THE POWERS REVEALED
May 23, 1983
THE MORNING AFTER
Sunlight spilled across the ruined hotel suite like it was trying to pretend nothing had happened.
It didn't fool Sidney Greene.
He stepped out of the elevator, nodded politely to a pair of passing guests, and walked toward the end of the hallway with a purposeful calm that didn't match the storm of energy still lingering in the air. The subtle pulse of five newly awakened amulets hummed like distant static in his bones, a feeling he knew better than anyone alive.
He rounded the corner and found Room 401 easily.
The door was lying on the carpet.
Metal hinges twisted. Frame splintered. The wall dented where it had hit.
Sidney gave a quiet hum through his nose.
"And so it begins," he said quietly.
He stepped over the door and took in the scene without surprise.
Erik...Warrior now...was on the floor on his back, snoring loudly, twisted in a hotel blanket with his arms splayed like he'd passed out mid-battle.
Connor...the Visionary...curled on his side near the bed, covered with a blanket, his breath steady but brow faintly furrowed, like his dreams were still crowded.
Nathan...the Conjurer...had crawled back onto one of the beds, limbs relaxed, face peaceful for the first time in hours.
Ricky...the Sentinel...slept on the couch, limbs draped any which way, body finally still after a night of involuntary teleporting.
Their stones glowed faintly in their sleep.
The room smelled like sweat, broken furniture, and cigarette smoke.
Sidney nodded once, approvingly. It was exactly what he expected. What he did not expect, though his father, Guardian Seamus Greene, had warned him, was the figure out on the balcony.
Jason Elias. The Guardian. Still awake. Still watching over them. Every line of him said he hadn't moved from that spot all night.
Sidney walked quietly toward the balcony doors.
Outside, Jace sat with his elbows on his knees, cigarette dangling between two fingers, boots planted, bare chest chilled by the morning air. His waist-length hair fell in front of his face, wild and unbrushed. Like his hands had been running through it repeatedly. The opal at his throat glowed softly, tired but alive.
Sidney stepped out onto the balcony.
Jace didn't look over.
He just said, voice rough:
"Are you supposed to help us?"
Sidney folded his hands behind his back, studying the young man before him carefully.
"Yes," he said simply. "I'll be the one who trains your powers."
Jace huffed a humorless breath. "What are we now?"
"You're still men," Sidney told him plainly, "Flesh and blood. But more."
Jace turned his head slightly, eyes shadowed.
"More...how?" he asked, "What happened to us? What happened to me?"
"That," Sidney said gently, "will take time to explain. Right now, I need to get the rest of you up and fed. You'll feel much better when you've eaten."
He pulled up a chair and sat across from the young Guardian.
"My name is Sidney Greene. I'm charged with making sure the five of you are prepared for the destiny that's been prophesied for centuries. You are the Guardian, and what that means I will explain more. But you all must replenish your bodies after last night."
"Greene..." Jace repeated softly, "You related to Seamus Greene. He gave me this thing. I let him put it on me...I shouldn't have."
"I'm his son, Jason," Sidney replied, "I have been sent to help all of you. To help you become more attuned and well trained in the powers you all now possess."
Jace eyed him skeptically.
"What are we...really? I think I need an answer before I blindly accept anything you're telling me."
Sidney nodded, telling him, "I am here to explain that, and to see that you all eat and allow the amulets to settle with you."
"I can't even take this damned thing off," Jace glowered, "I tried. It almost choked me to death."
"They cannot come off, Jason," Sidney replied, "And they won't until each of you have finished your work as The Brotherhood of Aelin."
Jace's eyes narrowed slightly at him as he repeated, "The Brotherhood of Aelin..."
"I'm afraid that explanation needs to wait until all of your brothers are awake as well."
Behind them, soft footsteps approached. Nathan stepped out onto the balcony, hair still faintly damp but no longer steaming. Sidney turned his head.
"Good morning, Conjurer," he greeted.
Nathan froze.
"Conjurer?" he asked, wiping sleep out of his confused eyes.
Jace pointed at himself, replying dryly, "Guardian...apparently."
Nathan blinked, answering back somewhat distantly, "Okay..."
Sidney nodded to Nathan, telling him, "I'm Sidney Greene."
Nathan's eyebrows shot up. "Greene? As in..."
"Seamus Greene's son," Jace finished.
Nathan exhaled, understanding dawning.
"Okay," he replied, "That... makes a weird amount of sense."
"Morning," a voice mumbled behind them. Ricky had wandered out in wrinkled clothes and tangled hair, stretching like a cat.
"Good morning, Sentinel," Sidney said.
"Name's Ricky," he corrected, confused.
"But your title is Sentinel," Sidney replied.
Ricky looked at Nathan quizzically, sleepily asking, "I have a title?"
Looking at Nathan, he asked, "What's yours?"
"Conjurer," Nathan replied. Ricky pointed to Jace, who muttered, "Guardian."
Ricky nodded slowly, pointing to himself, "Sentinel... huh. Okay. I guess."
Nathan tipped a thumb at Sidney. "He says we all have titles."
"Still makes no sense," Ricky said.
"Agreed," Nathan replied.
More footsteps. Erik appeared, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sleepy and curious.
"You must be the one we were told to expect," he said, nodding to Sidney.
"Yes, Warrior," Sidney answered.
Erik blinked.
"Warrior?"
Ricky offered a hand to Erik like he was introducing himself for the first time. Erik played along somewhat automatically.
"Nice to meet ya, Warrior," Ricky chirped with light sarcasm, "I'm Sentinel!"
Turning with a loosely animated flair, he continued, pointing at Nathan, "He's the Conjurer, and the shirtless dude brooding in the chair is the Guardian."
