Click-click.
The TV shuts off.
Just before it did, the anchor's voice rang out:
"The villain is being detained as we speak. He may have killed three Sentinels—but he's no match for the number one Sentinel Supreme: hero TruPreme, AKA Prime."
Darkness fills the living room, lit only by the streetlights outside and the faint hum of electronics. A low hum of energy lingers in the silence, like the world itself is holding its breath.
A voice breaks the quiet.
"In this world, everyone is born with a gift. A talent tied directly to the soul. We call it Astra."
A boy sits on the couch, staring into the reflection on the now-black screen.
"With Astra came monsters. Villains. Chaos. But also order. From that chaos, Sentinels rose—warriors of justice, defenders of peace. Champions of truth. But—"
Crash.
The sound of plates hitting the floor snaps him back. From the kitchen.
He jumps to his feet, bolting down the hallway. "Mom?!"
She's there, fragile and pale, leaning against the counter.
"Why are you out of bed? You know you're sick!"
She waves him off weakly. "Oh, shush, boy. You should be asleep. You've got school in the morning."
"Let me help you first, then I'll sleep. What did you need from the kitchen?"
"You don't need to worry so much," she mutters, letting him take her arm. "Ever since your father died, you've been stressing yourself out."
He exhales sharply. "I'm fine, Mom."
"You're not. You're too young to carry the weight of a dying family name on your back. The Shiba clan had its time—no more badges, no more servants. It's just us now. And that's okay. Just worry about yourself. Get a good job. Live comfortably."
She forces a smile. "I'll beat this sickness. I want to be there for your middle school graduation. I'll make your favorite food. You can invite your friends over, yeah?"
He smiles faintly. "I can't wait."
He helps her into bed, tucks her in gently, and closes her door behind him. Then he slips into his own room, staring at the ceiling.
A thought runs through his head. The one that always comes when the world finally quiets down.
"But I was born with a useless talent."
My name is Keoni Kamal Koa Malik Shiba.
Yeah, I know. It's a mouthful. My dad… didn't exactly believe in keeping things simple.
He used to say that every part of my name meant something. That it was meant to tell a story. A legacy. A prayer. Not just for me—but for what I was supposed to become.
Of course, that's not even my full name. Not the version he recited like gospel. My real, full name is longer than any ID form would accept. It's like… a living poem, stuffed with meaning and impossible expectations.
Keoni – named after my great-grandfather. A legacy name.
Kamal – perfection.
Koa – fearless.
Malik – sovereign.
Keahi – flame.
Rio – river.
Tariq – morning star.
Amarodio Eternan – to love and to hate, eternally.
Teomiquiz Xochitl – divine death, the love that kills like a god.
All that? That's me. Or at least, that's who I'm supposed to be.
If you put it all together, in the order Dad laid out, it means:
"The perfection. The fearless sovereign who walks through fire and flows like water, rising like the morning star. One who loves and hates with eternal passion, destined for a divine death—from a love that kills like the gods."
And it all starts with K.
Every Shiba man had a K in his name. A mark of the bloodline. A reminder.
But the truth? I don't feel perfect. I don't feel fearless. I don't feel like a sovereign, a flame, or anything divine. I feel… ordinary. Worse than ordinary.
Because even in a world where almost everyone is born with a talent…
Mine is worthless.
Or at least, that's what I thought.
But stories don't end where they start.
And names—real names—they're just the beginning.
[The next day at school]
The bell rang loudly, jolting the sleepy classroom to life.
SLAM.
The teacher dropped his notebook onto the desk.
"Alright! It's the start of your final year here. First assignment—write down what you want to be in the future. And no surprise, half of you will probably say Sentinel."
The class burst into laughter and chatter, desks shifting and chairs squeaking.
Among the noise, one voice carried above the rest.
She walked in like she owned the room. Long, golden hair flowed wildly behind her, untamed and radiant. Her confident, arrogant smirk was as unmistakable as the strength in her aura.
Beautiful. Powerful. Talented.
And unfortunately, my childhood friend.
Her name? Asahi Hima.
When I got my talent before she did, she was thrilled for me—genuinely happy. We were close then. But when she awakened… everything changed. Her powers were outrageous. Incredible. Her confidence became arrogance. And somewhere along the way, we drifted.
She kind of bullies me now. Not the cruel kind, but enough to remind me I'm less. At least in her eyes.
Me? My talent… it's not much. I produce this black substance—like a shadowy appendage—that can protrude from anywhere on my body. I can control it, shape it a little. At most, it reaches about a foot long now.
