It was a crisp and sunny afternoon day in the city. The wind lightly blew, bringing an even coolness to the air, while the now-falling leaves of the autumn trees danced within that breeze. The nearly empty streets were littered with the red and browns of the season. With each step, there would be a satisfying crunch.

As he took a brisk walk through the west wide of London, Vinncent looked around with a content smile on his face. His hands were relaxed in his jacket pocket and his hood was down, allowing his wild hair to shift with the wind. With each person that he passed by, he widened that smile and nodded his head. Even though he wasn’t actively resonating, he could sense a shift within the surface-level moods of the cityfolk as he passed them by. The moment they would meet his eyes, he sensed gratitude and relief within them. It was strange. He had never really seen people look at him with such soft eyes before.

Eventually, someone approached Vincent. She was an older woman, with slightly greying hair that was pulled into a tight bun. Around her waist and torso was an apron that read Center Street Bakery.

“Excuse me, young man,” the woman said.

“What’s up?” Vincent replied.

“You…” she paused, “you’re the hero of East Power, right?”

Hero? Vincent thought to himself. How does she know about the power plant?

“I-I don’t know about that,” Vincent said. “I think ya might be think’ of someone else.”

She then gave him a neutral smile and rolled her eyes. With a slight chuckle, she continued her thought. “My, my, a humble hero, huh? Well, I think everyone in this town is grateful for what you’ve done to help us and Libra.”

After the blushing went away, a curiosity made its way around Vincent’s mind. “By the way, lady,

Vincent said, “how do you know about me and about East Power? And how does everyone know about Libra?”

She then let out another small laugh. “Oh ho ho, you and the rest of that group think you’re so slick, huh? Don’t underestimate us citizens—we hear more than you think! There’s always whispers about how a group of people called Libra are putting themselves in harm’s way to fight against those horrible gangs. In fact, I heard from a regular customer of mine that the man in charge of it is none other than the successful businessman, Archard Dueceka!”

“Businessman?” Vincent questioned.

“Oh yes, he’s pretty famous within the country, especially in this city. He’s run many charities that’ve been a big help to the people of the city. Honestly, it’s no wonder that Libra has been able to take care of all the criminal gangs that popped up after the government abandoned us. With a man of his caliber in charge, I have no doubts that we’re as safe as can be!”

“Huh,” was all Vincent could say, as a genuine smile crawled across his face. I had no idea that that was who he was, he thought. He’s even greater than I imagined!

“Well,” the woman said in a finishing tone, “I just wanted to come up and thank you. I’ve heard rumors that someone who looked like you was behind a massive battle against Aries.”

With that, before Vincent could respond, she walked off. Vincent was now alone with his thoughts and he had to sort through all of the information that was suddenly dumped on him. As he sifted through how he felt, he continued to mindlessly walk through town.

He had no idea how long he walked for, but it felt oddly peaceful. His thoughts swayed with the breeze and remained just as cool. Images of Archard and the rest of Libra went through his head. Flashbacks of the battle kept replaying over and over. The feeling of resonating for the first time was something that still sent chills down his spine, but not in a bad way. In fact, he liked the cold feeling. As time had gone on, he had really enjoyed being colder and colder. He’s had more of an appreciation for the cold. Honestly, even the temperature of fall was starting to be a bit too warm for him.

As he was lost in hollowed thought, he didn’t even notice the fact that he almost bumped into a younger man. As he snapped back to reality, he looked up at the blonde-haired man.

“Oh, sorry,” Vincent said, continuing on his path.

However, before he was more than a few feet away, he felt someone grab his shoulder and say, “Vince! Vince!”

Confused and a bit annoyed, he turned back around and said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

As he fully turned around and saw who was grabbing him, he realized that it was the same guy that he bumped into. He was a man that looked to be around eighteen or nineteen years old. His face was both relieved and hectic, and the wrinkles on his forehead showed how he was always in deep thought. The man’s hair was golden blonde, flowing to one side and partially covering one of his blue eyes. Resting in front of those eyes were spectacles that somehow always managed to have a glare in them.

“Vince,” the man somewhat frantically said, a little out of breath. “Thank goodness I found you.”

