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Chapter Text

They pulled him up to the front gates as the boy cried and cried, screaming for his mother. 

But his pleas fell on deaf ears.

The prophecy had been foretold, and there was only one whom destiny had deemed worthy enough to carry such a title as "The Chosen One."

Gillion Tidestrider.

The four year old child of the prophecy. An impossible future set out before him.

A hero born of moonlight, storm and sea.

They shall rise of fall to bring unity. 

They will be tested or bested by evil's hand. 

By their choice one will remain: sea or land.

Gillion didn't know what the words meant. Only that they were important.

He hugged a pink frogtopus plush to his chest, his fingers shaking as he kneaded the stuffie, seeking some semblance of comfort from it. His older sister had given it to him when he was born, and it was the one thing he'd been able to grab as they'd dragged him from his room. He worried that they'd take it from him at any moment.

And from one of the top windows in the capitol building, a face peeked out to watch the scene unfold. He'd heard the shouting from the boy and had been drawn away from his desk, only to find his own flesh and blood being pulled along by men without faces, bodies covered in the armor of the Undersea. 

Finn Tidestrider felt his heart rate spike as dread entered his bloodstream. He didn't know why his grandson was here; only that it couldn't mean anything good.

He raced out of his room, down the many stairs to the bottom floor where the screeching was still echoing loudly through the halls. He approached the guards slowly, even when they shook the terrified little boy aggressively to get his crying to stop. Naturally, it only made it worse.

"What is the meaning of this?" Finn demanded, stopping in front of the guards' path and putting a halt to their march. Gillion sniffled loudly, swiping one hand under his nose as the other one clutched the plush even tighter.

"We are to bring the Chosen One before the Elders." The guard - Finn couldn't tell which one - spoke in a deep tenor.

"The Chosen- you're telling me that this child-" he gestured to his grandson, "- is the one the great prophecy is speaking about?" They just gave a single nod, all four of them in practiced unison. "I will take it from here. You can tell the Elders to suck my dick if they complain." The four guards backed away, taking their hands off Gillion and leaving red marks in their wake. They were sure to turn into bruises by the next day. The boy was quivering, and so Finn approached as though he were a frightened animal.

"Hey there. It's Gillion, right?" He knelt down in front of the boy, bringing them to the same eye level. His grandson just nodded. "Gillion, my name is Finn. You probably don't know who I am, do you?" A small shake. "That's alright. My name is Finn Tidestrider. I'm your grandfather. I um... I'm going to take care of you." The best I can, he thought.

Gillion didn't question it. He just reached one hand up and put it into Finn's, his tiny fingers gripping tightly onto his hand. Finn led him down the hall, not saying anything and just listening to Gillion's sniffles subside into quiet hiccups. His footsteps were so quiet; his body didn't have enough weight to even make a noise in the vast hall when he walked. Finn just wanted to pick him up in his arms and run away with him. Away from his destiny and the judgement that was about to fall upon his tiny shoulders.

But that was not what would be best for the Undersea. That would not help anyone, and Finn knew that. Even if everything in him was telling him to bolt.

So he took his grandson to the Elders and held his hand the entire time, listening intently as his entire future was laid out in front of him with no room for compromise. This was who Gillion had to be; he had no choice in the matter. The prophecy was clear, and the burden was his to bear.

But that didn't mean Finn wouldn't try to shoulder as much of it as he could.

Gillion turned five. 

He got a set of armor for his birthday. 

It was so big on him that he seemed to be swimming in it. The pieces of metal overlapped and clinked against each other because they were so loose, years away from truly fitting him. But the Champion of the Undersea couldn't be seen without the proper attire, and so the Elders forced him into a suit that put so much weight - both figuratively and literally - on his tiny, scrawny shoulders. 

Finn stood by his side through all of it. 

He watched Gillion become who he was meant to be as the years went on. He watched that little four year old start to comprehend how vast his future truly was. Finn was there for the moments when their gods' grand scheme seemed much too large, and for the moments when his food wasn't quite like his mother made it. Gillion was a child who liked what he knew, and this new life he'd been dragged into was unknown and scary, and sometimes his fear overtook his rational thoughts.

Finn's own son had given this beautiful boy away without a second thought, not daring to protect Gillion from a future too huge to handle. And in his past life, Finn allowed his research and his ideas to pull him away from caring for his own kid as well as he should've. But it wasn't too late for him to help Gillion. He made himself the parental figure that Gillion had barely had. He felt the same pain that a true parent would when Gillion came back from training with fresh bruises littering his skin. Finn took up the role of his teacher, pulling history books from the shelves and choosing on his own what his grandson would and would not learn about their history. He had his guidelines of what Gillion was required to know, but Finn didn't think a five year old needed to know every bloody detail of their past conquests.

Finn did his best. But it was hard.

The Elders asked a lot of the child - sometimes too much - and those demands thrown at a kid would not be disobeyed. He didn't know enough about the world to even think about disobeying, and so Finn did it for him. When the demands were too harsh or asked too much, Finn would step in and pull Gillion behind him, shielding him from the Elders as well as he could. When his protection wore thin, he would care for Gillion's injuries to the best of his ability. The bruises sometimes became too dark or too large, and sometimes slash marks that looked like they came from a sword peeked out from the slats of his armor. It happened more than once that Finn found himself standing outside the Elder council room, seconds away from charging inside and demanding a reprieve for his grandson but holding himself back, knowing that an argument could lead to Gillion being taken away from him for good. They already weren't pleased that he was intervening in Gillion's learning and training; he didn't want the child to be pulled away from him completely.

So he watched. He watched Gillion grow into his armor. And then grow out of it and get a new set. He watched the bruises lessen not due to them going easier on him, but due to Gillion improving enough that he didn't get hit as often. He saw Gillion pass test after test, and the Elders' confidence in his skills only grew.

But every time Finn saw Gillion with a sword in his hands, he felt sick. From the time he was a small child, the weapon he held in his hands was clearly made for an adult, yet it was a baby holding its hilt. The swords would be as long as he was tall, and yet they expected his small hands to be able to carry its weight all on his own. The tip of the sword would drag along the ground, making obnoxious scraping sounds because Gillion wasn't yet tall enough for the sword to just hang by his side. Everything about the image that Finn saw was wrong. 

Yet he knew the Elders wouldn't stop, and he knew the best thing he could do for Gillion was to just be there for him when the weight of his destiny grew too heavy.

