It was a warm, bright spring day. The air hummed with life as Viper and Lilian, two young sisters, climbed high into the trees surrounding their home. The divine nature of the children who inhabited this mystical place made everything flourish with abundance, especially the forest that enveloped their lovely manor. Today, the sisters were testing their climbing skills, eager to push their limits.

Lilian wore a pastel yellow spring overall set, her soft brown hair tied in a neat braid. Viper, slightly older, sported a sleek black jumpsuit, her wild, short hair whipping in the breeze. Viper had a firm grip on the bark as she hoisted herself up, the rough texture of the tree scraping her palms. She paused every so often to glance down, making sure her younger sister could follow, lending her a hand when needed.

The trees on the island were strange—foreign even to those who ventured from distant continents. Some stood as tall as small mountains, while others, like the teenage spruce they were climbing, barely stretched beyond a single story. To Viper and Lilian, this was just the right height for a bit of fun, their favorite tree for an afternoon adventure.

When they reached the top, the sisters settled, wrapping one arm around each other and the other around the rough trunk for balance. From their perch, they could see the vibrant world of the forest unfold below them—creatures scampering into tree hollows, birds singing sweet melodies, flowers blossoming in bursts of color that painted the earth like an artist's palette. The soft rustle of the leaves in the gentle breeze was almost hypnotic.

Viper let out a satisfied sigh, her lips curling into a smile as she took in the scene. “It’s beautiful up here, isn't it?” she murmured. Lilian pressed her cheek against the tree, the cool, textured bark grounding her as she felt the pulse of life flowing through it. “It’s like the tree is alive, breathing,” Lilian whispered, eyes wide in wonder.

Suddenly, Viper shifted her footing, but her shoe slipped on a patch of slick moss. Her heart leaped in her chest as her balance tipped backward. Panic flashed across her face as she felt gravity pull her down, her fingers clawing at the bark in a futile attempt to stop the fall.

“Viper!” Lilian’s voice rang out, sharp with fear. Time seemed to slow for the younger sister. Reflexes honed from their divine nature kicked in as Lilian’s eyes followed Viper’s fall. With no hesitation, her body reacted—muscles coiled like springs ready to release. Her wrist split open as if by instinct, the skin parting without pain. Out shot veins and nerves, twisting and transforming in the open air into vine-like tendrils.

The botanical tendrils lashed out, snaking around Viper’s waist just as she slipped out of reach. The vines tightened and jerked her sister back toward the tree. Viper grunted as she collided with the trunk and a few branches on the way down, earning a few scrapes, but she was safe. She blinked in shock, catching her breath as she looked up at Lilian’s pale, strained face.

“Gotcha,” Lilian exhaled, her arm trembling as her vines began to retract. The tendrils slithered back into her skin, reshaping into their original form. A few of them lingered, wrapping themselves around the open wound on her wrist, forming a leafy bandage that covered the cut and started the healing process.

Viper, still clinging to a branch just beneath her, rubbed the back of her head with a wry grin. “Nice catch, Lil’,” she said, her voice light but still a bit shaken. Her nails elongated into small, sharp claws, sinking into the tree for extra grip. “You okay? I didn’t make you use too much of your power, did I?”

Lilian, still slightly out of breath, nodded as she lowered herself onto the branch beside her sister. “I’m fine, just… don’t do that again, please,” she said with a shaky laugh, her vines tightening one last time before they vanished under her skin completely. “You scared me.”

Viper gave her a playful shove with her shoulder. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” she teased, though there was genuine gratitude in her eyes. She looked around as the last bits of adrenaline faded, and added, “Think we should head back?”

Lilian glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was already beginning its descent. “Yeah, Ty said we should only be out for a few hours. Plus, I think we’ve done enough climbing for one day.”

With a shared look and a nod, the two girls carefully made their way back down the tree, their feet finding steady purchase on each branch as they descended. The forest was alive with sounds, the wind whistling through the leaves, the hum of distant wildlife creating a serene symphony.

Elsewhere, the dead came in all shapes and sizes—some old, some young, and tonight, one of them was a child. Kaboo’s footsteps were silent as she moved through the dimly lit forest, her black aura shimmering around her like the wings of a raven. Despite her otherworldly appearance, she had a calm, soothing presence, the kind that could ease even the most terrified soul.

The little ghost girl stood shaking, her translucent form flickering with fear. Kaboo approached her slowly, her expression devoid of emotion, but there was something in her eyes—an unspoken promise of safety. “No one is going to hurt you here anymore,” Kaboo said softly, her voice a quiet, steady rhythm that seemed to soothe the child.

The girl, wide-eyed, looked up at Kaboo, her voice trembling. “I don’t wanna go…”

Kaboo knelt, her dark silhouette blending into the shadows. “Where would you like to go, then?” she asked, her tone patient as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief to gently wipe the child’s tear-streaked face.

The girl sniffled, calming under Kaboo’s touch. “I… I want to see Mama and Papa again.”