When I was younger, it was barely an inch. So I've gotten stronger. Kind of.
Before the lesson could begin, the teacher raised his hand.
"Oh, before we start—let me introduce the new transfer student."
All eyes turned to the door.
She stepped in slowly, her presence quiet but magnetic. Crimson-red hair flowed down her shoulders like liquid fire, offset by her snow-white eyelashes and piercing crystal-blue eyes.
She looked nervous. Fragile. Out of place.
"M-my name is Isla Aoi," she said softly, avoiding eye contact.
And just like that, I saw myself in her.
Different. Alone.
[One Week Later – Hallway Near the Cafeteria]
The buzz of lunch hour filled the hall with chatter and the clatter of trays. Isla stood by her locker, head down, clutching her books like a shield. A trio of girls blocked her path, smirking.
"I mean, seriously. Who even wears eyelashes like that to school?" one sneered.
Another snorted. "Did you see her lunch yesterday? Imported water and those fancy triangle sandwiches? Must be nice being bougie and weird."
"Maybe she's too good to talk to us," the third girl said mockingly. "She hasn't said two words all week."
Isla stayed quiet, her gaze locked on the floor, eyes shimmering but unblinking. Like she was used to this. Like she expected it.
Shiba was walking by with a half-eaten sandwich in hand when he heard it. He slowed, then stopped completely.
He could've walked away.
But something about her stillness—the way she didn't cry, didn't speak, just absorbed it—stirred something sharp in his chest.
He turned.
"Yo," he said, voice calm but cold. "Is this the 'talk-bad-about-someone-while-she's-right-there' club? Do I need to sign up or something?"
The lead girl turned, scoffing. "No one's talking to you, Shiba."
He took a bite of his sandwich, then pointed at Isla with his pinky. "She's new. She's quiet. You don't get to pick on her just because she doesn't want to sit in your group chat circle and talk about hair oil."
One of the girls rolled her eyes. "You're defending her now? What, is she your girlfriend?"
Isla's eyes snapped up, startled.
Shiba shrugged. "She could be. Better her than anyone who wastes time bullying people for not kissing up to them."
That hit.
The girls stared him down, but he just raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Eventually, one of them scoffed and walked off, dragging the others with her.
Shiba waited until they turned the corner, then looked at Isla.
"You okay?"
She gave a stiff nod, not trusting her voice.
"You've got this look," he said, leaning against the lockers beside her. "Like you're used to people turning on you. Even when you didn't do anything wrong."
She blinked. "…They always do."
"Let them," he said. "You don't have to be nice to everyone. You just have to be you."
She tilted her head, studying him. A tiny smile crept onto her lips—mischievous and sweet all at once.
"You're weird," she whispered.
"Yeah, well… guess that makes two of us."
[The Next Few Days – Various Moments at School]
Isla started… showing up. Everywhere.
She wasn't loud. Wasn't obvious. But she'd sit just a little too close during lunch. Walk beside him between classes—even when her classroom was in the opposite direction. If he reached for his pen, she already had one ready. If he coughed, there was a water bottle in her hand.
And when Shiba finally asked about it?
"Oh," she said sweetly, "I just like being around you. You make things quiet."
"Quiet?" he asked, a little confused.
"Mm-hmm. Inside," she said, tapping her chest with one delicate finger. "It's always so loud in here… but when I'm near you, it stops buzzing. You feel… right."
She smiled, eyes glittering with something almost too intense.
"Like I'm supposed to follow you."
Shiba tried to laugh it off. "You're not gonna start worshipping me or anything, right?"
Isla blinked once. Then leaned in just a little, her voice low and dreamy.
"Would you want me to?"
He flinched.
[Later That Week – After Class]
Shiba was packing his bag when he noticed something new tucked inside. A folded note.
He opened it:
You smiled at me today.
I smiled too, but you didn't see it.
I hope you'll smile again tomorrow.
You're my favorite person, Shiba.
P.S. I like your hair when it's messy.
There was a tiny drawing in the corner. A sketch of him and Isla standing side by side. Her eyes were huge and heart-shaped.
He looked around the classroom. She was already gone.
[In the Background – Unseen by Shiba]
Behind the old school greenhouse, Isla sat cross-legged in the dirt, humming to herself. In her hands: a photo she'd taken of Shiba the day he defended her, laminated with tape and glitter stickers.
She whispered, "Shiba… Shiba… Shiba…" like a mantra.