His family wasn't allowed to visit, despite his constant begging to see them. The only reason Finn was able to be with him was because he was such an integral part of their research team and devoted much of his time to furthering the Undersea. If not for that, he wondered how Gillion would fare here all on his own. Even with Finn's company, he could see Gillion growing quieter by the day, shutting himself away, avoiding their planned lessons and refusing to let Finn see him. The boy was lonely, and he was losing the war raging within his mind. Boys needed socialization, and the most social activity Gillion received was from the people he saw in whatever simulations the Elders ran him through. And Finn couldn't even begin to guess what happened in those simulations, especially when he saw the dark bags under Gillion's eyes and the haunted look that resided in them. 

Finn made it out of the palace only once, making his way to his son's home and charging through the front door. He didn't even speak to them, just strode straight to what should've been Gillion's room, searching for anything he could bring back for the poor boy. And the room that should've been his... it was empty. Completely empty. Devoid of any indication that the Tidestriders had had another child. If they had a boy named Gillion at any point in time, he no longer existed.

The only one in the house that seemed to care at all for Gillion was his older sister, Edyn. She came running into the empty room to see Finn standing there in awe, and she just wrapped her arms around him, letting her tears soak his clothes. She told him how much she missed her little brother before running out of the room, returning with a small globe in her hands. Resting inside the globe was a tiny pink tadpole, which she told him would grow up into a frogtopus. The same as the stuffie that Gillion held so tightly to his chest. She told Finn that it was to keep the loneliness away, and so he could think of her every time she looked at the animal.

Finn relayed the message when he went back to Gillion, and the now ten year old just cried into his chest, holding the globe so delicately against his body despite the muscle he'd packed on in his years at the palace.

Every time after that moment, Finn would look at Gillion with a growing sadness in the pit of his stomach. This was too much. This destiny, this expectation, this fate that the Elders had placed on his shoulders; it was too much for a child to handle. Gillion was no longer the boy he was growing up to be. He had been remade and reborn into the man of the prophecy, becoming molded to every expectation the Elders held for him. His name might've been Gillion Tidestrider, but Finn realized as he watched him grow that in the eyes of the Elders, Gillion was no longer a Tidestrider. He was simply the Champion of the Undersea; the hero they forced him to be.

Chapter Text

The day that Jayson Ferin had a child was a day of disbelief among the people. Hell, the day that Jayson Ferin had gotten a girlfriend was a day to put in the history books. But seeing the stern, sixteen year old Navy officer-in-training carrying a tiny, fragile baby in his arms was so out of place that it sent a shock through all who saw it. Of course, part of the shock came from knowing that the girl he was seeing was a mere fifteen years old, now weighed down by a baby, but the other degree of shock came from how the aggressive, rule following Jayson Ferin seemed to melt at the sight of his child. His entire body would go slack when the mother of his child would walk into the room. And Malenia, well, before she got caught up with the Ferin family, no one could've guessed that she'd end up with a man like Jayson. She was soft spoken and gentle, preferring to spend her time wandering Featherbrook Island and speaking with strangers she met on the street than follow strict rules and abiding by "proper" form.

By the time that baby Ava was three and had light brown hair and blue eyes, May Ferin - at the young age of eighteen - had two year old twin boys zooming around the house as well as another brand new baby girl cradled in her arms. And yes, perhaps the first child had softened the heart of Jayson Ferin, and the twins had wormed their way into a soft spot of his, but the final child destroyed him. The new Ferin that he named after himself was his destruction. The scary oldest Ferin brother - now a Commander in the Navy - held his youngest daughter close to his heart, and any who dared look at her even slightly wrong paid the price. Jay Ferin was his pride and joy, and whispers got around that she would be the next greatest Admiral of the Navy when her time inevitably came. Jay grew into a young girl with hair as fiery orange as her fathers and a temper to match. She was a firecracker, where Ava was closer to May and preferred the company of the birds she found around their little, unassuming island, and the two boys fell somewhere in the middle.

But despite their differences, they all saw their father as a superhero.

Six year old Ava would march around the house with a stick in one hand, spewing naval commands at her brothers as though their simple wooden floors were the deck of a Navy ship. Despite her clear preference for her mother's more laid back lifestyle, she loved pretending to be her father taking charge of a ship for just a little while. And Jay - though barely able to speak at only three - liked to pull on her fathers pant legs and beg for stories from his time in the Navy. She had a fascination for all things Navy, from the tales of fights with enemies to the monsters they met at sea. At a mere twenty two years old, Jayson had already managed to procure himself the position of Vice Admiral fo R.A.F.T's Navy, putting him right alongside other members of their family. He was the beloved son, while his brother Drey - a man born with a soul for adventure but not the backbone to lead a legion - was pushed to the side. 

Unfortunately, that meant that Jayson's time at home became less and less, until it dwindled almost to nothing. 

Sightings of Jayson Ferin around the tiny Kiwi Village grew more and more seldom, and his arrival home soon became like a celebrity sighting. Crowds of people flooded to the docks when his Navy ship appeared on the horizon, but they parted like the sea when the Ferin family arrived; Jay in her mother's arms and Ava holding May's hand, arms swinging excitedly as the boys rushed far ahead of them. When their father stepped off the ship, his kids toddled over to him as fast as their legs could carry them and screeched loudly in their joy. And in both of his massive arms he could pick them up and swing them around, holding the four of them tightly to his chest as he laughed and kissed them on the head. 

During the months that Jayson was not on the island, Malenia took the kids to her family's tavern. Her own mother would watch the children while May worked, tending to the needs of the people and the pirates that made their way to their shores. And for those few days that Jayson did return and remained on the island, it was as it had been when their kids were small. Malenia stayed away from the tavern and spent her time at home, watching her children fawn over their father as their home filled with raucous laughter. Her parents would visit after working hours, telling stories from the day and trying to convince Jayson to leave the Navy and join the slower, more enjoyable pace of life in Kiwi Village. Jayson would laugh and point out the medals adorning his chest before going off about how his kids were to follow in his footsteps and become the best Navy captains that R.A.F.T. had ever seen. He'd grab Jay and put her on his broad shoulders, and she'd wrap her arms around his eyes, making it impossible for him to see. Jayson would stumble around the house, running into anything and everything at the cost of his body if it meant his little girl would laugh. When Jayson came home, he left his position of Navy Vice Admiral on the deck of his ship. At home, he was just Jayson Ferin, a man deeply in love with his family.

By the time he left them again, his kids were old enough to begin to understand that his job was dangerous, and there was always the possibility that he wouldn't come back home. He knelt down and planted a gentle kiss on all of their foreheads before standing to say goodbye to his lovely wife. He promised he would return, and bring back treasures for each of them and tell them all about his adventures.