Jace emitted a sharp sigh, signaling he was still far from impressed with anything he'd learned so far.
Erik thought about this, then hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward Connor's sleeping form inside. Ricky patiently looked up at Sidney, who answered clearly, "Visionary."
Erik stared, trying to process it all.
"Sure. Okay," he said, still confused.
"We'll make everything clear soon," Sidney assured him, "Over breakfast. I've ordered room service. You all must regain your strength."
Erik exhaled, clutching his stomach, "I could eat."
Right on cue, a thin, broken voice echoed from inside the room.
"Too loud...too much...there's too many..."
Jace was already on his feet. The cigarette flew off the balcony as he strode past Sidney and the others without a word.
Connor was now wide awake and a few more whimpers away from screaming.
Jace quickly dropped to his knees beside him.
"Connor... hey... hey, look at me," he urged. Connor didn't look. He couldn't. His hands clamped over his ears, eyes slammed tightly shut, fingers digging in hard, tears streaming down his face. The psychic noise inside his skull was thick with morning hotel traffic: doors slamming, maids gossiping, kids crying, guests arguing, thoughts overlapping into a painful roar.
Sidney stepped in beside Jace, calm and steady.
"Put your hands on him," he instructed softly. "And tell him the voices are going away. Make him believe it. Be urgent."
Jace didn't question this. He grabbed Connor's wrists, pulled his hands away from his ears, and held them firmly.
"Connor...listen. They're going away," Jace commanded, "Right now. They're fading. They're diminishing. They're going quiet. Do you hear me?"
His opal flared white. Connor's emerald flickered in response. Connor's psychic storm began to recede. His breathing steadied. His tears slowed. His voice fell to a whisper.
"They're going away," he breathed, relief starting to tame his features, "Jason...I can't hear any of them now."
Jace's voice shook as he placed a steadying hand on Connor's shoulder, "Good, Connor. Just breathe...try to relax more."
Connor looked around at the rest of the band, all appearing relieved but on edge. There was someone else Connor didn't recognize. He pointed at Sidney and asked, "Who's this?"
"Someone who's going to help," Jace said.
"The guy from the note?" Connor asked for clarity.
"Yes, Visionary," Sidney told him. Connor studied him curiously, his amulet glowing, his eyes flashing a matching glow. It was as if the two men were having a private conversation of silence, with Connor finally saying, "I get it. Thank you for coming, sir."
"Ugh," Sidney groaned slightly, "I'd prefer you all just call me Sidney. 'Sir' makes me feel like I'm surveying troops."
"But," Connor replied with a slight smile, "You kind of are. You have to prepare us for war."
Ricky, Erik, Jace, and Nathan all stared at him.
"War?" Nathan asked thickly, "Not my favorite word."
Sidney's eyebrows raised in slight fascination at Connor.
"What have you seen, Visionary?" he asked.
Connor stood up with both Jace and Sidney's assistance, still feeling a bit weak. Sitting down in one of the recliners, he said, "All night long...I saw so much. I...I can't remember all of it, but I do remember I saw us fighting against an army...and we were powerful. All of us."
Sidney smiled and replied, "And indeed you all are, which is why I am here. I will help you learn and develop your new abilities, but it will take time. That is why the tour is being postponed. You all need time and training to face the threats you will face in the years to come."
"So, we're just some kind of superheroes now or something?" Ricky asked with genuine curiosity.
Sidney chuckled softly, "Not quite. All will be made clear soon."
A loud voice rang from the doorway:
"Room service!"
A hotel worker wheeled in the massive breakfast cart, took one look at the broken furniture, the door on the floor, five disheveled men, and muttered:
"Friggin' rock stars..."
Sidney paid him a generous tip and dismissed him. Then he lifted the silver lids from the trays.
"Eat," he instructed. "It will help stabilize your bodies. Your amulets drain energy when they awaken."
They obeyed without question as hunger seemed to descend on them all as soon as the cloche was lifted. Ricky nearly inhaled strips of bacon, Erik tore into toast with a little jam, Nathan nursed hot coffee like it was a lifeline, Connor slowly ate some oatmeal while casting shaky glances around the room. Jace nibbled lightly on a couple links of sausage, drinking a hot cup of black coffee carefully, his eyes scanning his bandmates and shooting wary glances at Sidney.
Sidney sat calmly with them, explaining in slow, digestible pieces about their titles, their amulets, The Brotherhood of Aelin, and how they were chosen as the next generation.
Sidney told them about the island of Aelin, a name Jace seemed to recognize, yet felt he'd never been told about it until now. Sidney avoided details that he felt would overwhelm them at this point in their evolution. He gave them just enough to breathe. Enough to engage them, but not overwhelm.
“So,” Jace asked quietly, “We’re guardians of an entire island of people, and we’re also the target of a really old magic warrior… how do we know he hasn’t already tried to get to us?”
Sidney nodded and told him plainly, “You don’t. I will say that the disciples of Aldus the Conqueror have already been in your presence.”
This caused a bit of panic among the five young men, and Jace managed to get his bandmates to settle down as Sdney asked him, “Was there anyone recently who seemed overly interested in any of you? Clinging to you, trying to get you alone?”
They all thought about the night of the Carson City show where Tommy and Mick had invited them to a party. All five looked at each other, and then Connor suddenly quipped, “No, I was willingly with a group of girls.”
Ricky sneezed “slut” suddenly.
Connor snickered.
Nathan rolled his eyes and said, “The story checks out. I remember when he finally surfaced… then dragged more back in the room for a n other hour.
Connor whistled to himself, picking at his cuticles aimlessly.
“Can you remember anyone, Jason?” Sidney asked pointedly.
