I can’t let you guys meet just yet. This is for her own safety. We don’t want to give Victor and the M.I.I. any leverage for free.”

“I get it,” Kuro looked down solemnly. Surprisingly understanding for a 17-year-old.

“But, I did pick up some things she wanted to give to you.” She walked over to his open door, and waved him over to follow. The two descended the dark oak stairs of her home. The floor was warm, forgiving of the fact that both were barefooted. They entered the living room where three bulging suitcases and a strange rectangular box with a note on it were waiting.

“If it’s my mom that sent these, it’s probably mostly food in there.” He chuckled to himself. He opened them, rummaging through a mass of clothes. When he got to the second one, he was greeted by the plastic ruffling of several packs of plantain chips .

“Uh oh…”

A moment later, Soji came bounding down the stairs.

“Are those plantain chips?!” He jumped at the box which Kuro nonchalantly moved out of the way, leaving Soji to meet nothing but carpet.

“Good morning to you too.”

“You can’t keep those from me,” He got up, ready to wrestle for a bag when he noticed the matte black box balancing on the unopened third suitcase.

“Ooh, that looks interesting,” he grabbed it, then looked to Kuro for permission to open it. Kuro extended a hand to accept it from him, then lifted its wooden lid. Resting inside a red, velvety interior was a thin, straight sword — a chokuto — with a total length of about two feet. Its sheath matched the box it came in, a black so deep it nearly swallowed the color around it.

“You are so winning right now!” Soji commented, having found his way into a bag of plantain chips. Kuro inspected the weapon, then tried to unsheathe it. It didn’t budge. He tried again, this time using atma reinforcement. Same result.

“Let me try!” Soji grabbed it and skipped over to the kitchen with it

“Aren’t you supposed to avoid transforming?” Kuro warned.

“I don’t have to transform. I’ve been messing around with this…bloom…stuff.”

Tamara raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Basically, weird shit happens with heat. The higher my body temperature,” he turned on the stove, “the stronger I get. I’m guessing it’s because I’m a certain percentage of bloom, so I can use a certain percentage of its power.”

He put his hand on the stove as Kuro’s eyes widened. Despite Soji’s explanation, he expected yelling and the smell of burnt flesh, but instead, he watched a soft glow climb up his arms and into his torso.

“Wow… so you’re actually kinda smart.” Monika entered the room, teasing him with a yawn. Soji flipped her off with the hand holding the sword, and she waved it away.

“Back at you!” She yelled. Soji just shook his head and removed his hand from the stove, gripping the sword with both hands. He pulled as hard as he could. It didn’t budge.

“Damn it! Maybe if I get hotter…”

“You’ll be waiting a while for that,” Monika chuckled, then left the room before Soji registered the insult.

Meanwhile, Kuro began reading the note attached to the box.

“May I?” Tamara gestured for the sword.

She gripped it with both hands. Her atma rushed into the weapon before she could properly attempt to unsheathe it. The woman dropped the blade immediately.

“What the hell is this Instrument?”

“Instrument? What, are ye a baron of olde? This is a sword.” Soji pointed at it, teasing Tamara.

“Ha, ha, very funny. This is not a normal weapon. It’s been imbued with atma. Likely has its own technique, too. That makes it an Instrument. And a wicked one, at that.” Tamara backed away from it.

“Well, the note says it’s something my dad made. And apparently…he used to be a maestro!” The boy’s eyes widened. He’d always thought that his father left him and his mother to fend for themselves, and as a result, refused to even feel hatred for him. But the news that he might have been a maestro, and might have been caught up in something important all these years filled him with a desire he hadn’t felt in over a decade.

“I need to find him!”

“I agree,” Tamara said, “I want to meet the kind of man that makes a weapon like that.”

“What do you mean?” Kuro asked.

“That thing swallowed up my atma.”

“That’s odd; I had no problem with it…and neither did Soji.”

“Let me try,” Monika reentered the room, phone in one hand. She picked the sword up from the floor and barely managed to stand upright before she dropped it. “Yup, it’s definitely weird. I’m drained.”

“So the blade must have some sort of defense mechanism against atma users. Maybe it requires a specific atma signature to be able to touch it. But as for why you can’t open it, you’ll have to ask your dad,” Tamara deduced.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Well, if he was a maestro, he could be in the M.I.I. ‘s database of atma users.”