And he did. He made it home for Jay's fourth birthday. But he didn't make it back for Ava's seventh. Or his boys' sixth. He made sure to send gifts their way to make up for his absence, but it was clear that there was an air of sadness in the home on those days. But Malenia did her best, and she employed the help of Jayson's younger brother Drey to come up with the best ways to entertain the kids. 

Drey was... very different from his brother. He was three years younger than Jayson, and while he was also a part of the Navy, his eyes constantly drifted off toward the open seas. His time in May's tavern was spent sparing glances at the pirates gathered around different tables, their voices low and their eyes shifting from person to person, one hand always secured on whatever wealth was hidden inside their pockets. Sometimes Drey would even get up and slide into their conversation, learning what he could about their adventures. Anyone who paid attention for five minutes could see that Drey's heart lay not with the Navy like his golden brother, but rather on the free seas. The only person who refused to see it was Jayson himself.

But Drey's love for his brother's family never diminished. Not when each of the kids were given their first Navy uniforms at the ages of eight, seven, and five. Not when Jayson's Vice Admiral persona began to leak into his home life, and his personality became a little more gruff and tough, and the soft-hearted Jayson Ferin that people knew so well slowly started to disappear. Drey loved that family even when tensions between May and Jayson were at an alltime high, and Drey had to take it upon himself to remove the kids from the house when the yelling got too loud. And when Ava and the twins were carted off to start their schooling with the Navy, Drey did what he was meant to do and walked to the docks to see them off.

After that, if was only Jay left at home. Jayson would never admit it aloud, but everyone knew Jay was his favorite child. She was Drey's favorite too. Maybe it was the fact that she still seemed so small compared to her brothers and sister, or maybe because she looked most like a Ferin out of any of the kids, but something about her made Drey's heart a little lighter when he was around her. He felt happier when they were in the same room. This feeling of home from Jay only increased as she got older, yet it seemed to diminish with her father as time went on.

Perhaps it was because she looked too much like him, but suddenly the love that Jayson Ferin felt for Jay was hidden behind a wall of pure discipline. The gentle father that she'd known was gone, replaced with a Navy Vice Admiral whose only objective was to have the best soldiers. The arrival of Jayson Ferin on Featherbrook Island was no longer a time for celebration, but a time for whispers and secrets. The Vice Admiral was on display at all times, and anyone caught operating outside the law was treated as any criminal found by the Navy. Pirates were warned to stay on their ships when Jayson was in town, or risk an unlawful arrest at the hands of a man who hated pirates more than any other in the Navy.

And in the Ferin home, order was strictly maintained with the understanding that any deviance would result in a punishment. But Jay was not a rule breaker. At six years old, Jay wore her tiny Navy uniform every day, with every seam ironed to pinpoint perfection by her mother. The Ferin family pin of a gold and black eagle flying over a setting sun pulled her fire-red bangs away from her face. The same pin that hung from a chain around Drey's neck. The same one clipped to Jayson's coat. Every Ferin had their own pin - a way for them to remember where they came from... and what they have to live up to. 

But Jay was on the right track. Six years old, and already memorizing commands and following orders that her father issued to her. Gone was the carefree child whose hair used to flow wild and free, instead now tied up in a tight, Navy standard ponytail. Her uniform was on from the moment she awoke to the time her mother put her to bed, and on her hip was a tiny scabbard with a plastic sword inside. She stood tall and proud in the presence of her father, and yet... she never seemed to stand tall enough. Her uniform was never quite right. And her father's eyes would drift ever so slowly down to Jay's tiny hand. To the small doll that she dragged with her everywhere she went, its body dirty from being pulled along the ground. 

Malenia was kind. She encouraged Jay's childish motives, always telling her that her destiny was whatever she wanted it to be. If she wished to stay on the island for her entire life, then that was okay. But there was always a hint in her words that Jay would only realize when she was older: that her mother was implying that if she wished to run away from the fate her father had laid out for her, then that was alright as well.

But Jay's father had one future in mind, and Malenia's opinions for her children were quickly pushed to the side. 

Whoever thought that Jay was the favorite child changed their minds as time went on. There was no sign of that love in Jayson's eyes when he looked at his youngest daughter - the one that tried so hard yet never quite seemed to impress him. Drey watched her in her young years; watched her try so desperately to make her father happy like he used to be, and failing every time. No matter what she did, there was always something else she could do better. There were so many night when Drey would sneak into Jay's bedroom and crawl into her bed, pulling her against his chest to muffle her cries as her parents' shouting infiltrated the silence of the house. She hugged that doll tightly, body shaking against Drey as he just held the two of them; the child and the doll he'd gifted to her so many years before.

And then Drey left. 

He stayed for her seventh birthday, giving her one last day of joy before he faded away. He knew what this would cost him. He knew that his disappearance would put a stain on his name. He knew that any memory of him that Jay had would become corrupted and changed by her father, altered to remember him as a disappointment. But Drey still walked away, leaving the Ferins behind and not looking back at the life he was abandoning. He was never a Navy man like his brother. The open sea called to him, and a life of roguishness tempted him into obtaining his own small vessel and setting sail before the sun rose for the day. Featherbrook Island faded below the horizon line, taking with it any previous connection to his beloved family. Jay would not remember the good he'd done; she probably wouldn't even remember him leaving. She would just remember that he'd abandoned her. That he'd left. But he couldn't watch such a soft, sweet child be so negatively influenced by one single voice that he had no power to overrule. Besides, what was one more tarnish on his name?

Jay cried when Malenia told her that Drey was gone. She cried until she couldn't remember why she was crying, then wiped her tears and clutched the same doll she'd had for as long as she could remember. She had one day of feeling sad before her father returned home, and their house became a Navy base once more.

When she turned eight, her father gave her a bow and arrow. Taught her to shoot it, scolded her when she missed, and then went back out onto the sea. But Jay kept practicing; every day and into the night, Jay would practice until her body ached and her fingers were rubbed raw from the bowstring. Her mother tried so hard to pull her inside and force her to take a break, but Jay just wanted to impress her father. She wanted to be the best Navy soldier she could be, and if that meant a little pain now for a lifetime of fatherly pride, then that's what she would do. 