Jace thought for a moment, finally recalling the one woman who had kept following him everywhere and calling him hot and dangerous. She’d annoyed him until he firmly said no, but when she left, the look on her face suggested he’d broken her actual plan. He’d felt steered. It was something that made him wary of her.
“That one woman in Carson City,” Jace said quietly, “I felt like she was steering me toward somewhere. Like she had plans for me.”
“Because she did,” Sidney replied, “She was testing you, Jason. Testing your reasoning, your character, and your sexual fortitude, though you stopped it from getting that far.”
“Wait…” Ricky questioned, “There are enemies who want to screw with us for real?”
‘You have no idea, Sentinel,” Sidney cautioned, “That woman was a disciple of Aldus, sent merely to steer you to where she could manipulate and seduce you, information she would glean and pass on to other disciples of The Conqueror. Also gathering intelligence on your progress before bestowal to Aldus himself. You held her off just as well as if you’d already been bestowed with the power.”
“Will that kind of thing keep happening?” Erik asked.
Sidney nodded at him and told him it is a danger that all five of them would need to prepare to combat now that they all were now bonded to their amulets.
Jace sighed heavily, causing Sidney to stand up and walk to him, placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder calmly.
“I know I have told you a lot of information, and there is so much more for you all to learn,” He said, “But much of it will happen in Aelin, when you go to meet your people.”
Jace blinked at this, then shut his eyes tightly, sighing once heavily, then asked quietly, "What do we do now?"
Sidney folded his hands, replying, "You go home. You rest. You act normal. You do not experiment with your powers. You do not panic your families. A couple days of rest, and following that, you will meet me at your rehearsal space in Sherman Oaks. And training will begin."
"So, the day after tomorrow?" Ricky asked, "Why not now?"
"Because you need at least 24 hours to settle in to yourselves," Sidney said firmly, "Trying to begin now wouldn't help any of you. The amulets will adjust to you, and you to them. You all need time for that to occur."
Jace rubbed his face, running a worried hand through his long hair.
"My fiancée, Celia..." he said, "I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to explain any of this."
"Don't," Sidney told him, "Not yet. Simply tell her you're sick. That is the cover story already passed to your manager. All your tour dates have been postponed."
"John's gonna worry," Erik murmured.
"He already is worried about all of you," Sidney replied. "But he believes the illness story for now."
Jace exhaled long and slow. Sidney stood, grabbing a piece of bacon and taking a bite, nodding.
"They could make it crispier," he observed, drawing a little chuckle from Connor.
Then he gathered his coat, nodded to each man in turn, and said, "I must take my leave of you now. I will see you all in Sherman Oaks in two days' time. Contact Linda at your management office, she will know how to reach me should you require my assistance until then."
Jace nodded to him sullenly, others muttered their goodbyes, and after he was gone, they fell into silence, all looking at each other tiredly. None of them moved. Sidney's explanations and information rattled in their heads, each man trying to come to terms with their newly attained abilities and destinies. It was so much to take in, almost overwhelming.
Not long after Sidney left them, Mongo arrived and stopped dead at the sight of the disaster zone.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed, "What did I miss? You guys have one hell of a party or what?"
"Yeah," Ricky deadpanned. "Party."
"Are you guys okay?" Mongo asked, concern edging his voice.
"Not really," Nathan said honestly. "We're all sick."
Mongo nodded sympathetically. "Man... anything I can do?"
"Just get us home," Jace said quietly, leaning against the recliner where Connor still sat, "Please."
"Quickly..." Connor added.
Mongo nodded. "Half hour, then. See ya downstairs."
Then he left. Silence filled the suite. Five men stood there, staring at each other.
"So..." Ricky said slowly. "We're the Brotherhood of Aelin."
"What's an Aelin?" Erik muttered.
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's the island."
"Oh. Right." Erik paused. "Still weird."
They gathered their things without speaking. Filed out. Climbed into the SUV. Los Angeles waited ahead of them like a city that did not yet know what was coming.
Five ordinary men yesterday. Five something else entirely today, even if none of them had a word for it yet.
A SENTINEL UNLEASHED
Ricky Strathan made it through his front door on the third attempt with the key. His joints ached in weird places, his muscles buzzed with leftover adrenaline, and something inside him felt too light. Too wired. Too flexed. He dropped his bags on the Mexican tile and stood there.
On the kitchen windowsill, Fender the betta fish was doing slow, indifferent laps in his bowl. Ricky fed him without thinking, then leaned on the counter with his coffee and stared at the wall like it might explain the universe.
Everything from the hotel replayed in his mind. White light...Jace dying and coming back...Connor screaming in pain and terror...Erik ripping doors off the hinges...Sidney calling him Sentinel. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Sentinel. Sure.
He quickly drained his coffee mug and moved toward the sink.
Halfway there, his vision tilted. Reality rippled. The edges of the kitchen wobbled like heatwave air. Ricky felt his body lurch, like he was falling inward, shrinking, compressing.
"What the..." he managed to breathe out.
The mug slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor in pieces.
He fell to the hardwood, dizzy and unsteady. His ears rang, his balance felt wrong. His center of gravity too low, legs too springy.
Then he lifted his head.
And froze. In the sliding glass door, a pair of cat's eyes stared back at him. Deep blue. His exact shade. But vertical. Reflective. Animal.
"Oh, hell no!" Ricky whispered in astonishment.
His reflection's pupils narrowed. A wave of black fur shimmered across his cheekbones and down his jawline. Ricky jerked backward hard. His heart snapped into overdrive, and pure instinct took over, nothing human about it. He panicked and ran, though not outside, not yet.
Ricky ran through the house, careening into furniture full-speed, shoulder-slamming into doorframes, knocking over a chair, skidding across the living-room rug on hands and knees as fur rippled down his arms.