Vincent looked at the man, slightly confused. “Do I know—”

“I’ve been hearing rumors of a huge and bloody battle that just took place,” the young man said, cutting Vincent off.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Vincent said, holding his hands up, “slow down there. First of all, who…” And then a sudden flash of memory shot through his partially frozen brain. “Oh, Zander! What’s with the panic? What’s up?”

Zander gave him a curious look, but quickly brushed it aside and continued his thought. “I heard about some fight that took place at East Power and that you might’ve been involved. Was Eliot with you? Is he alright?”

“Eliot?” Vincent asked, followed by a long pause. The name rang some sort of old familiarity in his head, but he couldn’t quite place it for a number of seconds. Then, like a flash of lightning, fuzzy memories of his dear friend shot into his head. “Oh! Oh my…” but just as quick as they came, something newly fundamental within his mind subdued the overwhelming emotions that accompanied the memories. His thoughts got colder. “He’s dead.”

Zander gave a nervously awkward laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

Vincent looked him dead in the eyes and said, “He was killed by a group of Aries mobsters. But don’t worry, we’re going to get revenge and take them out.”

Zander’s eyes stared farther than a thousand miles. “Wha…” was all he managed to get out. Then his entire demeanor shifted to a red that Vincent has never seen before. In fact, Vincent could sense the anger coming before Zander’s face showed it. “You think I care about that shit?!?!”

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“Why are you yelling at me?” Vincent answered calmly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Zander replied, seething. “You promised me you would protect him, and you didn’t!”

I promised? Vincent asked himself. He couldn’t remember such a thing.

“It’s not my fault—it’s Aries’.” Vincent then placed his hand in his chest. “They are always to blame, and I’m going to get revenge for you.”

Zander grabbed Vincent by the shirt and pulled him close. “I don’t want revenge. I want my love back.”

Vincent hesitated for a second. His mind lingered in the word “love” for a moment. For some reason his mind continued to replay that word over and over. However, before he could contemplate it any more, he sensed the intent to punch coming his way. On instinct, he moved out of the way of Zander’s attack.

Zander, stunned, stumbled a few feet, following the direction of his missed punch. He stopped and looked back at Vincent with confusion in his eyes.

Vincent, who was looking down at the blonde man, simply asked, “What was that for? I’m on your side.”

Zander’s eyes immediately turned mournful and glass-like. “Who are you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

Zander sighed. “I see.”

Vincent then sensed another mood change from Zander. “Why are you crying?”

Tears then began to fall from Zander’s eyes. “I didn’t expect to lose a friend today…nevertheless two.” He then began to walk away.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going?” he yelled out.

There was no response.

“Come back here, uh,” Vincent continued to call out, stumbling to find the blonde man’s name. “Zander, come back! You can help take out Aries!”

But still, Zander continued to walk away, leaving a small trail of water droplets behind him. Vincent just watched him as he walked further and further away. There was something about this scene that seemed so wrong to him, but he couldn’t place it. It was like there was an empty gap in his brain that prevented him from making a connection. He felt a longing the more the space between him and Zander grew, but he never once thought about closing that distance himself.

Finally, the moment Zander was out of view, Vincent was able to think again. His loss, he thought, he could’ve been a big help to Archard.

***

Deep within the center of the east side of London, sat a rugged-looking building. It was tucked in between an abandoned bakery—which was now a rarely attended bar—and a small apartment complex that now housed more than fifteen families. It was cobbled together with sheets of stained metal and chipped bricks. Wood was used to board up all the windows, making it so no light came in nor out.

In the basement of this building, surrounded by less than a dozen figures, was a man. He was seated at a circular card table, whose felt was more than worn away. The man’s face was obscured by the shadows cast from the burning candles that were the only source of light in the room. Flickering with the moving firelight, his tanned skin and blackened mustache constantly showed through. The Mexican man had angular features, with a jawline that most would envy and long, black hair that seemed darker than the night.

However, what was more important was what his face said about him, and it was something wholly unique. His face was hardened, with a ruggedness that could only come from years of pain. With that being said, that was only the surface of what that man showed. Underneath that exterior was what made up most of that man. Buried beneath the scars was a mind of care and a heart of gold. Even though there was judgment in his eyes, there was also unyielding love. Even though his mouth spoke sharp words, his smile was one that was for everyone.