By nine years old, Jay was a perfect shot with her bow. For her birthday, her father sent her her first gun, but didn't quite make it home to give it to her himself. Jay heard her mother crying quietly later that day, and while she'd wanted to go check on her and make sure she was okay, all Jay wanted to do was practice shooting her new gift. Her father wanted her to be good at it, and so she made sure she was. But still, despite her need for perfection, the doll that Drey had given her was still clutched in her hand. Her beloved, lost uncle was kept as close to her as possible in the form of her doll. She remembered him holding her against his warm chest, whispering into her ear when the night was too dark to clear away the monsters that screamed from the other room down the hall. Her father had tried so hard to warp her memories of her uncle, and despite him just disappearing one night, she just wanted to remember the good parts of him. Jayson was her father, sure. But Drey had been her protector.

She missed him. 

At ten years old, there wasn't much that Jay couldn't do. A bow and arrow was no challenge, and a pistol fit in her hand like a glove. The plastic sword in her scabbard was now sharp steel, primed to cut anyone who stood in her way. Not long after her tenth birthday did a Navy ship appear on the horizon, and Jay prepared herself for her father's disappointment to fall over her. Instead, when she approached the docks, she saw a tall, brown haired girl step off the ship and look around slowly, a small smile on her face. It was the first time Jay had seen Ava since she'd been taken away, and she looked so much older than Jay remembered.

It was the first truly happy day in a long time that Jay could recall. That is, until it wasn't.

Until Ava broke the news that when she was to leave the island, Jay was going with her. Her life on Featherbrook Island was finished, and it was time for her to step into her role as a part of the Navy. 

Malenia tried to stop it. She tried to keep Jay at her side - her little, baby girl. The last chicken to flee the coop. She was desperate to keep Jay at home and within her sights.

But destiny could not be stopped. 

It was the first time Jay had been on a Navy ship that hadn't been docked. She wasn't used to the way the ship rocked on the waves, or how water would fly up over the railings of the ship and spray her in the face. She didn't know about the monsters in the waters that would poke up above the ripples, sending a shock through her system as they lunged to grab her and pull her under the water.

But Ava was always there to pull her back. Every. Single. Time. 

When nightmares plagued her sleep in the long journey to the Navy school, Ava was at her beside, rubbing her back and telling Jay that the monsters weren't real. They couldn't get her. 

Jay didn't have the guts to tell her that the monster in all her dreams had bright red hair and an eagle pin clipped to his jacket.

Upon their arrival at the island where Jay was to start her schooling, Ava pulled her off the ship with a wide smile and started talking about how great the school was, and that Jay was about to shame all the other students with how good she was at literally everything. Ava said that their father had spoken so highly of Jay's aptitude in shooting, a talent to rival only their disgraced uncle Drey's.

When the two of them approached the front doors of the school - Jay's small doll still dangling from her hands - they watched as the doors creaked open slowly, revealing their father standing behind them. His brows were furrowed as they stared down at Jay, a scowl on his face and arms crossed against his chest. It was the first time he'd seen Jay in at least two years, yet he seemed to only be angry at her arrival. She puffed her chest out and rolled her shoulders back, knowing that she looked every bit the part of a member of the Navy in her pristine uniform, but his scowl just deepened. 

Then he lurched forward, taking one step closer before leaning down and snatching the doll from Jay's hands despite the loud cry that emanated from her. She grabbed after it, begging her father to give it back because it was all she had to remember uncle Drey, but his grip only tightened. 

"There are more important things for you to focus on," he growled, his voice low and menacing. He threw the doll on the ground, and when Jay stepped forward to pick it back up, a loud shot rang out and stuffing flew through the air, hitting Jay in the face and resting in her hair. 

The doll was gone, replaced with a mangled mess of fluff and ripped fabric that no longer resembled the girl it was meant to be. Her father's arm was outstretched, his gun resting in his palm with the muzzle of it smoking. 

Jay cried. Of course she did. Her one gift from Drey was gone. Her best friend was just killed. 

"No more distractions," Jayson said before turning on his heel and walking inside the building. 

Jay followed. Of course she did. There was nothing else she could do.

Chapter Text

The world was a big place. 

And he was very small. 

He didn't know where he was. There were buildings all around him, towering over his head and reaching to the sky, but he was never allowed inside of them. He saw all these kids with adults holding their hands, walking the streets and laughing together, and he just... sat in the shadows. He didn't have anyone to hold his hand. 

It's not like he didn't want someone to sit with him. Sometimes he would ask kind looking men and women to just hang around with him for a moment, just to ease his loneliness. But they always quietly said no and kept walking. He knew he had parents somewhere. He had to; that's how the world worked. He just didn't remember ever having someone there to hold him. All these kids had parents they could look up to when the darkness was too scary. All he knew were the shadows in the streets, and the frightening people that hid in them during the night. The only things he could cry to in the nights were the rats that crawled out of the sewers and tried to steal what little food he'd managed to find. And the problem was that the people that walked past him could help him. The majority of them wouldn't be broken if they threw down a coin or two. But instead they just glanced at him with wide eyes, shook their heads slowly and kept walking, pulling their own kids closer to their bodies.

He wanted that so bad.

He felt like he'd never stop wanting that.

He didn't remember a time when he didn't live on the streets of his small town. He felt like one morning he woke up to the sun shining in his eyes, and that's when his life started. There was no time before that single moment. The one thing he did remember was watching ship after ship dock at their tiny port, pirates and sailors walking into a tavern and throwing their money away like it was nothing. And he tried so hard to get a single coin from them, pulling on their pant legs in the hopes that they could spare a single gold piece for him to be able to eat that night. He begged them to just help him one time, to have a shred of sympathy. But they would just ruffle his hair and push him away, telling to go back to his parents. Or they'd see the dirt on his clothes and tell him to go back to the hole he'd crawled out of, to whatever brothel he'd been born in - whatever that meant.

And yet, despite what he assumed were rude words, he wanted to be just like the pirates he met when he grew up. They had freedom, and the open seas, and the chance to have all the money they could ever want. Pirates never went hungry, or fell asleep to the sound of their stomachs growling. They were never thrown aside because they were too big and strong to be pushed around by anyone. It felt like all he did was get pushed, and he wanted it to stop. He had to get big and strong so he could push back and show them that he was the strongest pirate ever.

He looked down at his arms. 

They were too small. He knew that. He could see the bumps of his bones resting just under his skin. When he poked his arms or his legs, it was almost like there was no skin there at all. He was just a boy made of bones. In fact, sometimes he liked to pretend he was a spooky skeleton, and that his bones would clack when he walked. He'd waddle around like he thought a skeleton might walk, making sounds in the darkness to scare away other monsters. It made his tummy hurt less when he pretended.