"Nope!" he cried, slapping at the fur as it tried to take over parts of his body, shouting, "Damnit! Stop!"
He scrambled into the hallway mirror, hitting it shoulder-first and leaving a little spiderwebbed dent in the reflective surface.
"Not the mirror! Bad luck! Bad luck!" Ricky cried out, and raced back into the kitchen, falling onto the floor. His breath heaved from his chest hard, and his shoulder now hurt from cuts the mirror had delivered to it upon impact.
Ricky shook violently, feeling as if his whole body was shifting and moving even though he was on his hands and knees. Or was he? He looked up again at his reflection in the sliding door glass. Cat eyes. Black fur creeping down his neck. Fangs pushing at his gums.
"NO!" he shouted painfully. He tried everything he could think of now. Shaking himself violently, slapping his own face, jumping up and down, yelling at his reflection to "STOP DOING THAT!"
Nothing worked. His bones itched. His muscles twitched. His pulse turned into a full-body vibration. Again, he felt the world shrinking around him. Ricky closed his eyes, silently praying to God it all would just stop. Begging for the transformation to stop and let him return to himself. He opened his eyes slightly, glancing at the reflection in the door. The reflection staring back at him was not his own but that of a sleek black cat, fur bristling, eyes wild.
That's when he broke. He tried to speak, but only a panicked yowl came out.
"OUTSIDE! ESCAPE! NOW!" he thought in a blind panic. Ricky the cat bolted out the back door, flying from kitchen tile to backyard lawn in a matter of seconds. He paused, trying to think...but there was no time.
The moment Ricky's feline body hit the yard, the neighbor's 110-pound Doberman, Koda, looked up from his water bowl and locked eyes with him. The dog wasn't chained up. Ricky froze. Koda did not.
The dog barked, deep and explosive.
WOOF!
"Oh, COME ON!" Ricky wailed internally. Outwardly, he emitted a hiss, his ears pinned back against his head. He darted away, every ounce of feline energy firing at once.
Koda launched after him like a missile, barking wildly in hot pursuit. Ricky leaped the fence, landed on someone's patio table, bounced off it, hit the next fence, launched off that...claws skittering on pavement.
"Why is this happening to me?!?" Ricky screamed in his mind.
Neighbors outside in their yards or driveways noticed the chase and some even cried out for the dog to leave the poor little kitty alone. Koda didn't care. He was having the best day of his canine life.
Ricky tore across three yards, ducked through a hedge, dodged a sprinkler, and sprinted back toward his own yard.
"Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit-ohshit!" Ricky panicked inwardly, running as fast as his little feline limbs could move. Rounding the chase back toward his own home, Ricky thought about the pool house door. The one he was going to fix before the tour started but never got around to. He swore he'd never fix it if this idea saved his ass.
Racing back across the lawn, he bolted for the pool house...Koda thundering behind him with purposeful snarls and barking. Ricky dove through a small gap in the wooden pool-house door, just barely squeezing his cat-sized body through it in time. Koda snapped at his tail right as he made it completely inside. Ricky curled into a terrified black puffball in the corner of the pool house, shaking. Koda rammed the door over and over again, barking furiously. Ricky emitted a defensive hiss in the dog's direction, pacing frantically...until the magic eased. His body stretched. Limbs lengthened. Fur receded.
Ricky collapsed onto the cool wooden floor, panting, completely naked and vulnerable. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist, then looked around the floor. Tufts of black fur drifted along the boards like dark snow.
Koda barked triumphantly outside. Ricky glared in the dog's direction, emitting a growl that sounded like something considerably larger than a house cat.
"Yeah, yeah, keep it up... bark while you can," he muttered hoarsely. "Just wait 'til I come back as a black panther. You'll be running from me."
Koda barked even louder. Ricky dropped his face into his hands.
"I seriously hate my life right now," he groaned.
A CONJURER IGNITED
Nathan Dallenger unlocked the door to his apartment and walked inside with a sigh that belonged to a much older man. The familiar smell hit him immediately: coffee...solder...electrical heat...old circuit boards...and the soft ozone scent of static discharge from half-finished projects scattered everywhere. Home. His safe zone. His tiny, chaotic, beloved lab.
Keyboards, two broken, one gutted, lay open on the table. Prototype pedals, stripped wires, and his partly rebuilt Sony Walkman shared space with three coffee mugs he'd promised himself he'd wash three days ago. He shut the door and exhaled. His body still ached. His nerves vibrated.
"Conjurer," he muttered under his breath as he headed toward the kitchen, "Yeah. Great. Sure. Why not?"
He poured himself a fresh mug of coffee, strong enough to wake the dead, though that unfortunately had already been accomplished the previous night by Jace, and walked back toward his workbench.
He set the mug down beside the half-disassembled synthesizer. The keys gleamed up at him like they were begging to be touched.
"Five minutes of normal," he told himself. "Just five."
He sat, cracked his knuckles, and plugged in the synth.
The moment the prongs hit the outlet a spark leapt from the socket. Nathan jerked back.
"Okay! Not touching that. Not today!" He reached for his coffee instead. His elbow clipped the mug. Coffee sloshed across the table and spilled directly onto the open synth.
Nathan froze, starting to spit out, "Aw, sh..."
FOOM!
The air around his hand ignited, no spark, no flicker, just a ribbon of flame shooting from his fingertips like someone had flicked a blowtorch to life. Nathan yelped and flung himself backward. The spilled coffee sizzled on the keyboard's metal frame, steam erupting, and the flame arced off the synth and jumped onto the floor...catching the carpet.
"WOAH!" Nathan cried out. He dove forward to smother it, slapping at the flames, only for another burst to shoot sideways and set the drapes ablaze. Nathan scrambled to his feet.
