On a rooftop terrace, half lost in thought, half wasting away, I lean my stomach against the silver railing and count the scattered clouds drifting past the bright sun in the blue sky. There's barely a breeze, and yet my blond hair stirs, just a little, while my green eyes blink in the same quiet rhythm of my eyelids.
"If I had one wish... huh?" I murmur, repeating the words from my dream, sighing as I close my eyes fully.
"There's just... far too much." The words slip out softly, not loud, not silent either. Just enough to be overheard, if someone's listening closely.
"Too much of what?" asks a deep male voice behind me, as a hand settles on my shoulder.
"Oops. Did I say that out loud, Shato?" I answer lightly, opening my eyes again, glancing toward the hand, and the man beside me who leans against the railing too.
Shato—wild black hair, dark blue eyes, a trained, solid frame. A man who insists on wearing black coats even under the burning heat of the sun.
"Loud enough for me to hear. Too quiet to be unimportant. So... what's on your mind?" he presses with a smile, though his gaze stays fixed on the sky. Thinking—or mocking me. Either's possible.
"You really see through everything, don't you?" I counter, scanning him head to toe, begging for his attention, before settling into a small, satisfied smile.
"Of all people, you should know that best," Shato replies, his words vague, cryptic, unless you know him.
And he's right.
I can't remember a moment without him. Not one memory in my life without Shato at my side. He isn't my father, not even family. I know that, even if I can't remember my real parents, who died when I was still small. Smaller than now. Tiny even, as tiny as you can be at 5 years old.
I don't remember it. I just know it. Because he told me.
Because he's always been there. He is there. And he will always be there. I know that. I know it because he saved me. Because he saved my brother. Because he comforted me when I was broken. Because he still stands here now, right beside me.
I know it. That's all.
But then—screeching tires tear through the air, cutting our thoughts short.
Heads turn to the square of grass below, where three children play with a ball. Or were playing, until two gray trucks pulled up. Adults rush out of the building in panic, like a storm's about to hit. Not natural, but catastrophic all the same, as soldiers in gray armor spill from the trucks, weapons raised.
Soldiers marked with three white letters across their backs. Letters that make the skin crawl on anyone who knows them. Or twist their gaze into a wish for vengeance—like mine. Like those watching behind barricaded windows.
"What do they want here again?" I hiss, gripping the railing so tight my rage pours into the metal.
"Easy, Vio. Luna will handle this," Shato mutters, laying his hand over mine, his eyes sharp, fixed on the scene below.
The adults flee with the children through a wooden door in the center of the building. Their toy, the bright striped ball, rolls away, straight towards the line of soldiers, where it comes to rest at the feet of three men in white lab coats stepping out from the group. They sneer down at it, unfriendly, before one crushes it under his boot. Just moments before the door swings open. Coincidence, or reaction - it hardly matters.
Three figures emerge: a short woman with pink, shoulder-length hair, flanked by two robed figures cloaked in black. They keep their distance, but their presence carries weight. Still the exchange that follows feels less like negotiation and more like scolding parents. Parents who'd strike their child just to prove authority. Only—we're not the parents. We're the children. Abused. Kicked down. Like the woman with pink hair, who ends up helpless on the ground before they finally leave her be.
"Those bastards! Enough! I'll teach them some manners!" I roar, violet light blazing in my eyes, sparking like wind-whipped fire, while glowing particles swirl at my feet.
"Vio! I told you!"
In an instant, Shato's arm bars my chest.
"You know what happens if you attack now. The APH—humanity itself—would be after you."
His voice cuts through the anger. My breath shakes as I exhale, loosening my grip on the railing.
"Just because they think the world belongs to them... doesn't mean we should just let them do whatever they want, Shato." My voice trembles with fury, and with grief.
"But it does belong to them. At least, the one percent that's left. And that won't change because of this. You know that."
My teeth grind. He's right. I know it too well. And still, I can't choke down the rage.
Reality, shoved down my throat like a bitter pill. And if I swallow, I lose. To them. To myself.
"We're Wunder. They're human. That's reality, Vio. Don't try to overturn the rules of this world on your own. Even the APH needed a catastrophe to do that."
With a sudden motion, Shato steps back, releasing me, pushing off the railing, and heading for the door behind us.
"But it's... so unfair," I whisper, yielding, though not entirely.
"That's war. Unfair. Unjust. At least we can still defend ourselves. Think of those who couldn't. The Wunder who couldn't escape and are gone now. If they're lucky. I'll go ahead. Please, follow soon. The others are waiting."
And with that, Shato disappears through the door, leaving me alone—still furious, still burning.
I watch the soldiers retreat, the vans rolling away, the two robed figures helping the woman with pink hair to her feet. Just to suddenly lock My gaze with one of the scientists still lingering behind. Our eyes meet, whirling my violet sparks violently, until they condense into a tornado around me.
Then the railing shatters. Silver fragments spray, stained instantly with blood. Only to be drowned by the blaring horn of the last van. Snarling, the scientist turns his back, with the same attitude, I push away from the railing and storm toward the same door Shato took. Down the stairs, fast and steady, while the sparks, its violent gaze, disappears into thin air.
As if it never were real in the first place.
And leaving me running, a little to fast, barely dodging a collision with an adult in the hall.
"Hey!" he shouts after me, just getting a breathless "Sorry!" back, as i´m not stopping at all.
"Hello!" a boy greets me happily, just shortly as we pass.
"Hi!" I shout back, smiling, waving, lighter for just a moment.
"They're just... normal," I murmur in thought as I push through another door into a stairwell.
