Albert's laughter rang through the air as he sped off on his bike, the wind teasing his short undercut and cheeks flushed with excitement. My heart hammered in my chest as I kicked off, hot on his trail.

We dashed through the narrow alleyways and winding streets of our neighborhood, the world rushing past in a vibrant blur. I was nine then, Al was ten.

Those were the carefree days when the biggest problem we had was finishing our homework on time. He had a head start, his sturdy legs pedaling as fast as they could. But I was close behind, my own bike tearing up the pavement as we weaved our way through the labyrinth of Fairview Hills.

"Slow down!" I called out in a panic. His only response was a cackling laughter, a spark in his eyes as he pressed on, urging me to catch up.

As we whirred past the murals, the graffiti, the boarded-up buildings, I felt a surge of adrenaline, a burst of pure, youthful joy. We were on an adventure, and nothing else mattered. Even in this hardscrabble neighborhood, we found joy. We found dreams.

Albert skidded to a halt at our secret hideout — a disused old shed at the edge of the neighborhood, swallowed up by the encroaching wild grasses and vines. It was our fortress, our sanctuary away from the world.

We dismounted our bikes and collapsed onto the patch of worn-out carpet we had dragged in, our chests heaving and giggles filling the tiny space.

"You remember that comic book we found last week?" Albert asked, sitting cross-legged as he fished it out of his tattered backpack. It was a crumpled issue of "The East Coast Legion", a testament to our shared obsession with the fantastical world of superheroes and Magical Knights.

"Yeah, of course," I answered, grinning. "The one with the showdown between Silver Herald and the Dark Harlequin?"

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He opened it to the climactic battle, and his eyes lit up as he pointed at the brilliantly illustrated panel. "Look at Silver Herald here. Brave, strong, willing to sacrifice everything to protect the city. Isn't it amazing?" He gazed at the panel, a starry-eyed dreamer caught up in the beautiful illusion of heroism.

"I don't know, Al," I said, lying down and looking up at the roof. "Seems dangerous. I mean, fighting monstrous villains head on, risking your life every day? I don't think I could do it. I mean, I wish I could sometimes, but it just isn’t me.”

Albert rolled his eyes, ruffling my hair affectionately. "You don't have to be Silver Herald, Sienna. You don't have to fly in and save the day. You can be... you know, someone like Euphonia. The brains behind the team, the one who guides the heroes. The strategist. The one who saves the day with the last-second reverse-unos? If you really pay attention, people like Herald and Psychopomp get all the spotlight, but Euphonia is usually the one who saves the day."

I shrugged, looking at the comic book again. It was a beautiful idea, a fantasy that took us away from the reality of our neighborhood. A reality filled with unending struggles, occasional gunshots echoing in the distance, and the palpable sense of desperation clinging to every corner. In that shed, at that moment, we were not just kids from a run-down neighborhood, but adventurers, heroes in our own little world.

The thought made me smile, despite myself. "And what about you, Al? What kind of hero would you be?"

Albert sat back, his expression turning thoughtful. "Well, I'd be the kind of hero that doesn't leave anyone behind," he said finally, looking at me with a quiet determination. "No matter how bad things get, I'd make sure everyone makes it out okay. Just like Herald."

"Fine then," I said finally, smirking at him. "I'll be Euphonia, but only if you promise to be Silver Herald for me.”

He laughed, punching his fist lightly into the air. "Deal. But remember, it's a two-way street. If I ever get myself into a jam playing hero," he said, imitating a dramatic superhero pose, "You'll have to be the voice of reason that gets us out of it."

And in that moment, in that shed filled with the echoes of our laughter and dreams, I made a promise. A promise I intended to keep, no matter what. "I promise, Al. I won't ever leave you behind."

"Hey remember, it's a two way street, Sienna. I'll always have your back, and you'll always have mine, right?" He said, holding out his hand. "Pinky promise?

"Pinky promise," I echoed, reaching out and locking my little finger with his.