"No no no no...NONONONO!" he cried, grabbing the curtains to yank them down, forgetting the obvious. His hands were still on fire.
"SHIT!" Nathan spat. The swear word launched a jet of flame from his fingers like a miniature flamethrower. The carpet was burning. The drapes were burning. His fingertips were flickering like over-caffeinated lighters. Smoke filled the air and the smoke alarm started shrieking.
BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP!
"You have got to be kidding me!"
Nathan looked at his hands, breathing hard. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to stop it. At this point, everything he had was going to be destroyed in the flames, and Nathan was beginning to worry he might be destroyed with it.
And then...his amulet pulsed, neither bright nor dramatic, more like a deep, resonant inhale.
The garnet stone at his chest glowed red, then deep crimson. Every open flame in the room bent toward him. Nathan froze, staring as the fire stretched...pulled...twisted...like someone was dragging it across the air by invisible strings. Right back into the garnet.
WHOOMPH!
The fire vanished. Every last tongue of flame disappeared into the stone.
The room fell quiet except for the smoke alarm screaming, Nathan gasping, and the faint crackle of cooling plastic. He stood in the middle of his living room, chest heaving, surrounded by scorched carpet, a charred synth, melted drapes, coffee everywhere, and a faint burnt-marshmallow smell.
"Okay...okay," Nathan whispered, "That just happened."
He sat heavily on the couch. Stared down at his hands. Normal now. Only warm. Not burning. He swallowed.
"Alright then," he said, this time to the ceiling. "New rule. No sudden movements. No yelling. No coffee near electronics."
He rubbed his face with both palms.
"No more cussing..."
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the smoke alarm blared on.
"Conjurer," he muttered, deadpan. "Yeah. I'm conjuring house fires."
A WARRIOR AWAKENED
Erik Hahn very carefully unlocked and pushed open the door to his apartment, stepping inside with the quiet exhaustion of a man who'd been run over by a tour bus, resurrected, and then emotionally sucker-punched by the universe.
Which, in fairness... he sort of had.
He let his keys drop on the counter and exhaled long and slow, rubbing the back of his neck. Every muscle ached. He walked to the mailbox slot inside the entry closet and sifted through envelopes.
Junk mail. Bills. Coupons. More junk mail. Then...a bright yellow envelope with stickers on it.
He felt his chest soften instantly.
"Hey... look at that!" he said with a warm smile. The handwriting was large and wobbly.
TO UNCLE ERIK -- from Maddie
He gingerly opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside.
A crayon masterpiece. A stick-figure rock star with giant arms, a bass guitar bigger than his body, and hair that looked like burnt-orange spaghetti. Behind him, a lopsided crowd with tiny stick hands in the air.
At the top, written in careful six-year-old letters:
My Uncle Erik is a Bas Player! The Best!
Erik laughed under his breath. "B-a-s-s, sweetheart. But close enough."
He touched the drawing very gently.
"Maddie, you little angel..."
He walked toward the kitchen, grabbed the heart-shaped magnet Maddie had made him in kindergarten, flattened the drawing against the fridge with his palm, and reached up to secure it. A faint noise caught him off guard. A soft, metallic crunch.
"Huh?"
He slid the magnet onto the top of the paper and pulled his hand away. The paper looked... wrinkled. That wasn't right. He carefully lifted the drawing. Stopped. Stared. Underneath it, in the stainless-steel refrigerator door, was a hand-shaped crater. A deep one. A full quarter-inch depression where his palm had been.
Erik blinked once. Twice. Then whispered, "Oh, man. Not the fridge."
He pressed his fingers lightly to the dent. A second dent formed instantly. He jerked his hand back like the fridge had growled at him.
"Okay! Right! Great! So, no touching anything. Ever."
He backed up slowly. Very slowly. Turned away. "I'm just gonna... go to the store. Get some air. Not break my own shit anymore."
He grabbed his keys and headed for the parking lot. Outside, the sun felt nice. Normal. Comforting. His car sat waiting for him, his prized little two-seater sports car. Cherry red. Shiny. Easily the cleanest thing he owned.
Erik reached for the door handle. The metal snapped off in his palm like a cheap plastic toy.
He stared at the handle in his hand.
"Are you kidding me?!"
He circled to the passenger side, muttering to himself. "Pretend it's a feather. Minimal strength. Be gentle. Gentle. Gen...tle..."
He curled two fingers around the handle. Eased pressure. Careful. Soft. Lightly...
POP!
Off came the handle. Erik squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, a little louder than he intended. He glanced around the parking lot. "Yeah, don't mind me, everyone. I'm just some idiot dismantling his own car."
He dropped both handles into the grass. Stared at the locked car. The passenger side window was right there, but that was no good, since he needed the driver's side. He circled back around the front of the car, muttering steadily to himself, and arrived at the driver's side door. Stared at the window.
"Don't do it," he muttered. "Don't break the window. Don't be that guy."
He pressed two fingers gently to the glass. It spiderwebbed instantly.
"Ugh...I am that guy." He sighed, balled his fist, and tapped the window lightly.
It exploded. Glass everywhere. He brushed the fragments off his shoulders, unlocked the door from the inside, and slid into the driver's seat.
"Okay. Okay. No more breaking things."
He placed the key in the ignition and turned it slightly too hard. The steering column cracked and began to fall. Erik grabbed the wheel to catch it and tore it free of the column entirely. He sat there holding it. Like he'd lifted a steering wheel off a Hot Wheels toy.
He stared at it, dumbfounded.
"Damn," he said quietly.
Erik extracted himself from the car with the steering wheel and part of the column in his hands, walked back inside with considerable care, set the wreckage on the kitchen table, and trudged down the hallway to the bedroom. He sat very carefully on the bed. Did not move. Just stared at his hands.