His clothes were really dirty. He was really dirty. Whenever he shook his head, small bits of dirt would fall to the ground. And his hair was so tangly that he couldn't run his fingers through it. He thought that if he could just have a bath, his hair might actually be really nice to look at. But at the moment, it was just limp and gross, hanging just above his shoulders. He wasn't sure if his hair was brown because it just was, or if it was because it had turned that color over time. His shirt used to be white, but just like his hair, it looked more brown now than before. That was all okay though; he liked that color. Brown felt warm. And besides, now his shirt was the same color as his hair. 

The one thing he would've loved to have was some shoes. The rocks on the dirt streets hurt the bottoms of his feet, and they felt sore all the time, but he didn't know how one would even get shoes. So he just kept walking, wincing when he stepped on a particularly sharp stone. He tried not to cry where anyone could see him. Pirates didn't cry, so he wouldn't either. At least, not out in the open. Sometimes, when he couldn't find any food, or when his bones hurt too bad, he would find a corner with really dark shadows and sniffle quietly to himself. But he was way too tough to cry all the way. If he was gonna be the best pirate the seas had ever seen, he needed to learn not to be so soft.

Sometimes people would ask him how old he was. He told them he didn't know. They kept walking. 

Sometimes they would ask him what his name was. He told them he didn't know. They kept walking.

Sometimes they would go so far as to kneel down so that their eyes met his. They would look at his long, messy hair, and the dirt coating him like a second skin, and the clear starvation that was slowly eating away at him. They would see the child sitting with his back against the wall because he wasn't strong enough to walk that day. Sometimes they would give him an apple, or a small piece of bread; as if that would really help. But no on wanted him. No one cared about him. 

One person said they thought he was around seven when he told them he didn't know his age. So, that's what he became. A small seven year old boy, wandering the streets of his home with nowhere to go. Sometimes he wondered if the sad look he got from men and women walking by him was because those people were actually his parents, ashamed of what he'd become. But, if it were his parents, then he wasn't sure he wanted them anyway. If they were able to look at him and walk away then he almost preferred to live with the rats. Almost.

There was only one who would stop and talk with him. 

He came to the island sometimes, spending his time in the tavern like all the other pirates and throwing money around to pay for gross drinks and hot food. He had spotted the man as he'd lumbered off his ship, then followed him all the way through the streets until he disappeared inside a building. There was something about him that was mesmerizing. He was a massive man, with a very round stomach and short white hair that was tied back in a ponytail. He had light grey skin littered with light blue wave tattoos as well as stretch marks, and his loose pants were held up by suspenders. 

He was enthralled by this man, keeping to the shadows in the streets but following him wherever he went. For some reason, he wanted to be close to this man. He was clearly a pirate; he'd seen his flag flying high above his ship when it came into the harbor. But this man smiled at the people he passed, and he waved at little kids who stared up at him. When the man had walked past him - seeing him sitting in the shade against a wall to avoid the heat - he'd strolled away like they all did. But he returned a few minutes later with a cup in his hands, which he knelt down and gave to him. It was just water, but it was accompanied by an entire loaf of fresh bread, still steaming and hot from the oven. The man ruffled his hair and smiled at him before walking away, but he wouldn't get away so easily. He got to his shaky feet and followed behind him for the entire day, watching him go about his day until he went back to his ship for the night. 

He did the same thing the next day. Watched the man exit his ship, wander the streets, return to his ship at night. There was something massively different about this stranger. This pirate was not the same as all the others. He threw his wealth around, yes, but he gave a portion of it to those who needed it most.

But the kid wasn't stupid. Without this man, he knew he was lost.

And as much as he tried to deny it, he was scared.

He had no one to watch over him, because no one loved him enough to stay.

Chapter Text

Dakota Damascus loved heroes.

He didn't know a lot, but he knew that.

His entire life revolved around heroes, food, and his parents.

But mostly heroes.

He loved every single one of them; the way they fought villains, keeping the world safe from those who wanted to hurt it. The heroes used to be their sole protectors, keeping things in order and watching out for the little people. He wasn't sure he could pick a favorite, though. There was Centurion and Psion and Origami and they were amazing. But then there were two that really caught his attention: Hexpert and Silhouette. Hexpert had led the heroes, sending them out on assignments and aiding them when things got too intense. He was the last resort, the most powerful of them all. If Hexpert showed up to a fight, then the fight was already over.

But Silhouette was another story. He was dark, and mysterious, and despite being a hero people tended to feel a shot of fear when he took the stage. When the shadows wrapped around him like a cloak and sucked the color from the world. Dakota wondered if Silhouette would be able to pull the color from his raspberry red hair, or if he would be like a beacon shining in the dark.

Despite knowing that the heroes were gone after the battle with Darkstar, Dakota listened to the news constantly, hoping to hear some new story about heroes reemerging into their world. He waited for the day that they would reappear and swoop in to right the wrongs of their little town of Rockfall, New Haven. He just hoped for a chance to bolt out of his house just to get a single sighting of these basically mythical beings. His parents would run after him screaming his name, but his eyes would be trained on the sky, hoping to see someone flying through the air on their way to vanquish a villain.

He never got tired of hoping.

He knew he'd been born to be a hero. He just needed to figure out how to actually get superpowers. He knew he had to wait until heroes rejoined the world in order for him to join their ranks.

And one day, when his face was plastered to the radio in his living room, his world flipped upside down. The reporter talked about how there were weird things happening in the Rockfall Museum; flashes of light and glass shattering suddenly. The word "hero" was uttered only once before Dakota was running to his parents, grabbing their arms and dragging them out of the house. Pulling them toward downtown Rockfall, toward where he knew the museum was. If there was even a chance of seeing a new hero, Dakota would make sure he was there.

He immediately knew something was wrong the second the museum came into view. There was police tape surrounding the building, and police officers were working hard to keep people away from the scene.

It was the best thing Dakota could've asked for.

Police meant something was wrong. Police meant that there was something really wrong going on inside the museum. He could hear faint clattering from inside, and he pushed through the crowds of people to try and get closer, despite his parents' tired huffs of annoyance at his insistence. but they followed him forward nonetheless.

The police were shouting something at the gathering crowd, pushing people back and cordoning off a larger area than before. Dakota strained to hear any coherent information, hearing the word "heroes" again among the clamor. There was a loud clang from inside the building, followed by a small amount of shouting, though Dakota couldn't catch any actual words.

And then, amid the chaos, one word began to ripple through crowd

Darkstar.