Then giggled softly to herself.
"He's going to change everything."
[Rooftop, Lunchtime]
The sky stretched wide above them, pale blue and cloudless. The rooftop was quiet, wind gently lifting Isla's crimson hair as she sat cross-legged beside Shiba.
He munched calmly on his lunch—rice balls and fried shrimp, packed in a clumsy bento. Isla didn't touch hers. She just watched him eat, arms tucked around her knees, eyes never blinking too long.
Shiba glanced sideways.
"You gonna eat?"
She shook her head silently.
"Then don't blame me if I steal yours," he said, reaching toward her untouched mochi.
She didn't flinch—just smiled faintly, like she didn't care what he took, as long as he stayed.
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn't awkward. The kind that felt rare.
He spoke again, mouth half-full. "So… what's your talent?"
The question made her freeze.
For a second, her whole body stiffened. Her pale fingers clutched her skirt, and her eyes dropped to the floor. "…Portals," she said, voice low. "I… I make portals."
Shiba stopped chewing.
She continued, even quieter. "They don't always go where I want. Sometimes they… don't close. Sometimes they hum. People get scared. I get scared. I try not to use it unless I have to."
She didn't look up. Braced for judgment. For fear. For that flinch she always saw when she told the truth.
But instead—
"Portals? That's insane!" Shiba grinned, already wiping his hands. "That's so cool—wait, hold on—!"
He scrambled for his bag and yanked out a battered black notebook, stuffed with colored tabs and scribbles.
"You have to tell me everything. How many can you make at once? Do they have a range? Can you see through them first? Have you ever linked two different elevations—like rooftop to basement—or just horizontal jumps?"
Isla blinked. Slowly. "You're… not scared?"
"Scared? No! This is the kind of stuff I live for." His eyes were shining now, wild and curious. "I've got this whole section just for movement-based Astra. Prime says the best Sentinels know how to combine talents mid-battle—and portals? That's top-tier utility. Offense, defense, escape, misdirection—do you know how many combos that unlocks?!"
Isla stared at him. Like she couldn't believe he was real.
He looked up, catching her expression, and softened.
"I don't care if your portals are weird or unstable or whatever. That just means you haven't trained enough. You'll get there. You've got a power people would kill for."
A slow warmth bloomed in her chest.
"You really think so?" she asked quietly.
"I know so," he said. "And besides… you're the first person to sit with me like this in a long time. So yeah. I think you're pretty cool."
She looked away quickly. But not fast enough to hide the flush in her cheeks.
Above them, a single cloud drifted across the sun.
And for once, Isla didn't feel so cold.
[Middle School – Hallway, After Lunch]
The bell rang, sharp and shrill. Students flooded the halls, some laughing, some shouting, backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder.
Shiba walked with a half-smile on his face, Isla trailing a step behind him, close but silent. He held his notebook open, pointing to a diagram he'd sketched during lunch. "If you ever learn to hold a portal open and move it with you, you could basically teleport mid-run. That's game-breaking."
Isla nodded. Her eyes never left him.
As they turned the corner, laughter echoed from up ahead. A voice rang out, bright and biting.
"Well, well. Look who's got a shadow."
Asahi stood with one hand on her hip, her golden hair catching the fluorescent lights like fire. A few classmates lingered nearby, sensing tension.
Shiba sighed. "What do you want?"
"Oh, nothing," she said sweetly, stepping closer. "Just surprised to see you walking around like you actually have friends now."
Isla's posture tightened. She lowered her gaze, shoulders curling inward.
Asahi's voice sharpened. "And this is who you hang out with now? The ghost girl who can't even talk without twitching?"
"Stop it," Shiba said, but his tone lacked force.
Asahi's smirk grew. "What happened, Shiba? You used to follow me around like a puppy."
He clenched his jaw.
"She's not—"
"What?" Asahi interrupted, stepping even closer. "She's not what? A weirdo? A walking disaster? Oh wait—what's her talent again? Something creepy and dangerous, right?"
"That's enough."
This time his voice had weight. Enough to make Isla glance up. Enough to make Asahi pause.
But only for a moment.
"You're such a loser," she muttered, voice low now. "You always have been. "
Something flashed across Shiba's face. Not pain. Not shame.
Just disappointment.
"You used to be my best friend," he said quietly.
She blinked.
"I didn't care that you were mean. You always were. Even back when we played Sentinels—you made me be the sidekick every time. You made all the rules. You never let me win."
