Bay’s POV - Over ten years ago

  It was one of those early mornings in the compound where everything felt damp—the grass, the sky, even the air. Fog hugged the ground like a blanket, curling between the stone walls and whispering through the training yard. I liked mornings like that. They felt quiet. Controlled. Predictable.

  Stephen hated them.

  He stood at the edge of the yard, fists clenched, shoulders tense, smoke trailing up from his fingertips. His fire sputtered with each shaky breath, and every time he tried to call it back into focus, it flared out in a useless burst. I watched him from a few steps away, arms crossed.

  “You’re forcing it,” I said.

  He didn’t look at me. “I’m trying.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  He turned then, eyes flashing like embers, but not at me. Not really. “Everyone else can control their powers. Why not me?”

  I shrugged and stepped closer, letting the moisture in the air wrap around my skin. My fingers twitched and the fog shifted, rising slightly in the stillness between us. “Because fire’s not meant to be controlled. Not the way you want it to be.”

  He scoffed and dropped to sit on the low stone wall, dragging his fingers through his hair. It smoked a little. I didn’t mention it.

  I sat beside him. Not too close, but close enough.

  “You want it to obey,” I said, voice low. “But it doesn’t work like that. Not for you. Fire listens when you trust it. Not when you’re afraid of it.”

  Stephen looked over at me then, and for once, the frustration had burned down just enough to see the fear underneath. The fear of hurting someone. Of burning too bright.

  “How do you make it look so easy?” he asked.

  I smiled, let a small ripple of water rise from my palm and curl around my wrist like a ribbon. “Because I stopped trying to control it. I started listening to it instead.”

  We sat in silence after that. The fog didn’t lift, and neither of us moved. But I saw it—the moment when Stephen let out a breath and the smoke in his hands faded just a little.

  Not gone. Not perfect.

  But better.

  And that was enough.

  Bay’s POV - Present Day

  The roar of the river was like a heartbeat in my chest.

  Mist clung to everything, curling around the trees like fingers and rising off the churning water in ghostly tendrils. The battle had scattered us, but I didn’t need to see Stephen to know he was close. I could feel the heat building—the air rippling with rising temperature before he even stepped into view.

  I veered toward the river instinctively. The pull of the water steadied me, even as everything else threatened to spin out of control. The ground trembled beneath my feet.

  Stephen emerged from the other side of the clearing like a wildfire given form. His iron staff was already glowing at the ends, small sparks flaring around him like fireflies. His face was tight with focus, but it wasn’t the Stephen I remembered. Not entirely.

  The boy I remembered laughed too loud, always stood too close to the flames like they were old friends. He protected us like a shield of heat, wrapping us in light. Now that same fire lashed outward, untamed and dangerous.

  I didn’t say anything at first. I just stepped into the river.

  The cold surged through me, welcoming, familiar. My trident thrummed in my hand, a perfect extension of myself. The moment water touched my skin, I felt it stir to life, rising to meet me. It was like a second heart, pulsing with energy, with clarity. The moment I gave it purpose, it responded without hesitation.

  But even surrounded by that comfort, the heat Stephen radiated clawed at my skin. It wasn’t just uncomfortable—it felt wrong. Violent. A deep, stinging warmth that threatened to smother everything in its path. It boiled the mist, seared the air in my lungs.

  He raised his staff. I raised my trident.

  And the river exploded upward.

  My wave met his flame in a hissing, screeching blast. Water turned to steam. The ground beneath us groaned, cracked, hissed. We collided again and again—tide against inferno, each fueled by something deeper than power.

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  “You were never like this,” I shouted over the roar. “This anger, this destruction. Where’s the boy who guarded the fire in the hearth like it was sacred?”

  He growled in response, sending another stream of fire toward my chest. I countered with a shield of water, twisting it into a wall that hissed and boiled.

  “The gods would’ve let us burn,” he snarled. “Cole showed me the truth.”

  The tide inside me swelled. I wasn’t just angry. I was heartbroken.

  “You told me once,” I said, voice shaking, “that fire made you feel safe. That it reminded you of home.”

  “You said it lit up the dark, remember?” I pressed, my words laced with desperation. “You told me you wanted to be a light for the rest of us. You were.”

  His expression flickered. Just for a second.

  Then he roared and charged.

  He swung his iron staff at me, flame trailing behind it like a comet. I met it with a surge of water, guiding my trident upward in a sweeping arc. Metal clanged against metal, steam burst around us. We exchanged blows again and again—his staff crashing down in wide, brutal arcs, mine jabbing and spinning with precision, the water amplifying every motion.

  Each time we clashed, the world hissed and shuddered.

  I pulled everything I could from the river. It answered. A great surge rose behind me, surrounding Stephen in a spiraling vortex. Water slammed into him from all sides, but he burned hotter, igniting the very air, turning my strike into vapor. The steam blew out in every direction, cloaking the entire riverside in fog.