The word floated through Dakota's ears, pinging some far off knowledge in his mind that he'd forgotten about until that exact moment. The way that Darkstar had been the one to end the heroes - to bring that time of history to an end. Yet now he was hearing whispers that the largest villain they'd ever seen was back to life, and where he should have felt fear, Dakota felt only excitement. If it was true - if Darkstar was back, that meant heroes had to have returned as well. 

He began bouncing on his feet before someone grabbed him from under his arms, lifting him off the ground and above the heads of everyone in the crowd. His father placed Dakota on his tall shoulders, and his mother held gently onto one of Dakota's hands, lacing her fingers between his and smiling up at him. When she saw him already looking down at her, the same raspberry red hair shining in the sun, she smiled wide, understanding littering her face as she saw the joy alight on Dakota's own face at the idea of being able to see an actual hero. His bedroom was plastered with posters of his idols, so many that you couldn't see the walls beneath them. This moment was more exciting than anything that had happened so far in his life. He tapped his father's head, urging him to move as close to the scene as possible. 

They shuffled through the crowd, gently moving past the people and finding themselves at the front of the police tape. There was a tap on Dakota's foot, and he looked down to see his mom holding a camera, gesturing for them to bend down and get in the frame. The three of them posed with the museum in the background, large smiles on all of their faces, but none was as bright as Dakota's.

When the camera went off, there was a large gasp from the crowd and small screams echoing through the air, and Dakota whipped his head around to see the foundation of the museum tremble as something inside radiated power, cracking the stone and causing more of the windows to break. From where he was sitting on his father's shoulders, Dakota could just see the outline of a figure with fiery orange lines racing across his body, all leading to a spot in the center of his chest where a circular ring glowed bright orange. Dakota knew from his books that this was Darkstar, reborn in all his glory. There was someone else standing to his left, a man with blonde hair and pale skin, but he was wearing a black and white kimono with symbols lining the collar of his outfit. On Darkstar's right was none other than Hexpert - a female instead of a male this time - but still wearing the classic ancient armor, around her waist the signature utility belt that had different runes and etchings on it. On her chest plate were carved different stars and galaxies that stretched out to the shoulders. On her back was a long cape, and a medieval helmet was resting in her hands, ready to be donned at any moment.

And in front of Darkstar, the center of Dakota's attention, was a mass of twirling, writhing shadows.

He gasped. He knew those shadows. 

He grabbed his dad's face, shaking it in his excitement. "That's him!" Dakota shrieked. "It's Silhouette!" His father was quiet, but Dakota could feel him grinning. This was all too much for him. His joy was going to overflow and spill out and people were going to trip on it.

But he didn't care. This was everything he'd ever wanted. This was his dream coming true right before his eyes.

He tapped his father's head again. "I want to get down," he whispered gently. "The sun is in my eyes, I can't well enough." His father put him gently onto the ground, and Dakota waited patiently for the perfect moment to sneak away. Dakota could clearly see the patterns of Hexpert's clothing, could see the way it shined and glimmered in the sun just like all of his books said it did. The fight was already decided if Hexpert was there. Dakota could barely see Silhouette through his wall of shadows, but the man was standing there with his arms crossed, mouth moving rapidly and his eyes hidden behind pitch black sunglasses. 

Dakota watched as Darkstar suddenly lifted a hand to the sky, his fingers curling inward to form a claw and the veins in his arm straining as though he were lifting something heavy. There was another loud crashing sound in the distance, and when all heads turned toward it, Dakota sprang into action. He ducked slowly behind his parents, making sure neither of them saw him before bending under the police tape and walking slowly forward, eyes still trained on the broken window and the people standing just inside of it. Whatever was happening in the distance held no importance to him. The heroes were back.

Darkstar held his hand up in the air for another moment before his fingers snapped into a tight fist and bright glow emanated from that spot on his chest, and people began to scream behind him. He managed to pick out a different cry; one of fear and anguish yes, but recognizing it to come from his own mother who he'd left behind the police tape. But Dakota was starstruck, unmovable. He wasn't sure even Hexpert could move him if she tried.

Then hands were picking him up and throwing him, launching him to the side with the force of a hero. Dakota landed hard on his side, his body scraping against the cement as he cried out in pain. There was a thunderous crash, something close to an earthquake that felt like it shook the foundations of the earth, and when Dakota looked up, there was only dust. A huge cloud of it that covered everything in his sights. And when it settled, a massive piece of rock sat where Dakota had been standing only seconds before. 

He didn't understand.

There hadn't been any danger a minute before.

He glanced around, searching for whoever had saved his life. He looked for Hexpert's glowing armor, or dark shadows curling in the air, but there was nothing. A look at the museum revealed a massive hole in the side of it - presumably from the large rock - and the three heroes were in the middle of a fight with Darkstar.

Dakota walked forward, going around the side of the rock and seeing if his savior was on the other side of it. 

But all he saw was a hand.

It was large and clearly belonged to a man, fingers outstretched and straining for something it would never reach. Beside that hand was another, this one small, dainty; clearly belonging to a woman. And resting in its limp fingers was a small camera, a picture of three people smiling brightly lit up on its now cracked screen.

Dakota rocked back, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on the cement again. His own face stared up at him from the camera. 

He started to scream. He didn't know what else to do.

When the initial shock washed away into horror, Dakota lurched forward and began pushing the rock as hard as he could because that was his mom and dad under there. That was his mom's ring on her finger and his dad's fingers reaching for Dakota - to push him out of the way before the rock hit him instead of them. Those were his two favorite heroes under there and he needed to get them out. He knew they were okay - they just needed to get out and see that he was okay too. He grabbed his dad's hand and pulled, desperation flooding his veins when nothing happened except him tripping over his feet in his scramble to get them out.

When arms wrapped around him in the same way his parents' just had, lifting him off the ground to pull him away, Dakota scrambled to get closer to the rock, his mind warring between being horrified from the sight and not wanting to be taken from it.

But his screams wouldn't stop. He didn't know if they ever would.

Those were his parents.

Suddenly heroes didn't seem so exciting.

Chapter Text

Everything was quiet. The trees whispered in the gentle breeze, spilling secrets of the world that only the most skilled listener would be able to hear. 

William wasn't the most skilled listener, but he listened nonetheless.

He heard small trills all around him, and he wasn't quite sure if the noise came from birds or small will-o'-wisps, flitting around the forest to lead travelers to a goal they'll never reach. William was always tempted to get up and find them himself, but his parents had warned him that the wisps of Deadwood did not lead to anything but hurt for the future. So he laid on the forest floor, arms behind his head, listening to their cries but never looking to follow them.

