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10

Rhykard stood stock-still with his eyes closed tight, the training grounds all around him empty...as far as he could tell. It was simply a large glade in the heart of Sentinel Hall, a round swatch of coarse grass and dirt as big as a baseball field that was meant for "power practice," as Conway had put it. No one had accompanied him out today, which was good. He needed to focus.

The wolf's ears flicked as he listened intently, his body shaking a bit as he willed his powers to the forefront, wishing to open his mind's eye to see what couldn't be seen by normal people--which he wasn't anymore. He had to keep reminding himself of that. The ability was called astral perception; a subtle power, but one that would help Rhykard to unlock even more of his abilities. His spirit guide had told him so; Dante, also known as Magus, had agreed.

It had only been two weeks since he'd manifested, yet the heroes who'd taken him in had wasted no time in deeming how important it was for him to learn control of his abilities. He understood, of course; he'd seen what had happened to his old dorm. He hadn't even settled into the room, settled into college, and then he'd blown the place to pieces. That couldn't happen again, especially not here. He was constantly monitored, constantly under the gaze of heroes he never thought he'd get the opportunity to meet, let alone work beside. His new friends, also super powered youth (with near mastery of their abilities) factored in as well. He wanted to be like them. He didn't want to let anyone down, and he didn't want to hurt anyone by accident. Not again. Ever. He still hadn't forgiven himself for what happened to Seth. He was a risk until he was in control, stuck at the facility and unable to be submerged into society, unable to see his mother. He wanted her to know what he'd become so badly.

So he spent every afternoon on the field, concentrating and willing his mind to wrap around his newfound powers so that soon he'd be able to return home. Control didn't come easy, but at least knew what to expect when he'd manage some semblance of it.

Rhykard had inherited the powers of the hero Totemic, his idol; it was a dream come true. He knew all about what his late, lupine predecessor could do. Totemic had been a shaman, a conduit of nature spirits and a bridge between their world and Earth. He'd been raised to fulfill his role, aware of the world he would enter into from a young age and aware of the spirits all around. Rhykard wasn't particularly religious. Spiritual? Maybe; he liked to think so. After all, he communed with his spirit guide every night, the spectral being who'd introduced himself at the eve of his manifesting helping him along little by little. Rhykard had come to grasp that there was more to the world than what you could see. As if he'd had much choice.

Last night, Spirit had mentioned that his kin (the spirits of the air, water, earth, and fire) were with Rhykard at all times. They were there to assist him should the need arise, and he just needed to learn to communicate with them. Open your mind to them, Spirit had said while Rhy slept, his deep, reverberating voice filling the white space Rhykard had come to know as the guide's dimension. Open your mind to them so they may offer their wisdom. That is the first step.

"What comes after?" Rhykard had asked, his naked body floating in the emptiness of Spirit's realm.

They will test you.

Rhykard hadn't understood what that meant--he still didn't--but he had an idea. He'd survived the first trial: his manifestation. The power could have consumed him, but he hadn't let it. He was confident he could prove himself to the spirits. He would pass their tests.

Now, if he could only see them.

"Come on, Rhy," he whispered to himself. He clenched his eyes harder, but colorful lights and pain greeted him instead of spirits. His chest tingled where his heirloom necklace rested between his pecs, the snarling figure probably sparking with blue electricity like it normally did when Rhy was agitated. The lightning, the blue bolts that had shot from his body like a tesla coil, were--for the moment--the only power he could actually control...most of the time. That burgeoning energy that had filled him up to the point of catastrophe he'd never forget. It loomed in the pit of his stomach, and when he willed it forth it heeded his call, lancing from his hands or feet or whatever part of his body he wished. That was it, though: lightning--burning destruction.

Totemic could do so much more; so much good.

Rhykard growled under his breath, forcing down the lightning and letting it settle. "Just...relax."

He listened, ears rotating this way and that. The twittering of a few songbirds in trees around the field was carried to him. The mountain air was refreshingly crisp, a soft gust washing over the field and rustling the grass, teasing Rhykard's fur and skin. His wet nose grew cold, whiskers twitching as the air slipped through them. He enjoyed the coolness over his shirtless upper body and beneath his bare feet, and the pure fragrance of the Rockies was like nothing he'd ever smelled. He'd been raised in the city with occasional visits to the local park, so the facility being in the middle of the wilderness was a nice change. He felt exposed knowing that, for hundreds and hundreds of miles all around there was nothing but high peaks and towering trees, crystalline rivers and sapphire skies. But that was okay. There were no cars, no pollution, no hustle and bustle...

"I could get used to this," he sighed.