Big hands. Strong hands. Too strong.
He'd always been the band's muscle. The crew joked he could lift an amp stack by himself. But this wasn't strength. This was something else entirely. Something that scared him, not because he couldn't control it but because of what he'd already seen it do.
Jace dying and coming back in a column of shifting light. Connor screaming. Ricky flickering in and out of reality. Nathan blazing like a human torch. Compared to all of that, a ruined fridge and a dismantled car were nothing.
He rubbed his face carefully.
"I'm worried about you guys," he whispered.
He stared at the phone. He knew he would need a ride to Sherman Oaks. He wouldn't risk the car. Or a bus. Or someone else's property.
He picked up the phone and dialed Nathan.
"Come on... come on..."
The line clicked. "Hello?"
"Hey, Nate. It's me."
"Oh. Hey, man. Uh... everything okay?"
Erik looked at the dents in his fridge through the open doorway. Glanced at the steering wheel on the kitchen table.
"Define 'okay.'"
"Uh oh," Nathan groaned. "What happened, Erik?"
"My car... broke."
Nathan was quiet. "Broke how? The engine?"
"No."
"Battery?"
"No."
"Someone steal your tires?"
"No..."
"Erik... which part broke?"
The line went quiet. Then, sheepishly, "All of it."
A long silence. Erik looked at the phone.
"Nate?"
"Well," Nathan finally replied, "I suppose that's better than catching your apartment on fire with profanity."
Erik's eyebrows shot up. "Wait... what?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you tomorrow. I'll pick you up around noon."
Erik closed his eyes, heaving a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
He hung up, set the phone down gently, laid back on his bed, and folded his hands across his chest.
"Just gonna stay right here," he muttered. "Not touching anything. Not breaking anything. Warrior my ass."
He exhaled slowly. And finally...finally...closed his eyes.
A VISIONARY OVERLOADED
Connor Braydee had never been so grateful to step out of an SUV in his life.
His nerves were shot, his head felt stretched too tight, and the hum under his skin, the same one that had plagued him all night at the hotel, was still there. Waiting. Vibrating. Threatening.
"See ya in a few days, Connor," Mongo told him. "I hope ya start feeling a lot better, man."
"Thanks," Connor answered quietly. Mongo nodded, waved, and drove off, leaving Connor alone on his front walkway. Alone. Except...he wasn't. Not even close.
The moment Mongo's engine faded down the street, the voices surged. Different ones. Hundreds of whispers and half-thoughts. Fragments of emotions and memories that didn't belong to him.
He's home early.
I wonder if the mail ran.
Woah! Who's that guy? Oh my god he's so hot!
Connor flinched so hard he stumbled. His head snapped toward the source of that last one. Across the street, a girl around sixteen or seventeen years old was watering plants, headphones on, wearing a short denim skirt and a doctored-up Poison T-shirt. She looked up when she heard the car leave, and when her eyes met Connor's, her thoughts hit him like a slap.
He's older but look at those eyes! Damn, he's really HOT! I'd love to get next to that!
"Uh...no," Connor whispered quickly, face going hot. "Not today, Christine Sixteen!"
He could still hear the girl's thoughts as he made haste toward his front door. He tried to shut her out, but then the visions started, small and intrusive and deeply unwanted, the teenager's imagination running completely unchecked. A horrifying invasion. From someone who had no idea he could hear every word.
Connor hurried inside, shut the door, and sagged against it, eyes closed.
Silence. For almost three seconds.
Then...the entire neighborhood crashed into his mind.
Arguments behind walls. A toddler screaming for juice three houses over. A couple fighting in rapid Spanish. A man thinking about the Dodgers game. Someone silently panicking about overdue bills. A lonely old woman remembering her husband. All of it. Pouring into him without filter, without mercy. The only saving grace was that he could no longer hear the girl across the street.
Connor clamped his hands over his ears, stupid, useless, instinctive, and staggered through his house like a man trying not to drown.
"Stop... stop... please stop..." he sobbed.
Connor reached his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, forehead pressed to his knees. The voices kept coming. Louder. Sharper. Too many.
He squeezed his eyes shut. And that's when the vision hit.
White. Cold. Sudden. Total.
Then he saw his band. Fighting. Shouting. Commanding soldiers. Magic and fire and shattering force, sounds he didn't recognize yet but instinctively feared.
And then he saw Jace. Broken. Bleeding. Bound and gagged and looking as if he'd been horribly attacked. Connor could see himself holding Jace, trying to keep him conscious, trying to keep him alive. All around them, his bandmates fighting those who had hurt Jason.
"No no no no PLEASE!" Connor begged. The scene shattered, and immediately another hit. All five of them crammed into an SUV. Fear, thick and choking. His chest felt like it was caving in. Then a blast of emptiness, as if someone had ripped a piece of his soul away. A thread of someone's life snapped. With horror, he saw it was Jace again, and a blinding green light exploded from his amulet. He felt like his own soul was being torn apart.
Connor's scream tore him out of the vision. He shot upright on the bed, gasping. Waves of green radiated from his chest, from the amulet. He was shaking violently, sweat pouring down his face, hands trembling so hard he couldn't unclench them.
"Oh God... oh God..." he breathed raggedly.
He curled forward again, trying to breathe, never having felt so alone in his life, never so invaded. The visions still pulsed at the edges of his mind like bruises. He needed it to stop, just long enough to breathe.
That's when the phone rang.
Connor yelped and jumped so hard he fell off the bed. He scrambled up, grabbed the handset with shaking fingers, and managed to get it to his ear.
"Hello?" he answered hoarsely.
"Connor?"
Nathan's voice. Tired, but steady.
"Hey. You okay?"