Sitting there, surrounded by the upper members of Aries—called the “Treasures”—was Silo Custoro. He slammed his fist on the table, partially cracking some of the wood.

“They take and take and still they always want more,” he said between his teeth. “Why can’t we just have something? First they took our freedom, then they took our means of escape, and now they took our power. And,” he started to say with fury behind his eyes, “they took one another one of us.”

Stepping out from the shadows, apparating on Silo’s left, was another figure. They were taller and thin, with limb proportions that seemed too perfect. In fact, everything about them seemed too good to be true. Their stance was elegant, their hair was beautifully white, short, and well kept, and their skin was extravagantly smooth. Even their attire was prim and proper, with their suit and pants being navy blue, with metallic-white linings all throughout.

This non-binary person stepped up and placed a gloved hand on Silo’s shoulder. “I know how much Iro meant to you,” they said in a calming voice. “He was a dear friend to you and me—we practically grew up together. But he knew what getting involved with all of this could do, and you know that too.”

Silo placed a hand on his own face, resting the elbow against the table. With a staggered breath, he said, “I know, Plat, I know. But that still doesn't make it right. It still ain’t right what they’ve done to us.”

“And what they keep doing to us,” a deeper voice said.

This voice belonged to a black man who was leaning up against the back wall, barely illuminated by the candlelight. He had extremely long, thick dreads that tumbled to the middle of his back. He had on clothes that had a brown coloration to it, with the most notable thing being the brown, leather jacket he wore.

At that same time, almost in response to what the man said, footsteps started to echo down the stairs. Following in those footsteps was a slightly more rotund white woman, with multicolored hair that was parted into two different ponytails.

“Ah, stop with all that negativity, Zak,” she said, looking at black man. She had an unusual pep in her step and a smile that never left her face. Her Texan accent mimicked her bouncy personality. “You always find a way to bring the mood down.”

“Hayley,” Zak grumbled, “this isn’t the time for happiness—it’s only a matter of time before they kill us all.”

“No!” Silo shouted. The air went instantly still. No other person moved and the rest of the shadowed Treasures remained silent. “You know as well as I do that they won’t kill us. They’ll bleed us dry—oh, Lord they’ll bleed us dry—but they won’t ever kill us.” Silo then stood up with a tense, angered face. “If the boogie man dies, then who would they fight?!” He then slammed his hand against the wall, covering his face with the other. His anger quelled and the depressing reality began to set in.

Silo continued to cover his face. “But to take my best friend…now that’s just cruel,” he sobbed.

The well-dressed person placed a sympathetic hand on Silo’s back and rubbed it. Platinum John continued to allow their childhood friend to grieve in anger and peace. The rest of the Treasures remained silent as their leader slowly got back to a calmer demeanor.

Once the sobbing stopped, Zak softly spoke up, saying, “So what do we do now?”

“We attack them from a new angle,” Silo replied, wiping his face. “We can't give up. Where there is strife and hardships, there is always hope! Remember that, friends!

There was some melancholy-like cheering that erupted within that dank basement. While there was a sense of hope within those cheers, there was also a hopelessness and sadness that continued to be ever-present.

Silo then sat back down and took a deep, reassuring breath. “Now, our insider,” he started to say, “has some interesting information. While it was a group effort that took down our forces stationed at East Power, we know that they never had anyone besides Orlova that could match Iro’s prowess.”

“Of course,” Platinum John agreed, “the only people in this city that could take him on in battle would be you and I.”

“That would be true…until now.” Silo’s eyes grew serious and sharp. “It appears that Archard has a new toy to play with and eventually throw away. Archad’s right hand, Fang, seems to have brought a young man with them this time, and this boy has power. Apparently he was able to learn how to resonate within the span of a single battle. Not only that, but his Resonator powers are just as powerful, if not more powerful than Orlova’s.”

“Is that even possible?” Zak loudly asked.

“I didn't want to believe it either, but I believe our insider.” Silo then looked around at the rest of the Treasures. “And you know exactly why we can trust them.”

Zak nodded and sighed.

“So,” Silo continued, “I think it’s about time we strike back.”