Deadwood wasn't a nice place to live, but it was still home. It was always slightly gray and rainy or damp, and the leaves hung limply from their trees, seeming to always be in transition between late fall and early winter. There were no bright flowers lining the streets, or littering the forest floor, and the sun almost never broke through the clouds, but that was okay with William. He liked the muffled quiet and the soft edges of his world. He liked the way that whenever there was a storm, the most color in their city came from lightning strikes traveling across the night sky. No one wore bright colors, or laughed boisterously at jokes. Everyone was calm and collected, never really stepping out of line and always knowing what their purpose was.

William's purpose was to hunt ghosts.

He knew it. He was good at it. Looking for signs of the supernatural was like a sixth sense for William, one that made the back of his neck tingle in anticipation. His older step-brother made sure to mercilessly mock him for his aspirations, telling him that there was no such thing as ghosts and that his dreams were just that: dreams. Unattainable. So naturally, William found himself to be part of a paranormal investigation group with a few friends, searching the woods for spirits or ghosts or ghouls, hoping to find some kind of sign of a world residing on another plane of existence that they could show to anyone who would listen.

They found evidence alright. The Un-Witness Protection Program found copious amounts of proof that there were otherworldly beings living among them, yet anytime they tried to show this proof to anyone else, it managed to simply vanish. Like a ghost. The spirits of Deadwood couldn't be seen by most people, and so were thought to be a thing of myths. The only supernatural creatures that could be commonly seem were the will-o'-wisps, and everyone knew to avoid them at all times. So to find proof and have it disappear before they could show it off was, truthfully, quite entertaining.

William tried not to laugh at the irony, but he couldn't help it. Clearly ghosts didn't want to be found by the masses, and so why not play around with the people trying to out them? Have a little fun with poor little kids who just wanted to feel important. That was okay with William though; the only thing he liked about their Protection Program was the investigating. He couldn't care less if they showed their proof to other people. He had a knack for finding clues and tracking down things in the most impossible of circumstances. They came across ghosts and ghouls and all manner of monsters creeping through the woods, crazy creatures with mouths large enough to swallow them whole.

The only thing they stayed away from were the will-o'-wisps.

William heeded his parents' advice; heard their warnings and lived by them.

"The will-o'-wisps want to confuse you," his parents had said. "They are small creatures that hold a small ball of fairy fire - like a lantern - that will light up a path to make you think you should follow them. They will call to you; softly, gently, like a friend beckoning you forward. They will tell you that they can show you to an overflowing treasure, or tell you how to achieve your dreams, or that they will lead you to whatever goals you have set before you. And if you follow them, that light will go out once they've pulled you far from the true path, and you will find yourself lost and alone, completely unaware of which direction you should take to return to the path. Do not follow the wisps. No matter what they promise, stay on the path before you."

So that's what he did.

He repeated his parents' words to his party, and together they avoided every hint of the wisps that they saw. Every whisper from the wisps went ignored, every promise they made was refused and pushed aside. No amount of gold or happiness was enough for their group to stray off course.

But sometimes, when he was alone, William liked to lay on the forest floor and just listen. 

Listen to the howls of monstrous wolves in the distance. Listen to the chattering of normal forest animals running across tree branches.

Listen to the whispers of the wisps and the grandeur they promised him.

Every now and then he felt his heart tug toward the noises, pushing him to follow their voices and see where he ended up. But every time he shook his head and refocused, closing his eyes and continuing to listen.

Until they made him a promise he couldn't refuse.

It wasn't that William was unhappy.

He just felt kind of dead inside. Numb. There wasn't any happiness in him to even lose.

Perhaps it was because he lived in Deadwood, or because his life didn't really bring him any joy, but his heart felt empty. He wanted more. He wanted to feel something inside himself other than the desperation to solve mysteries. He wanted to feel needed.

That's what the wisps promised him.

Happiness.

Something that he couldn't achieve on his own.

He was laying in the Whispering Woods, the place with the highest wisp population that he knew of, listening to their speeches and tuning out their promises. His parents' words rang in his head.

But then they said they could bring him the happiness that no one knew he was lacking, and he sat up slowly, looking around for the wisp that spoke. When he found it, William got to his feet. Very slowly, his legs shaking, but he still walked forward.

He saw the small lantern in the wisps' hand, and saw the tiny outline of its body. It held out a hand to him, beckoning him to come closer.

True happiness awaits you, it said. We can give it to you.

He took a step forward, and the wisp took one backward. 

We see what you wish. We know your heart. Follow me, and I can bring you to your end goal.

Step into the light.

Follow us, and your brother will respect you. He'll love you, as he was always meant to. We can give that to you.

Step into the light.

William didn't know when he broke into a run. 

But all of a sudden he felt tree branches whipping at his face, and his feet were pounding against the ground, eyes trained on the bright light of the wisp in front of him.

You're so close, it said. Just take one jump, and your happiness will follow.

So he did.

William wasn't watching the ground, or the scenery around him. He had eyes only for the wisp. 

And then his feet were running on air.

Time seemed to move at a snail's pace. He turned his body around in the air and saw the edge of the cliff that he'd jumped off, arm outstretched in an attempt to grab the wisp that was just beyond his reach. The wind whistled in his ears, his hair whipping across his face. The will-o'-wisp floating in front of him grinned, flying around his head and making small chittering noises. It sounded like it was laughing at him. 

Here comes your happiness, it whispered.

And then the ground came.

He thought it would hurt more. He thought falling to his death would end in agony and fiery pain. Instead, he heard the ground rumble slightly, and there was a small ache deep in his bones, and then dark hands dragged at his mind, pulling him below the dirt and into the warmth of the ground. He closed his eyes, welcoming the mind-numbing darkness, feeling like he'd already been buried.

There was a pulsing sound beating in his head, steady and strong and consistent. But as William laid in his conscious unconsciousness, its rhythmic timing was growing slower, the pulsing beats getting less consistent and much quieter, becoming faint and fluttery. 

Until it disappeared altogether. 

When his eyes opened again, William felt cold.

Not just slightly chilled, but freezing to the bone. Every part of his essence felt paralyzingly cold, as though he were encased in ice. 

And when he looked around, he just saw himself laying in a pool of water, his body trembling, but his heartbeat was slow. He'd almost say it wasn't even there.

He looked down at his body, ready to see his limbs completely out of place and bent in the wrong directions, but everything was as it should be. The only thing that was slightly wrong was that his skin was somehow even more pale than it had been before. 

Like a ghost.