"We cry. We laugh. We want peace too. So why... why are they so against us?"
I freeze mid-step, staring at the door above.
I see rubble. A hole. A boy—blond, crying.
Then I blink. The vision's gone. The door is whole again.
"It was the Twelve Heroes who saved us. Not those pigs in their so-called Association for the Protection of Humanity. Protection? Don't make me laugh. You're just dressing up your bloodlust!"
I shout louder now, no longer in my thoughts, throwing my words meaningless against the closed door, before I swallow once and shove it open, stepping into the next corridor.
"Protection of Humanity, my ass. You're nothing but murderers. Kidnappers. Sick predators hunting children. You're... you're—ARGH! You're so vile I can't even think of more insults!"
Out of breath, I force the words out, then veer off into a small side room, slipping through a half-open metal door.
"Vio!" A voice greets me the moment I enter—bright, male, while a face turns towards me. A human face. No, a tiger's face. No, somehow a mix of both, stretched into a black robe, that´s only source of life seems to be the striped fur, it´s fin whiskers and his yellow glowing eyes.
Emitting the feeling that I'm indeed talking to a tiger with legs.
"Talan!" I call back, less tense now, meeting the eyes of the other four figures around the table. All robed. All concealed.
"Late again," the thinnest of them all snaps, sharp face framed by a long red ponytail, with a voice as sharp, as her face.
"Not like we're on a deadline," grumbles the largest, Daclan, with a square jaw, thick beard, and short black hair tied into a tiny knot.
"Guess we're all here then. Grab your gear," Shato says, wedged between them, motioning his hand as if he were coloring the rest of the room.
On the wall directly opposite me are many iron lockers with small air vents. They somehow resemble those typical school lockers, yet they seem to be my destination. In the middle of the hall, behind the lively people, a table rises from the floor—a small table with worn edges that nevertheless offers enough space for all sorts of documents. The light, the only illumination, comes from an elongated, thin ceiling lamp, whose bulbs bathe everything in a white glow and also guide me to the lockers.
Clumsy I stride over, brushing past the last figure—a pale-haired man with lightning-cut bangs, who is reading a silly little handbook and still doesn't flinch the moment I bump into him.
He seems unreadable, unpleasant and yet I smile at him, maybe because of his extraordinary hairstyle or because of his tiny, little nose, that's almost disappearing onto his perfect face.
"Nervous, kid?" Talan teases, offering me his striped hand.
"For what? That I'll finish the mission for you again? Ha!" I smack his hand and laugh, heading for the lockers.
"Don't get cocky," Rin snaps as I pull a black robe free.
"Let him, Rin. You know what he means," Shato cuts in, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"And how exactly does he mean it?" she shoots back, shaking him off.
"I'd like to know that too."
My voice echoes through the room, as I sweep my black robe dramatically with one arm, posing, while I slip on this green mask and it's curved inward, black horns, with the other.
This mask resembling the head of a dragon.
"Hah..." Shato sighs, rubbing his forehead. Rin's glare burns at his back.
"Hahaha! Lively as ever!" Daclan booms, clutching his belly as he laughs.
"Nothing new, isn't it, Daclan?" a monotonous voice joins in, to which the previously silent man closes his book and also makes his way to the table.
"You're all too soft. Parenting isn't that easy," Rin complains.
"Careful! The expert speaks!" Talan mocks, earning her angry glare.
"Better than listening to an airhead."
Her words sound furious and yet comforting, for me, who knows them as his everyday.
"What did you say?!" Talan reply's, stemming his head against hers.
"You've got that quite clear!" she shoots back, slamming her forehead against his.
"Ow! Damn it—"
I grin at them.
"The Five Aces," I think to myself, just barely holding back my laughter. And dodging the scene, forcing my eyes onto the map on the table, with it's headline "World Map".
"My family. The strongest Wunder, I know. Those, who share the same wish, as me. Because we're all Wunder and at the end of the day, we all have a problem with the APH. And we all fight for freedom in our world. Just as the 12 heroes did, back then. We fight for the Wunder, for the humanity, for everyone, who can't defend themselves."
Their bickering is loud and yet swallowed by the presence of the map on the table, as if it were some kind of all-mighty being.
But I don't think, it is.
It's just a map with a dumb, big circle in the middle, on which are written these almost illegible, childish letters that only by pure chance became the word "Central City.". You could think a 5 year old drew that, if it weren't for an elaborate attack plan that aims for a robbery. From it, branching outward into all four directions, you have these small passages, that connect the "Central City" with much smaller circles, called "Main Districts". And from these, in turn, many even smaller circles extend, called "districts," which enclose the entire structure like a circle or a kind of wall. The drawing is really simple, displaying this red X, marking our target in the 8thdistrict, as if it were the only thing of notice, while swalloing these lesser important scribbles, called "Der blaue Phönix", "Dunkle Hasen" and "Der große Dämon", drawn on the west side of the city. And yet, it get's even simpler with every passing moment, still keeping our gazes at it's core pergamentary soul.
Incredible, if you ask me.
And normal, as well.
"As normal as human people. As we Wunder. As everyone."
The burning, violet in my eys spills into the night of this grim city.
My fist tightens, losing it's grip at the same moment, as if it were losing the ability to keep pressing forward.
Or to fight.
"And still they fight. Against each other. Against me. As if they don't even want peace."
I draw in one last breath, heavy with the fading night air.
"Shato. Rin. Talan. Daclan. Zane. Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake. If you hadn't taken me in... maybe it wouldn't have come to this. Maybe there'd be peace. Maybe they'd all still be alive. Who knows."