Connor swallowed. "No. No, Nate, I'm not. I can't...I can't shut it out. The voices...the neighbors...everything...I keep hearing everything everyone is thinking. Some of it is really awkward, too."
"Is it really that bad?"
A beat of silence. Then, with embarrassed irritation entering his voice: "Have you ever had a sixteen-year-old girl broadcast the dirtiest desires she has about you directly into your own mind, Nate?"
Nathan was silent. Connor whined into the phone, "I'll take that silence as a no."
"Damn, Connor," Nathan replied. "I'm really sorry."
"And I had... I had a vision, Nathan," Connor said, his voice cracking.
Nathan quieted immediately. "What kind of vision?"
Connor squeezed his eyes shut. "You. And Ricky. And Erik. And Jace..." he choked out. "And Jace was hurt, Nathan. Worse than anything I've ever seen. Tied up. Bleeding. Hurt bad. I had ahold of him and he was dying again."
Nathan's breath caught audibly.
"And then there was another," Connor interrupted. "In an SUV. We were escaping or something, and I was holding Jace. He was still dying. And then something just suddenly snapped...and the amulet power ripped through me. Nate, I don't know what's happening to me."
Nathan went quiet on the line. "I'm coming to pick you up tomorrow, around noon," he said firmly. "I've gotta pick up Erik too. Turns out he, uh...broke his car."
Connor blinked through tears. "He...broke...his car?"
"Yeah," Nathan confirmed. "All of it."
Connor let out a strangled half-laugh, half-sob. "This is insane."
"Yep," Nathan replied. "Pretty much."
"Nathan...Nate, I don't know if I can handle any more of this."
"I know," Nathan murmured. "Just...try to stay calm. Try to rest. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay."
They hung up. The silence wasn't silence. His head buzzed with the thoughts of everyone within shouting distance, without any of them actually making a sound. The visions still pulsed at the edges of his mind like bruises.
His gaze drifted toward the cabinet beside the sink. Whiskey. He didn't think. He didn't debate. He grabbed the bottle with shaking hands, twisted the cap off, and drank straight from the neck. Fire burned down his throat. Another long swallow. Another. He stopped tasting it halfway down the bottle. He stopped hearing the voices somewhere after that. His vision blurred at the edges. His limbs went heavy. His head finally numbed.
Stumbling to the couch, Connor collapsed sideways and let the darkness pull him down. Just before he fully blacked out, one small terrified thought flickered through his mind: I don't want this power.
Then he slipped into unconsciousness. Alone. Drained. And scared of what tomorrow might bring.
A GUARDIAN BREAKING
Jace Elias barely remembered the drive home. The five of them had sat in silence the entire way, Mongo occasionally checking to make sure each of them was still hanging in there. One by one, they were dropped off at their homes. Jace was the last.
Mongo had offered a concerned "You gonna be okay, man?" and Jace had muttered something that vaguely resembled yeah.
He wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay since the moment he died. He walked up the front path of his small, sunlit suburban home like a man returning from war. His body felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. His chest ached with something he couldn't name.
The front door opened before he touched the knob.
"Jason..."
Celia stood there in soft pajamas, her blonde hair in a loose braid, concern carved into her features. Before he could speak, she wrapped her arms around him. And he folded. Completely. He melted into her like he'd been holding up the world with his bare hands and had finally let it drop. She held him tighter, sensing instinctively that something was very wrong.
"You okay?" she whispered. "Linda told me the tour's been postponed. Said you all were really sick. Are you alright, Jace?"
No. That should have been the short answer. He nodded anyway.
"I... I just feel sick. Really sick."
She brushed a hand over his forehead. "Oh, baby...come in."
She guided him inside, set down his bags, kissed his cheek, talked softly to him the way she always did when something was wrong.
"Do you want to eat? Do you need anything?"
"Just... sleep," Jace murmured.
She smoothed her hand along his back. "Then sleep. I'll check on you in a bit." She kissed him with a tenderness he'd sorely been missing.
He lay down on their bed and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of any of it. The white light. Dying. Seamus Greene. The island. The amulet humming at his chest. The band screaming. Connor's pain. Nathan burning. Ricky vanishing. Erik ripping a door off a wall. He didn't understand any of it. He didn't understand himself anymore.
Celia slipped into the room after a while and quietly climbed into bed beside him. Her soft touch on his arm made him flinch. He didn't mean to, but everything inside him was too raw.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
"Talk to me," she whispered.
If he could have explained it, he would have. But the words jammed in his throat.
So instead...he kissed her. Gently at first.
She kissed him back, warm, loving, grounding.
One moment bled into another. The familiar passion and intimacy was comforting, anchoring, a reminder that he was still human, still loved, still himself.
Until he wasn't.
Until the moment he came and the opal around his neck detonated with blinding white light.
Celia gasped, her eyes widening in terror, and before Jace could move, an emotional shockwave surged out of him. A blast of uncontrolled empathic force slammed into her like a physical blow.
Celia screamed, then collapsed.
"Celia!" Jace cried out, catching her before she hit the mattress, shaking, panicking. "Celia... Celia, baby... wake up... please... please... God, please..."
Her lashes fluttered after what felt like an eternity. She woke with a terrified jolt. Her eyes darted to him. Then to the glowing amulet. She recoiled violently.
"Don't...don't touch me!"
"Celia, please... it was an accident... I don't... I don't know what's happening..."
Her voice trembled. "What is that thing? What did you DO to me?"
"I don't know... I swear... Celia, please just listen... I didn't try to hurt you..."
She backed away, shaking, pulling her clothes together, grabbing things off the dresser with frantic hands.
"I can't... Jason, I can't... I don't know what's wrong with you but... this... no... I can't..."
"Celia, please... don't go... please don't go..."