William bolted to his unbroken feet, breath coming out in gasps as panic overtook him. He remembered the fall, and the wisps, and he knew that he should be dead. He didn't understand how he wasn't.

He no longer heard the wisps around him. The constant noise from the small ghosts was gone, leaving William to stew in the silence. He walked a few steps, working hard to get his feet to stay under him. Once his steps were steady and sure, William made his way out of the ravine he found himself standing in, making his way back through the forest to his home. The trees still stood tall over him, blocking out what little sun there was to begin with, leaving William in the darkness of the woods. HIs bed was calling to him in the same way the wisps had, beckoning him onward to a promised comfort. After a long while of walking, William managed to find the pathway that led out of the forest and toward his home, still not questioning how he was alive and well and just assuming that some powerful magical force had saved him.

But then something crashed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling on the forest floor, limbs flailing and scrambling in the fallen, moldy leaves. William looked around frantically, eyes searching for whatever could have attacked him. He saw a spectral figure floating in the bushes ahead, eyes trained on William. He looked to his other side and saw some kind of wolfish monster staring at him as well, red eyes wide and hungry. Everywhere William looked, something was watching him, waiting for him to make a move. Those spirits that drifted through Deadwood had all gathered here in the clearing, with leering eyes and gaping mouths just itching to get a bite. William stumbled backward and went a different way, running toward the other end of the path but being met with yet another creature that tried to harm him. 

He could see his house in the distance. He could see his mother standing by the kitchen window, face turned down to look at whatever she was cooking for dinner, a small smile on her face at something his father had said. He spotted David leaning against the kitchen counter, arms waving wildly as he told what could only be a story from his day. William pushed onward, toward that smile and the promise of warmth that just might soothe his aching bones.

When he finally made it to the house, his mother told him it looked like he'd seen a ghost. She just smiled and handed him a mug of tea, telling him to go sit and calm his mind for a while. William was distracted by a light tapping noise, and he turned his eyes to the nearest window to see some kind of ghoul standing just outside, its eyes wide and an unnatural smile on its face as a finger rapped against the glass. William's body jolted, his drink spilling all over his lap. He sprung to his feet, preparing himself to feel the hot liquid burning his skin, but he felt nothing. He slowly took his finger and stuck it in the tea, holding it there and waiting until it started to burn, but it never did. He only pulled his hand out when his mother grabbed his wrist and did it for him, asking what the hell he was doing and that he was going to hurt himself. She gave him another mug of tea and sent him to his room, telling him to be careful with this mug and to rest, and she'd bring him dinner when it was ready. Once his door was shut, William stuck his finger back in the tea, waiting once again for any sign of pain to take over him, but he might as well have been touching cold water. He crouched down at stared at the mug, seeing steam rising from the water and drifting into the air, so it was clearly hot, and yet... no pain. 

He shook his head and laid back on his bed, ready to put the entire day behind him and just start over.

But he didn't sleep a wink.

All night there was a loud, screeching scream emanating from outside his room. It was a woman's voice - a banshee, he assumed - one that screamed about his impending doom. As the week went on, William kept finding himself in the presence of different malevolent spirits, ones that should have made his heart race in his chest. He saw poltergeists in the halls at school, kelpies swimming just below the surface of rivers, heard women crying in the forest every single night, not allowing William a moment of sleep. Not that he was all that tired to begin with. He saw wraiths floating behind his parents, faces lit with wide smiles and hands reaching out like they were going to grab them, and they only disappeared when William made a move to swipe at them. His parents started to worry about him, asking if he was alright, commenting on how pale he always was and how the bags under his eyes kept growing and getting darker. They told him jokingly that he looked like a walking corpse, but as time went on and he thought more about the night he fell, William realized he wasn't so sure his parents were wrong.

But the spirits were getting dangerous. The banshees stopped wailing about William's death and moved on to his parents' impending deaths. His brother's. The poltergeists started throwing objects around the house, aiming for their heads and giggling in William's ears when they missed. Kelpies would reach out to grab people swimming in the lake or pools, and when William cried out for everyone to get out of the water, they all stared at him like he was a freak. People started to whisper about him when he passed by, giving him strange looks that told him he was a freak without actually saying anything. There was constant noise in his head, voices telling him that his loved ones would die, or tragedy would follow him wherever he went. Insults were spat in his ears and wormed their way into his mind. Sometimes William would clap his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the voices, closing his eyes tight against the world, and when they opened again people were staring. They always stared. Like he was an animal to observe.

Comparisons began popping up between him and his brother. How David was the "good child"; the one that didn't cause problems. His future was so bright, while William's was... uncertain. David had excelled in school? Well, William couldn't stay in one place for more than a couple hours before he would just get up and leave, muttering quietly to himself. David had a steady job and lots of friends? William's sudden outbursts at nothing made employers shy away, and the people he'd once considered his friends suddenly turned their backs like they'd never known him. The more whispers William heard, the more his stress piled and piled until he felt like he was being crushed under the weight. And when the weight began to feel like it would never ease up, that's when the wisps came back. They would float by his head, still promising him that happiness that he had yet to discover. They would sit on his hands, lighting his fingertips on fire and yet the pain was never there. But anytime the wisps made an appearance, they were like a supernatural beacon. Monsters gravitated toward the wisps, and so when the little blue fairies refused to leave him alone and his life became too risky, he just... left.

He couldn't stay.

The only times he was at peace was when he was away from Deadwood. He'd kept trying for a while to work with the Un-Witness Protection Program, but their travels had grown dangerous and deadly. His friends started to go without him, making excuses for why he hadn't been invited. They joined the hordes of people that whispered about him, looks of disgust on their faces until he had passed out of sight.

William said goodbye to everything he knew.

Left a note for his parents, made sure his phone number was on the page, and just left. He wasn't aiming to be cut off from his old life; he wasn't abandoning his parents completely. But he knew he couldn't stay around if they wanted to be safe. Eventually he would tell them what happened and why he had to go, but that time would come later.

The constant gray clouds of Deadwood slowly drifted away and revealed a bright blue sky. It made William squint and pause his steps, taking a few moments to adjust to the suddenly colorful world around him. He didn't really know where he was going, but as he walked away, a light blue wisp appeared in front of his face and floated on the breeze.

His parents' words vanished from his mind. William figured the best thing for him to do was follow the wisp. It still whispered in his ears, telling him that his happiness was just around the corner. He eventually came across a town sign that read "Welcome to Rockfall", with a city nestled just beyond it. He took another step forward, crossing into this new world with all new people to meet, trying not to shudder at the thought and instead following the wisp; following it to the happiness it promised.