  The forest around us suffered. Trees sparked and fell. The river swelled and crashed.

  We stood at the heart of a storm we had created.

  Stephen lunged again, and I hesitated.

  I didn’t want to hurt him.

  But he didn’t have any such reservations.

  The blast he sent would’ve torn straight through me if I hadn’t thrown up a final tidal wall. It crashed between us, knocking us both backward.

  I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me.

  The mist was beginning to clear.

  I lifted my head, hair soaked, arms shaking. Across the field, Stephen stood, chest heaving, still wreathed in flame.

  His eyes met mine.

  And for the first time since this battle began, I saw something flicker in them.

  Recognition.

  And something else.

  Fear.

  I turned my head toward the rest of the meadow.

  Through the thinning mist and swaying trees, I saw another clash unfolding—Peter and Hector locked in a brutal dance. Peter moved like lightning, darting and spinning with his chainblade flashing in tight arcs, while Hector stood grounded, his sledgehammer smashing through the air with terrifying force. Sparks flew with every blow. Neither of them held back.

  And neither of them looked ready to stop.

  A sudden crackle behind me snapped my attention back just in time to see Stephen’s silhouette glow brighter through the mist. His arm raised, a fireball already coalescing in his palm.

  I barely had time to breathe before he hurled it at me.

  Peter’s POV - Present Day

  The ground beneath us was jagged, uneven—a battlefield shaped by nature itself. Roots twisted between rocks, and the slope of the ridgeline forced every step to be calculated. I couldn’t have picked a better place for this. I knew the terrain. And I knew Hector.

  He charged first, hammer raised like a war cry made solid. Every step he took made the earth tremble. His eyes were distant, dulled by Cole’s grip, but behind them, I knew there was still something real. Still someone worth fighting for.

  I dodged to the left, narrowly avoiding the full force of his swing. The air cracked as the hammer collided with the ground, sending up a spray of dirt and shards of rock. I spun my chainblade in a wide arc, wrapping the chain around a low boulder to redirect my momentum and slide behind him.

  “You used to fix our gear after training,” I called out, breath steady. “You’d sit with Zoe after she scraped her knees and pretend you weren’t worried. You kept us together.”

  Hector didn’t respond. He just turned, eyes dark, and swung again.

  My mind raced. I didn’t just look for openings in his stance. I felt for them. The way his right shoulder dipped when he was about to feint. The slight stutter in his breath before he shifted direction. My instincts—that strange edge I’d always had—pulled everything together.

  A path to victory shimmered like a thread of light: use the terrain, let him overextend, trip him on the uneven ground, wrap the chain around his arm, disarm.

  I didn’t take it.

  Not yet.

  Instead, I pivoted, striking with the flat of my blade—a warning, not a wound. “You were our big brother, Hector. You never stopped protecting us, even when we didn’t know we needed it. Don’t let him take that from you.”

  Something shifted.

  His swing faltered. Just a fraction of a second, but I saw it. The memory hit him.

  “Helena used to tease you for being too serious,” I said. “Remember that? She’d hide your forge tools just to make you laugh.”

  He blinked.

  Then his eyes glazed again. Cole’s control snapped back like a leash.

  He roared and charged.

  I ducked under the hammer, wrapped the chainblade around a tree trunk, and used it to launch myself onto a high rock. My heart pounded, not just from the exertion but from the ache building in my chest.

  I couldn’t beat him. Not yet.

  But I could hold him here.

  Keep him busy. Keep him close.

  Long enough for Zoe to reach him.

  There was still something inside him fighting.

  I just had to give it time to win.

  From my perch, I scanned the edges of the battle. I could sense it all—Bay and Stephen locked in a clash of fire and water, Xandor dueling the twins with starlight and wind, Damian trying to reach Angelina through blade and emotion. They were all holding their own, barely. Each of us trying to protect the other while facing the people we once called family.

  And me? I had Hector.

  He came at me again, but this time he didn’t use just his hammer. From his belt, he pulled a secondary weapon—a compact throwing axe, blunt and heavy. He hurled it, forcing me to roll out of the way, nearly losing my balance.

  “Really, Hector?” I muttered, blocking another swing.

  But he didn’t stop. He was pressing harder now, his movements faster, angrier. Trying to overwhelm me, to shake my focus.

  “Remember when you carried Damian back from the river after he twisted his ankle?” I called out, breath ragged. “You grumbled the whole way, but you never put him down.”

  The swing slowed. A crack formed.

  “You’re not his weapon, Hector. You never were a weapon, you create.”

  He growled, gripping the hammer tighter. But there was hesitation in his eyes now. Something breaking through.

  I braced myself.

  And hoped it would be enough.