“Great, so we have to wait until after this Orchestra to start looking?” Kuro rolled his eyes.

“Maybe not…depending on how low the clearance his file is, we might be able to access it at a local M.I.I. campus. Do you remember your father’s name?”

“Yeah. Isio Adesanya.” Tamara stood frozen for about a second. Her eyebrow twitched.

“Oh.”

“Why ‘oh’, do you know him?”

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“N-no, it’s just that the name sounds interesting. Urhobo first name, Yoruba last name. I think I know an Isio, but not one with that surname.”

“Oh, well my mom is Yoruba, and he took my mother’s last name. How do you know that, though? You don’t sound Nigerian.”

“I’m half. And what, I can’t be well cultured?”

Kuro shrugged.

“Most people hear ‘Nigeria’ and just yell ‘kilode’ over and over again.”

“True,” Soji nodded, mouthful of plantain chips.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people. But back to your dad; do you know his family name?”

“It couldn’t be that Isio…” Tamara hoped silently.

“Nope,” Kuro shrugged.

“Hm. Well, you guys go get ready. We’re gonna hit up a campus nearby, we can do a little research. And then we’ll probably go clothes shopping. I see you wearing the same thing as two days ago, Soji.”

“Ewwww,” Monika scrunched her nose.

“Oh, actually, my mom said she packed some clothes for you, Soji,” Kuro waved the note in his hand.

“Oh, thank God. I thought I’d be wearing rags forever. I’m gonna go show—”

“I’m showering first!” Monika raced upstairs, atma reinforcing her steps. The girl laughed when she heard Soji speeding after her. However, even jovial, she couldn’t help but fixate on the fact that for the first time since meeting her, she heard Tamara stutter.

~

June 20, 2022 - 11.23am

Some House, Unknown, Unknown

Victor, wrapped in a blanket and swaddled with bloodstained bandages, sat on the lavish couch of a vast living room. A short Pakistani girl with a soft jawline and defined, curved eyebrows sat next to him with a smirk. The two of them furiously maneuvered controllers, entranced in an intense round of Super Smash Bros. Victor leaned forward as the girl, Kyriaki, sat back, sure of her triumph. Her gorgeous, deep brown eyes shone with excitement.

Daisy stormed into the room, infuriated.

“You were only supposed to watch! Why did Lucia just tell me you fought the boy?” Victor yawned, taking a sudden interest in his nails.

“Why are you always storming everywhere? It’s no good for your skin.” Kyriaki said with her usual silvery tone.

“I was told to protect him. A couple Institute maestros showed up, so I dealt with that,” Victor waved away her complaint, “And I decided to reward my hard work with a bout, nothing serious. Great job by the way. I thought the kid was a dud, but he actually put me in a bad spot.” The boy pointed at his bandaged abdomen.

Daisy’s anger waned slightly from the praise.

“All that potential is…delicious,” he licked his lips, melting her expression back into a frown, “I can’t wait to watch him grow.”

“You know,” Kyriaki piped up, “I can keep an eye on the kid since Vic is too…trigger happy. I’m getting bored of waiting around. I mean, I still don’t get why we don’t just nab him, but I can follow instructions.”

Her dark eyes gleamed with excitement.

A tall man wearing a mink coat with nothing covering his bare, chiseled chest walked in. He wore black dress pants, as well as the proper wing-tipped black shoes to go with it. His skin was fair, ostensibly shaved around his arms and torso. His face, however, was a mystery. For a moment, it looked like wax churning, struggling to take shape before it finally settled on one with a sharp jawline and slightly sunken almond eyes.

“Woah, Boss, new face.” Victor said.

“Don’t remind me,” Iosef sighed, “I’m not used to being in a white man’s body, let alone one made of wax.”

“Shouldn’t have gone and died, then,” a short Haitian woman walked past him.

She had long, bouncy, pinkish-blonde curls, and a bored expression on her face. A white star tattoo on her forehead matched the galaxy-designed onesie she had on.

“And don’t you dare complain, keeping you alive under these conditions is taxing.” Nobody said anything. Were it anyone but Venus, or perhaps Daisy, that commented on Iosef’s death, there would be one less member of their group.