Asahi looked away.
He stepped past her.
"You still are. But that doesn't mean I have to follow you forever."
The hallway fell silent as he walked away, Isla following closely behind, eyes wide with something close to admiration.
Asahi stayed behind. Hands clenched. Jaw tight.
Her chest rose and fell with ragged breath she didn't realize she was holding. Then—
"HEY, DWEEB!"
Shiba paused mid-step. He turned, tired and unbothered.
She stormed up, eyes wild, and—
CRACK.
Her fist connected cleanly with his right eye.
Gasps erupted through the hallway. Isla shrieked his name. Shiba staggered, vision spinning, a bright starburst of pain flaring behind his eyelid.
But he didn't fall.
Asahi stood over him, hand still balled in a fist, her voice venomous.
"Me and you were never friends."
The words hit harder than the punch.
"The only reason I let you hang around me was so I could have a personal punching bag. You loser. Don't ever get that twisted."
Shiba's mouth opened slightly, like he might say something.
She didn't let him.
"Why would I ever hang out with someone as useless as you, Malo?"
(She used the name she always used when she was mad. Malo. From malos, bad luck. A cruel twist on his mom's old nickname: Fourleaf.)
"You're so pathetic. A weak-ass talent like yours? You're not even worth the air you breathe. So just…"
Her voice cracked, but her eyes burned.
"Go jump off the top of the building."
The hallway went dead silent.
"Maybe in your next life you'll be born with something great."
She turned, storming off—
"And maybe you'll be reborn soon enough to see me become the number one Sentinel in the world."
The door slammed behind her.
No one laughed. No one cheered. Just stunned silence and Isla's trembling hands reaching for Shiba's arm, her breath caught somewhere between fear and fury.
Shiba didn't cry.
But the bruise wasn't just on his eye.
The bullying didn't stop after that.
In fact, it got worse.
Every day, Asahi would find a new way to break him down—words sharper than glass, pride bigger than the sky. And the worst part?
Everyone let her.
Because she was the golden girl.
"Hey, useless!" she called across the schoolyard, flanked by her ever-growing group of fans. "Still playing Sentinel in your notebook? What are you now, the janitor-class hero?"
Laughter.
Shiba didn't answer. Just zipped up his bag and kept walking.
She blocked his path.
"Aww, don't leave! Come on, show me that weird little shadow-blob thing you do. Let's all give Malo a round of applause for the world's most decorative talent."
More laughter. One of her lackeys actually clapped.
She leaned in, voice dropping just for him.
"You think because that freak girl talks to you now, you're not pathetic? You think anyone sees you?"
He said nothing. Just kept his head low, hands in his pockets.
That made her angrier.
"You're nothing, Shiba."
Her words stabbed like knives.
"You always needed me. I just got tired of dragging you."
She turned and walked away like it didn't mean anything.
But it did.
It meant everything.
Sometimes she'd shove his books out of his arms in the hallway.
Other times, she'd whisper just loud enough for him to hear things like:
"Should've stayed invisible. You were better at that."
"One day I'll be number one, and no one will even remember you existed."
"You'll die before you ever become a Sentinel."
And yet—even then—Shiba never fought back.
Not because he couldn't.
But because somewhere, deep down, part of him still believed in the girl who used to sit under the monkey bars with him and pretend they were both heroes.
He still remembered her saying:
"We'll be a team. Forever. You and me, Shiba."
And sometimes… she remembered that too.
But she buried it under heat and pride and rage.
Because Asahi wasn't allowed to be soft.
And Shiba?
He wasn't allowed to win.
[Later that week – behind the gym building]
The wind was still. Tension thick.
Isla stood between Asahi and the wall, trembling—not with fear, but fury.
"Why do you treat him like that?" she demanded, eyes blazing blue. "He's never done anything to you but care."
Asahi didn't even blink.
She leaned forward slowly, golden eyes narrowing like twin suns bearing down on a planet too close to the flame.
"Care?" she echoed, her voice razor-sharp. "You think that matters? You think feelings make you strong?"
Isla's fists clenched. Her breathing quickened. The air around her began to shimmer and warp, faint circles of rippling space opening and closing like glitching eyes.
"Don't push me, Hima."
"Or what?" Asahi snapped.
"You'll open a portal and cry into it?"
Before Isla could react, Asahi moved—a blur of divine speed and pressure, like the sun erupting. She slammed Isla against the wall with the back of her hand, fast and brutal.
Boom.
