Set your line ablaze - chapter 6
The chapter started with Wilson moving through Los Angeles, doing his usual hero routine.
Saving cats.
Stopping small crimes.
Trying not to burn anything.
Normal day.
Until—
"…Is that a fly?"
He squinted.
"…No… wait…"
His eyes widened.
"IS THAT A KID?!"
A small figure was flying through the sky—completely covered in scorching flames, spiraling like a comet about to crash.
Wilson didn't even think.
His hair shot forward, stretching and wrapping around the kid mid-air—
"GOT YOU—"
"LET GO OF ME, CREEP!"
The kid flared up instantly.
"—AAAAAA!"
Wilson screamed as his hair started burning.
"YOU LITTLE—!"
But then—
His expression shifted.
The pain turned into focus.
His emotions stabilized.
And just like that—
His hair changed.
The burning strands softened into water-like energy, cooling down the flames around the kid.
Wilson blinked.
"…Okay. That's new."
He looked at the kid.
"…You good now?"
The kid crossed his arms mid-air, still floating.
"…You grabbed me first."
Wilson sighed.
"Yeah yeah, my bad. You were about to crash into a building."
The kid looked away.
"…I had it."
Wilson stared at him for a second.
Then suddenly—
"What about a Pepsi can?"
The kid instantly looked back.
"…Cold?"
"…Ice cold."
A pause.
"…Deal."
A few minutes later—
They arrived at the junkyard.
The "Castle."
The kid blinked slowly.
"…You sure this is a castle?"
Wilson crossed his arms proudly.
"Yeah."
"This looks like the backyard of our neighbor… dirty Adam."
Wilson's eye twitched.
"…Shut up, midget."
They walked in.
Knighthood looked up.
"…Did you kidnap a child?"
From behind, Road Ranger appeared.
"Ain't that what we basically do? But like… in a good shade?"
Knighthood didn't even look at him.
"We adopt."
They all sat down.
Wilson pointed at the kid.
"I found him flying around covered in flames. Like Flameboy."
He paused.
"…Yeah, I know. Creative name."
He shrugged.
"But seriously, who lets a kid run around like that?"
Knighthood nodded slowly.
That's when Psychie and Mark walked in.
Mark immediately started making exaggerated faces, stretching his expressions in the dumbest ways possible.
The kid blinked—
Then laughed.
Psychie smiled softly and crouched down.
"Where are you from, little one?"
The kid answered casually.
"Sarasota, Florida."
Silence.
The entire group froze.
"…What?" Mark said.
"WHAT?!" Wilson shouted.
Knighthood stepped forward.
"Los Angeles to Sarasota is like… 36 hours away."
The kid shrugged.
"I can fly."
He floated up slightly to prove it.
The group stared.
That didn't make it better.
That made it worse.
"…That is both impressive and extremely irresponsible," Road Ranger muttered.
The kid wandered off, exploring the junkyard like it was a playground.
The group huddled up.
"What do we do?" Wilson asked.
Mark crossed his arms.
"We find his parents."
Pause.
"And give them a piece of our mind."
Everyone nodded.
Then suddenly—
"KNIGHTHOOD! A TRICYCLE!"
Knighthood blinked.
"…What kind of random—"
He turned.
And saw it.
A tricycle.
Moving.
Fast.
Very fast.
"…Oh."
The kid was riding it.
Straight toward them.
"WOOOOOO!"
Psychie reacted instantly.
A spiritual arm formed behind her, catching and slowing the tricycle gently to avoid impact.
The kid laughed.
"That was fun!"
Then he looked at the arm.
"…Mama?"
Psychie froze.
Then slowly smiled.
She formed a full spiritual figure around herself, elegant and protective.
She gently nuzzled the kid.
"…Can we keep him?"
"NO," all the boys said at the same time.
Psychie pouted slightly.
Knighthood sighed.
"…Road Ranger."
"Yeah?"
"…Pathway."
Road Ranger nodded.
"Got it."
He raised his hand.
A golden path began to form.
"Let's take the kid back home."
Because clearly—
Something about this wasn't normal
The pathway led them all the way to Sarasota, Florida, winding along the Indian Beach–Sapphire Shores road.
"Is it Indian Beach or Sapphire Shores?" Road Ranger asked, squinting at the signage.