He reached out to stop her and she flinched away from him. Flinched like he was a monster.
It gutted him. Tears burned in his eyes.
"Please," he begged, voice cracking. "I'm begging you. Don't do this."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, choking on her own tears. "I won't tell anyone, I swear it. I won't say a word about...that thing. But I can't stay. I can't be here."
"Celia..."
She shook her head once. Then left. The door closed. It felt like a prison door closing on him.
Jace collapsed onto his knees, like the strings holding him up had been cut. He pressed both hands to his face and cried, neither long nor dramatic, just enough to carve a hollow in his chest. He stayed on the floor, unable to settle himself enough to stand.
He crawled on his hands and knees into the living room and hoisted himself up onto the sofa. He sat there, staring at nothing. All he could think of was Celia: how he'd hurt her, how he'd driven her away because of a destiny he'd known nothing about until he mistakenly accepted a stranger's amulet in an alley.
The phone rang.
Jace grabbed it, desperate. "Celia?!"
Nothing at first. "No, Jace... it's Nate."
Jace closed his eyes.
Nathan's voice softened instantly. "Jace... what happened?"
Jace swallowed. The words came out broken.
"She's gone, Nate. She left. I hurt her... I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to... she's scared of me... she won't even let me near her."
Nathan exhaled shakily. "Oh, man, Jace...I'm so sorry."
"I didn't ask for this!" Jace shouted, voice cracking. "I didn't want this! I just want my life back! I want her back!"
He was shaking hard now, feeling as if his whole body would explode into fragments at any moment.
"I don't want to lead anybody," he said, voice raw, heartbreak overtaking the stoic control he usually kept. "I don't want to be a Guardian. I don't want any of it. I just want to play drums. I want things to be normal. Please...I just want things to be normal again."
Silence. Then Nathan's voice, steady but pained.
"None of us asked for this, brother. But we've got to face it together. None of us are alone. You hear me? You're not alone."
Jace wiped his face with the back of his hand. He sure as hell felt alone. But he knew Nathan wasn't wrong.
"Just get through tonight," Nathan continued gently. "Don't do anything reckless. Don't go anywhere. Don't try anything. We'll talk to Sidney tomorrow. All right?"
Jace stared at nothing. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah. All right."
They hung up. The house felt deafeningly silent. He poured whiskey into a glass. Then another. Then stopped bothering with the glass. It didn't numb the pain. It only sharpened the rage beneath it. He slammed the bottle down.
"This is bullshit," he muttered. His voice broke as he said it again: "I didn't ask for any of this."
He downed another long swallow, fury simmering, grief choking him from the inside. The amulet at his chest pulsed faintly. He glared at it.
"I hate you," he whispered. "I hate all of this."
Eventually the whiskey blurred the edges. He staggered into bed. Collapsed face-first onto the pillow Celia had cried on only hours before.
He didn't remember falling asleep. Only pain. Only loss. And the crushing weight of a destiny he never asked for.
The Guardian slept. Broken. Alone. Anger stirring his dreams.
THE FORGOTTEN NIGHT
The bar sat near the edge of Los Angeles, dim and half-empty, the kind of place where people came to forget names, not remember them.
Celia sat alone in a corner booth, her untouched martini warming by the minute. Mascara blurred at the corners of her eyes. She wasn't drunk, not yet, but she wanted to be.
A quiet man in a dusty leather jacket approached the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and gestured subtly toward her booth. The bartender nodded. Moments later, the man crossed the floor with a calm, deliberate stride.
"Rough night?" he asked gently, pausing by her table.
Celia gave a brittle laugh. "You could say that. But it's not your problem."
He smiled faintly. A kind face, framed by shoulder-length hair streaked with early silver. Around his neck, just visible at the open collar of his jacket, hung a silver Celtic cross: five small oval stones set into it, one at the center and one at each arm, catching the bar's dim light in faint flickers of color.
"No," he said. "But sometimes the right conversation can lighten a heavy heart."
She sighed and motioned for him to sit. "Suit yourself."
He did. The bartender brought over two fresh drinks, sliding hers away and replacing it with the new glass. Celia didn't notice the brief flicker of light that moved across the cross as he rested his hand near hers.
"I used to know someone like you," he said. "Someone who carried too much alone. It nearly broke him."
Celia's gaze drifted to the amber surface of her drink. "I'm not sure who he is anymore. I loved him, but... when you see things you can't explain, when you feel danger in someone's touch..."
The man nodded slowly. "Fear is a powerful thing. But so is mercy."
She met his eyes then, calm, unreadable eyes that held a depth she couldn't define. "Who are you?"
"Just someone trying to help two people find peace."
Celia blinked, her vision blurring. The warmth that spread through her was gentler than alcohol, softer than sleep. The stranger's voice lowered to a whisper she barely heard:
"Rest easy, Celia. Let the pain fade, and let only peace remain."
Her head bowed slightly as the elixir took hold. In moments, her memories of Jason Elias, the amulet, the fear, the tears, unraveled like mist under the morning sun.
When she awoke sometime later, the seat across from her was empty. Her drink was half gone. And in her mind, the past few days had rearranged themselves neatly:
She and Jace had decided to part ways. Amicably. Because his career came first.
No strange lights. No amulet. No fear. Just an ending that made sense.
Outside, Sidney Greene, the stranger, paused beneath the flickering streetlamp and looked up at the starless sky. He knew the elixir would remove the memory of the amulet, Jason's power, and his future title from Celia. It would change how she viewed the relationship she had just left. But as unfair as that might have been to her, it was necessary to protect nearly a million innocent people on a little cloaked island with an almost millennial target on their backs.
"Forgive me, Father," he murmured. "But even you didn't have to lose Mom because of who you were."
Then he turned and vanished into the California night.