He breathed deeply, his body and mind relaxing, eyes still closed. He felt the firm expanse of the earth beneath him, but it began to ebb; the heavens overhead were limitless and inviting. Rhykard felt weightless where he stood. His body thrummed, and he wondered if what he felt was the heartbeat of Life. It was a pleasure similar to when he'd first entered Spirit's realm before his manifesting, but the chaos and fear he'd felt then was absent. He was at ease. His totem had ceased its sparking, and instead it rocked gently against his chest, back and forth like a metronome. Someone or something was whistling, the pleasant note rising and rising. Rhykard found the sound comforting. He didn't want it to stop.

* * * * *

Summer Breeze, also known as Bree and Servo, rolled along the corridors of Sentinel Hall toward the white indicator blinking in her sight and her sight alone. Her optic implants were wired into the Hall's security feed, so she could see where everyone was at any time like a blip on a map. Each person was color coordinated, too. There was a rainbow as of late; not that she was complaining. Spending all of her time in her lab was her job, but she enjoyed the company of actual people just as much as robotic components and complex algorithms. The young red panda grinned, smoothing some wrinkles from her white sweater then doing the same for her long black skirt, the fabric tucked around her legs so it wouldn't drape near the wheels of her chair. Her cheeks warmed as she looked over her shoulder to the rat pushing her along, his violet indicator floating above him like a wisp. He cocked his head to the side, his broken and misshapen snout unbefitting his curious and friendly eyes. He was good company--quiet--but good.

Jerry brought the wheelchair to a stop as the pristine ivory hallway split left and right.

"To the right, Sweetie," Bree said without pause, her voice so pleasant. Nodding, Jerry turned right, the hallway lined with closed doors and the occasional potted Ficus. "I'm glad you like the clothes," she said as they went. "They're some of Mugen's but he never wears them." Turning around again she smiled at him, not with her mouth but with her eyes, and Jerry blushed. "Too hip for him, but they look good on you."

Looking down at himself as Bree turned back and he kept pushing, Jerry admired the clothing he'd been given; he'd never had such nice things and felt out of place in them. The purple T-shirt was pretty snug even for his skinny frame, giving him some definition, but if his shirt was just snug then the black pants were just plain tight. His pink tail barely fit through the hole in the back. Skinny, Bree had called them, a fashion trend. Jerry had had to wrestle the things on, and his junk constantly felt squashed out of place, but he didn't complain. He just understood why the white wolf, Mugen, didn't wear them. The shoes were nice, though, comfy black cross trainers with a strap that appealed to Jerry's inner cool-kid. Of course, Ben's busted watch was bound to his right wrist. He'd deemed never to take it off.

They came to another split in the hallway.

"Left, please," Bree said.

Jerry turned left. The right side of the hall was much of the same as everywhere else they'd been so far, unmarked door after door, but the left side suddenly opened up into glass from floor to ceiling--a window running along for a few hundred yards where the big field in the middle of the facility could be seen. Outside the sun had just barely risen. The mountains in the distance peaked over the other side of the building, and the warm glow of sunlight lit upon the trees and open field across the way, filtering through the window where Bree watched on in reverence. Jerry saw someone out there, but he didn't know who. Looked like a dog. He squinted at them but kept moving.

"Right again," Bree said as they left the sun behind.

He'd have been lost in the labyrinth of this place if not for his guide, her mind somehow connected to hardware of the building. The rat wasn't sure how that worked, but it wasn't his place to ask. While he was here, in the Hall of the heroes, he was an assistant to the frail looking red panda and simply follwed. She'd taken him in more or less--befriended him. He didn't mind; it could've been worse. He could be locked in a cell like before. The red haloed lion hadn't trusted him--still didn't trust him. But Jerry didn't trust the lion either. He'd killed Ben. There was no justifying that, hero or not.

He tightened his grasp on the wheelchair's handles, knuckles popping against the ribbed grips. Since he'd gotten to this place all he'd wanted to do was tuck into a corner and be left alone. Dark Iron--no, Anthony (he kept forgetting)--hadn't left Jerry's side even after he'd been healed by Bree's machines, but he didn't find much solace in the company. He liked Anthony, truly, but it was his fault Red Corona came to Toronto. He hadn't--still didn't--know what to make of the situation. His uneasiness, unpredictability, and confusion was probably the biggest reason why he had been locked up in a cell...which was more lavish than the apartment he'd shared with his brother back in Brooklyn. Clean white walls, matching bathroom, an enormous window with a stunning view of the Rockies, a reclining sofa and the comfiest bed Jerry had ever slept in; Ben would've died to have...

He bit his tongue, stumbling a bit, chest constricting.

"Jerry?"

The rat stopped. There was a saltiness at the edge of his crooked mouth. Bree was looking over her shoulder at him again, her triangular ears back and brown eyes round and sad.

"Don't cry," she said. "Please?"