"Both works," Knighthood replied, "though back then they were distinct."
Road Ranger gave a thumbs-up and followed the pathway, letting it guide them while the kid chattered eagerly, showing them around. Eventually, they arrived at a house that seemed straight out of the 1920s—a Spanish-style home with a worn porch and sun-bleached tiles.
"Is this your home?" Knighthood asked.
"No," the kid said, grinning. "It's my grandpa's."
They stepped onto the porch, and there he was: an old man, slouched in a chair, eyes narrowing as he registered their presence.
"You finally decided to visit, punk," he croaked, his voice rough but familiar. Then he looked at Psychie. "And if that isn't my daughter-in-law, Sasha."
The kid leapt forward. "Granpa!" he shouted, wrapping the old man in a hug. Psychie and Knighthood exchanged glances but played along, assuming the roles of "son" and "Sasha" as instructed.
They all sat down. Knighthood and the old man began to talk, the conversation meandering from mundane life to heroics. The old man, a spark of pride in his eyes, asked what Knighthood had been up to.
"I've been doing hero work… trying to make a difference," Knighthood admitted. "Though sometimes I wonder if I'm really doing right by anyone."
Then, almost absentmindedly, the old man muttered a line that made Knighthood freeze:
"Son… set your line ablaze of ambiguity."
His heart skipped. That… that's it.
Knighthood's thoughts raced. That line—the familiar phrasing, the flamboyant tone—it matched Flameboy's signature words perfectly.
"Hey… father, have you ever been—" Knighthood began, only to be cut off.
"Hi son, come inside with your family," said an elderly woman with gentle authority, motioning them into the house.
She explained, chuckling softly, that her husband had bad days stemming from his superhero days, but if Knighthood wanted, she could help. She pulled out a tape from a box.
The screen flickered to life: a circus arena, torches blazing, a tall, confident man performing with fire like it was an extension of his body. Knighthood froze. The man on the screen—young, tall, charismatic—was unmistakably the old man before him: Torch.
Everything clicked. Flameboy's inspiration, the heroic flamboyance, the lessons, the rituals… all pieces of a puzzle finally aligning.
"So… what happened to Torch?" Knighthood asked softly. "Why have I never heard of him?"
She explained, voice tinged with sadness, that he had retired in the 1980s at age 40, after the circus was attacked. A rubble fall had crushed his wife's side, but he pushed her away to take the damage himself. The blow had damaged his mind, leaving him partially brain-damaged.
"And… the facility?" Knighthood asked, leaning in.
She nodded. "Back then, he learned about the Kronos Operation from another surviving hero. That made him a target. He survived, but the facility's shadow has always lingered."
Knighthood called Road Ranger, requesting Flameboy come to the house. When Flameboy arrived, he froze at the sight of the old man.
"What do you want?" Flameboy asked cautiously.
"You…" Knighthood said. "This man in front of you… he's Torch. Your idol. The one you modeled yourself after."
Flameboy's knees hit the floor. "Thank you," he whispered, tears forming. "For everything. For helping me get through…"
Knighthood knelt beside him. "I never blamed you, David. Never. Let's put all that paranoia aside… and be friends, like we used to."
They embraced. Psychie, watching the reunion, felt tears prick her eyes. She hugged the old lady warmly, sharing the quiet relief of the moment.
As they began flying back, the city sprawling below them, Psychie finally spoke, voice trembling.
"Knighthood… I need to tell you something about the facility. Please… don't be mad."
He looked at her calmly. "Go on."
"I… I was a subject there," she admitted. "Along with Wind Rider, Supergirl, Gazer…"
Knighthood's brow furrowed at the mention of Gazer. "And… Kronos?"
She nodded, the sadness in her eyes clear. "Kronos… was a victim of his own facility at least the current Kronos gamma burst. The facility we know now… it's led by Gamma Burst." implying that Kronos is actually a rank of the leader.
Knighthood absorbed the revelation in silence, letting it settle.
"Why… why didn't you tell me before?" he asked finally.
"To protect you," she said softly. "From your own curiosity. I had to wait for the right time… for the guilt to be lifted. For us to come back together."
They hugged, the weight of hidden truths dissolving in the safety of each other's arms.
For the first time in a long time, Los Angeles felt quiet. And for Knighthood, a piece of the past had finally caught up to him.