“You’re right,” he said with a small smile, “But anyway… Victor did the right thing. Protecting that boy is among our top priorities. The very existence of the half-bloom— props to our resident scientist, Daisy— is a herald for the end of this outdated era. He’s exactly where we need him to be,” Iosef clarified.

More members of this mysterious group milled into the room. They kept their faces hidden by its natural darkness.

“Besides, I don’t suppose any of you want to take on Tamara Cain?” He took off the mink coat, and picked a dress shirt that had been folded neatly on the head of the couch.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind,” Kyriaki spoke.

“Me neither,” Victor agreed.

A couple of the hidden members, including Lucia, murmured in agreement. Iosef and Daisy gave each other a look, like parents might before inevitably giving in to their children’s cries to have ice cream for dinner.

“I don’t get what all the fuss is about,” Kyriaki said, “I heard Lucia’s father almost got her a few years ago, and the bastard didn’t even have a technique.”

“That was more than a few years ago. She’s changed since then. Besides, his atma wasn’t normal. ” Lucia commented. “That being said, I still think it would only take the strongest four of us to kill her.”

“Oh?” Iosef raised an eyebrow, “And who are the strongest members in the group right now?”

“If it’s right now,” Lucia stood up from the wall she was resting against, clad in her usual black outfit. On top, she wore a black bomber jacket over a bodysuit that left little to the imagination. The bottom half consisted of armored cargo pants and black combat boots. She had a broadsword strapped to her back, and a mysterious tattoo on her tongue, matching the one on Victor’s currently exposed chest and Kyriaki’s neck.

“It would be Daisy, Victor, Tobias, and myself.”

A chorus of boos filled the room, expectedly from the excluded members of that list. Lucia smirked.

“Well, I’m definitely not going,” Daisy chimed, “take Kyriaki in my place.”

“Aye,” Iosef added, “Victor, you’re not going either, I need you to do some things for me. And you need to recover. Tobias, though, you will go.”

Both boys grumbled.

“Wait, really?” Kyriaki exclaimed, “You mean we can go out and fight her?” Iosef nodded.

“This plan of ours will entail a mind-numbing amount of waiting. Some of you have itchy fingers already, so I think it’s best to show you the gap between you and the strongest maestro alive.”

“That should keep them in line for a little while longer.”

“I’m surprised you’d want to go, Lu,” Iosef asked, “You know what she’s like.”

“I do. But I heard she picked up another brat. One with white hair. I want to meet him.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed over that little shit? He hardly seems like an anomaly to me, you know.” Victor shrugged. Lucia gave no indication that anyone had spoken.

“I’m running point. Let’s roll out.”

She walked away.

“I may have given you permission to go,” Iosef called after them, putting on a tie, “But I still wouldn’t recommend it.” He feigned concern. In his mind, the only one who absolutely needed to make it back was the quiet Tobias. The other two were dispensable.

“I don’t care about what you recommend, old man. This is personal.”

~

Kuro’s Note:

Kuro my son,

I cannot imagine what you have been through since the field trip. Losing your friends Franklin and Farah must have been devastating, and I want you to know that my grieving heart goes out to you and Soji.

The M.I.I. has spun a story about a chemical accident, but I’m aware of the truth about the situation. I know that you and Soji have abilities that will likely make you the targets of unsavory types. I’d hoped you’d be introduced into the world of atma under happier circumstances, but God has other plans for us all.

I’m also pained knowing that I may not see you boys for a long time. I want you to know that I am always thinking of you and Soji, and that this is as much as I can do to keep you both safe. The sword that your father made and left behind is a powerful weapon, and I trust that you will use it wisely. I wasn’t sure what was more irresponsible; a mother putting a weapon in her child’s hands, or not giving you the means to protect yourself. I’m praying, PRAYING, that you never need it.

Tamara Cain is taking care of you both, and I trust her completely. Please let her take care of you and protect you. I know that you are a kind and protective person, but please soften your overprotective side and let Tamara do her job. As long as she is around, everything will be alright. That’s the kind of person she is.

Don’t let them change you. Stay kind and compassionate. And most importantly, promise that you’ll come back to me,

Mom