Jerry wanted to speak, but then he didn't want to speak; he hadn't since he'd been at the facility. But as easy as it was to hide his voice, he couldn't hide his emotions. He looked away from Bree, wiped his eyes, and nodded. She continued to watch him, looking on the verge of tears herself.

This girl...Jerry didn't understand her.

He didn't remember much of what happened after Ben was killed--he was there crouched over Jerry and then he wasn't...Anthony's face...pain throughout his body...a red glow...a brighter glow and an enveloping feeling...pinching in his skull...his body feeling like it was flattened and stretched beyond its limit. Then whiteness--never ending. He'd passed out apparently. When he awoke there was warmth pressed to his back and a strange humming sound causing his skin to prickle, a blue light all around. Anthony was there close at hand and looking on, ears drooping but relief on his face. Then there was Bree, smiling like she'd known Jerry all of his life. He could only groan, his body in a strange state of pain and pleasure, as the red panda took his hand and said everything was going to be alright.

He'd been placed on a "Sick-Bed," a healing machine that was somehow knitting him back together and making him well. Bree had tried explaining how the thing worked, but Jerry didn't care. Over Anthony's shoulder he'd seen Corona across the strange room splayed on a Sick-Bed, too, the blue light beneath him coalescing in his left arm that squirmed like something was moving within it. Jerry had felt hot anger, but then Bree had pressed a damp cloth against his forehead and he couldn't look away from her. Why was she showing such kindness to a stranger? A homeless, brotherless, gutter-trash rat?

He had nothing. He was nothing. Ben had died for him, but what purpose did that serve? His life was meaningless...

"Stop it," Bree said sternly all of a sudden, taking her wheelchair into her own paws and whipping it about. Jerry slouched as she eyed him, brows dipping and red fur standing out a bit. "I know what you're doing, and putting yourself down isn't fair."

Jerry didn't want to look the fiery girl in the eyes, but he couldn't help himself. Still, as friendly as she was, he got angry. What did she know? Who was she to tell him what was and wasn't fair? He'd lost everything. His brother was all he had. He was alone. He scowled and glared, but Bree didn't flinch.

Instead the girl rolled forward, the rest supporting her feet brushing against Jerry's shins. Her gaze did not falter. "I know you're hurting, so I'm going to let you know something. It's supposed to be a secret, so don't say anything. Alright?"

Jerry nodded stiffly. What could she possibly say to lift his spirits?

The girl cleared her throat and leaned closer in her chair. "The Vigils are reprimanding Willem--Corona--for what he did, Jerry. Anthony told our council leader here about what happened in Toronto, and he agreed that the lion's actions were against the hero code of conduct. Your Doberman friend testified against him and everything." Her cold eyes suddenly warmed. "Willem is going to be punished, Jerry. He was wrong, and as much as I hate to say it, he murdered your brother and that Laremy fellow. I don't know what his sentence is going to be, but...it's not going to be a light one. I know it doesn't bring your brother back, but it's a start; it's justice." She smiled weakly. Jerry's heart was beating fast. "Justice is what we do." She turned her chair away, but Jerry still caught her frown. "Some just take it into their own hands when they have no right to do so. I should know..." She began rolling herself down the hall. "That's one of the reasons I'm in this chair."

Jerry stood rigid and watched Bree go, his racing heart slowing and sinking into his stomach the further away she got. What did she know? Jerry asked himself. I'm a fucking idiot. She treats me like family and I brush her off. The lanky rat's head sank and he turned back, walking a few feet and staring out of the big window.

The grass and trees swayed, and sheens of light raced across the yard. He stopped staring through the glass and found his reflection looking back at him. For all except his malformed snout, he looked alright--better and healthier than he had in years, younger even. No, he realized. I finally look my age. _As sorrowful as he was, he couldn't help but marvel at what two weeks under the heroes care had done for him. Three meals a day, a bath every night, clean clothes, his own room...he didn't appear so helpless anymore. _Should I still feel_so helpless, then?_ He wondered what would have become of him if Ben hadn't_dived into the line of fire or if he'd never met Anthony and Corona hadn't come seeking vengeance. He probably would've been shot by rival drug gangs; Ben, too. They _both may have died for nothing. Maybe...maybe what happened was fate's way of intervening and setting Jerry on a new path.

No, he thought. Ben did this for me. It may not be what I would've wanted, but it's better than what we had.

He said a silent prayer for Ben, thanking his brother as he looked out into the morning sky. He still had emotions to sift through, and grief still weighed down on him, but a feint silver lining was appearing around the storm clouds...

A heavy gust of wind struck the window and made him back-peddle. Eyes wide, he did a double-take as he saw a figure--the person in the field from before--rising up into the sky. Like...really high.

And they weren't stopping.

"Uh," he muttered, and then he ran after Bree.