The portal girl gasped, wind knocked out of her. Her power flared—but fizzled, unstable.
"You're not ready to fight me," Asahi said flatly. "And you never will be."
She let Isla drop to her knees.
"You think you're protecting him?" she asked coldly, walking away.
"He's not worth protecting."
[That evening – city streets glowing in orange dusk]
Shiba walked home slowly, bag slung low, his shadow stretched long behind him.
Every muscle in his body ached—not from fighting.
From enduring.
His right eye still throbbed. The bruises would fade. But the words? The looks? The silence?
They didn't.
He gripped the strap of his bag tighter.
"I'm trying," he muttered to himself. "I really am."
He thought about Isla—bleeding from the lip after confronting Asahi. She didn't even tell him. He overheard it from another student.
She stood up for him.
No one had done that in years.
He thought about his mom—how thin she'd gotten. How she still smiled when he cooked rice right. How she always said "I'll be okay, baby. I just need a little more time."
But as he turned the final corner toward home—
Red lights. Flashing. Sirens.
Ambulances.
No.
His steps quickened. His bag hit the sidewalk as he dropped it. His feet pounded toward the house.
"No. No. No."
Paramedics wheeled a stretcher down the steps. A woman's body—frail, barely covered by a sheet.
The streetlights flickered above.
He couldn't move.
His knees felt like water. He staggered back a step.
A rush of memories hit him like crashing waves—
Her singing lullabies through coughing fits.
Her laughing while folding laundry.
Her telling him he'd be great one day—even if his talent looked small now.
He couldn't hear anything anymore.
Just the thump of his heartbeat and the sharp, collapsing silence of hope leaving his body.
[Outside the Hospital – 9:41 PM]
"You can't go in yet."
The words hit harder than a slap. Shiba stood just outside the automatic doors, fists clenched at his sides, breath short and ragged.
"I'm her son!" he barked. "She needs me! She—"
"Sir, I understand, but—"
He didn't hear the rest.
Didn't care.
He backed away slowly, then turned—storming into the night, down the silent streets, back toward a house that already felt like a grave.
[Shiba's Home – 10:16 PM]
He stepped through the door.
It was cold. Too quiet.
The leftover rice on the stove had burned. The light above the dining table flickered.
He dropped to his knees in the living room.
Head down.
Fists on the floor.
He whispered, "I should've been there…"
And then—something snapped.
His chest twisted with grief. His jaw clenched. His throat burned. His tears dried before they fell.
Then the shadows came.
Tendrils—inky black and slick like oil—ripped out from his arms, his back, his legs. First one. Then two. Then dozens.
CRASH!
A table shattered.
SMASH!
A bookshelf was ripped apart.
The tendrils spiraled madly around him like a violent storm, expanding—lashing out without thought or control, clawing the walls, shredding the ceiling, punching through photos and furniture and everything his mom had carefully arranged over years.
"STOP!!" he screamed.
"JUST—STOP!!"
But they didn't.
They moved with his pain. His rage. His fear.
And he wasn't controlling them anymore.
He was drowning in them.
One wrapped around a chair and crushed it. Another cracked the mirror in the hallway. The air buzzed with dark energy, and the house shook like it was about to collapse—
Until—
THUD.
Everything stopped.
A shadow fell over him. Then a flash of movement—
CRACK.
Darkness.
[Somewhere else – rooftop, unknown time]
A light breeze.
The soft hum of the city far below.
Shiba groaned, stirring. He blinked against the night sky, vision blurry.
He sat up slowly.
Concrete beneath him. Rooftop air. Stars overhead.
And a man standing at the edge.
Tall. Muscular. Wearing a long dark coat with silver trim. A metallic gauntlet glowing faintly on one hand. His face was covered by a half-mask shaped like a wolf's jaw.
Shiba blinked again.
"W-Wait…"
His eyes widened. His jaw dropped.
"…Everest?"
The man turned, just a little.
Shiba shot to his feet like a firecracker.
"Oh my GOD, you're Everest—THE Everest?! From the South City Sentinel Dome?! I've read about all your battles—you're the guy who fought three rogue Titan-Talents at once with a broken leg!!"
He gasped.
"Wait—was it really true you trained with Prime during his rise?! Are the gloves you wear like, ancient Astra-tech?! Are they cursed?! Please say they're cursed."
Everest tilted his head, clearly confused.
But Shiba didn't stop.
He was breathing fast. Eyes shining. Face lit up like a kid on his birthday.
"Dude you're literally my number two Sentinel of all time!! Number one is Prime, obviously."
Everest raised a single hand.
"Breathe, kid."
Shiba finally paused, chest rising and falling fast.
"…Right. Sorry."
The older man stepped closer, arms folded, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
"You lost control," Everest said simply.
Shiba looked away, face falling again.
"I know."
Everest crouched beside him. "That's not weakness. That's power trying to be born."
Shiba sat in silence, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by a deep ache in his chest. His eye was still sore from Asahi's punch. His fists were trembling.
He looked out over the city lights.
Everest didn't speak for a long time. He just stood there, arms folded, watching the boy.
Then, finally—
"You think what happened back there was a breakdown."
Shiba glanced at him. "Wasn't it?"
Everest shrugged. "That's the polite name for it. But no. You weren't breaking. You were emerging."
Shiba looked away. "It didn't feel like that. It felt like I was going to destroy everything. My house… my mom's things…"
Everest knelt beside him, voice even. "Destruction is easy. Creation takes control. The problem isn't your Astra. It's that you think you have to be in pain to use it."
Shiba's throat tightened. "…What else am I supposed to feel?"
Everest didn't answer right away. He looked out at the horizon, the stars reflecting in his lenses.
"Most people think Astra is just power," he said finally. "They're wrong. It's a mirror. Whatever you hide—fear, rage, grief—it comes out. Eventually. The lucky ones learn that young."
Shiba stayed quiet.
Everest's tone shifted—lower, sharper, almost like a warning.
"You want to be a Sentinel, right?"
Shiba nodded slowly.
"Then you better figure out who you really are. Fast."
Shiba looked at him, eyebrows pulling together. "What if I'm no one?"
Everest tilted his head. "You have to be someone. Because if you're not—your Astra will decide for you."
Shiba's eyes widened slightly at that.
Everest stood, cracking his neck.
"You've got something in you, kid. Not just the Astra. I can see it in your spine. The way you stand. The way you got up after your power almost killed you."
He started walking away, toward the stairwell exit of the roof.
Then paused.
Without turning, he added:
"I won't save you again. But if you're smart, you'll save yourself."
The door creaked open.
One step, then two.
Then Everest stopped again.
"Oh—and next time your talent lashes out…"
He glanced back, one eye barely visible over his shoulder.
"…try talking to it. You might be surprised what talks back."
The door shut behind him.
And Shiba was left alone under the stars.
The next day
The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of machines. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, striping across the pale sheets where his mother lay.
Her eyes opened slowly.
"Keoni…?"
His heart nearly stopped. Then he was at her side in an instant, gripping her hand gently.
"I'm here, Mom. I'm here."
She smiled—weak, but real. "You're always here."
He wanted to cry. Instead, he smiled back, pressing his forehead to her hand. In that moment, everything Everest said echoed through him like a mantra.
I won't save you again.
If you're smart, you'll save yourself.
And Shiba knew—this was it. No matter what happened, no matter what anyone said—
He was going to become a hero.
Montage: Over the Months
— Asahi's bullying continued. The jeers in the hallway. The shoulder checks. The cruel words.
But something was different.
Shiba didn't flinch anymore.
He'd walk past her with quiet eyes, carrying bruises like armor.
— After school, he'd sneak into the back of the old gym or under the bridge by the canal—where no one would bother him—and train.
Whipping shadows struck against rusted railings. He learned to stretch them, shape them.
He trained his body too—push-ups in the mud, sprints until his legs gave out.
He studied Sentinels like others studied sports teams. Their stats. Their styles. Their talents.
Each one written in the dog-eared notebook he carried with him everywhere.
— Some days, he came home limping. Bloodied. Exhausted.
Still, he'd smile before knocking on his mom's hospital door.
Talk to her.
Feed her.
Laugh with her.
She was the reason he kept going.
— Isla became his safe place.
They sat on the roof almost every day. She'd watch him eat while telling stories in a dreamy, obsessive tone.
"Do you think if I opened a portal to the bottom of the ocean, you'd go with me?" she asked once, eyes wide.
He just smiled. "Only if you hold my hand."
She blushed bright red and didn't speak for a full minute after that.
They were weird. They were outsiders.
But they were theirs
Time passed.
Bruises faded.
The shadow tendrils grew longer, sharper, more obedient.
The once-useless boy started to feel… capable.
Still uncertain, still not there yet—
But moving forward.
And every time he got knocked down, he'd whisper to himself:
"This won't be the end of my story."