Kaboo’s lips curled into a soft smile, the first real warmth she had shown all night. “They’re waiting for you behind those doors,” she whispered, pointing toward the shimmering light in the distance. The girl’s eyes lit up with hope, and she slowly began to walk toward the glow, disappearing as she crossed the threshold.

Meanwhile, back at the manor, Raiya lay sprawled on the floor, her face pressed into the wooden planks as her chest heaved with heavy breaths. “Dragon Witch… defeated…” she panted, her words muffled by exhaustion.

Jessa, a small toddler, sat triumphantly on her older sister’s back, waving her arms in the air. “I win! I win!” she squealed in delight.

Raiya groaned, too tired to argue. She had faced dangerous beasts, outrun law enforcement, and battled feral monsters in the past, but nothing compared to the bottomless energy of her little sister. She rolled onto her side, sending Jessa tumbling into the cushions of the nearby couch with a giggle.

“Alright, Jessa,” Raiya said, her voice heavy with fatigue. “Big Sis is tired. How about some cocoa before bed?”

Jessa’s face lit up as she nodded eagerly. “Cocoa!” she chirped, bouncing on the couch, her favorite stuffed animal Mr. Rex clutched in her arms.

Raiya smiled fondly, brushing a hand through her tangled hair as she pushed herself up. As she walked toward the kitchen, she felt the familiar dull ache in her shoulder—a reminder of the gunshot wound from the previous night. She winced slightly but shrugged it off, focusing instead on preparing the hot chocolate.

In another room, Tyra sat by the window, her eyes heavy with exhaustion from a long night of patrol. But when Diane toddled up to her, arms raised for a hug, Tyra felt a sudden rush of warmth. She scooped her little sister up and held her close, the setting sun casting a golden glow over them as they embraced.

Xavier stood at the edge of his sister’s room, his hesitation clear as he watched Tyra stare intently at her laptop. The glow of the screen bathed her face in soft light, making her expression difficult to read. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to break the silence.

"I’m uncertain if this is wise," he began, his voice tentative. Tyra’s fingers hovered above the keyboard for a moment, but she didn’t respond. Xavier’s frustration grew. "It's been ages since we've been off this island," he continued, hoping to get through to her. "The younger ones are afraid, as are some of the others. We can’t just uproot everything and leave. We’ve spent our entire lives building this place, teaching the Genesis people to think and act… we can’t just—"

"YES WE CAN."

Tyra’s voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and sudden. She slammed her laptop shut, her eyes meeting Xavier’s in a fierce stare. He flinched, but before he could react, Tyra’s expression softened, and she let out a deep breath. "I’m sorry, Xav," she said, her voice quieter now. "I didn’t mean to snap."

Xavier relaxed, but only slightly. The intensity in Tyra’s gaze hadn’t lessened. She stood up and crossed the room, pacing near the window, her silhouette outlined against the dimming sky outside.

"We’re not confined here anymore," she continued, more measured but still resolute. "We can leave, Xavier. We can reconnect with the world we were kept from for so long. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I never thought Diane would get to see the places we dreamed about, and now… now we can."

Her voice wavered slightly, but it wasn’t hesitation—it was a deep yearning. "I won’t let anyone hold me back," she declared, though the words were more for herself than him. "Not you. Not anyone."

Xavier swallowed hard, sensing her determination. Despite the cold dread clinging to his chest, he knew she was right. The Genesis people had lived in isolation for too long, hidden away by their father’s decisions. But fear still gnawed at him, especially for the younger ones—those who had never controlled their powers fully.

"What about the kids?" he asked quietly. "Diane, Aiden, Jessa… They can’t just leave this place and face the world unprepared. Our home may be small, but it’s safe. They’ve only known the island. How will they cope with everything outside?"

Tyra paused and looked down, her fingers trembling slightly. She rubbed her face, trying to smooth the tension from her brow. "I know, Xav," she said softly. "I know. But it’s not just about them, is it? This isn’t just about us. The Genesis people… the ones outside the island… they’ve been out there, alone, for years. When Father locked us away, he abandoned them too. Who knows what they’ve been through?"

She turned back to face him, and there was a guilt in her eyes that made Xavier’s chest tighten. "We need to go, Xav. They need us. The Gens in Africa, in Asia, even in the Americas... We were supposed to protect them. We can’t wait any longer."

Xavier hesitated, his mind racing. "But can’t we just wait a little longer? Maybe another year?" He swallowed again, his voice faltering. "Some of the younger ones haven’t controlled their powers yet. What if something goes wrong?"

Tyra shook her head, her voice firm once more. "We’ve waited too long already. Six months was enough. We start leaving next week. Some will follow, maybe a couple thousand. Others will stay behind, but we have to go. The Genesis need to rejoin the world, Xav. They need to be free. Their abilities shouldn’t be hidden or exploited. They deserve to be celebrated, and I won’t abandon them."

Xavier fell silent, the weight of her words heavy on his shoulders. He realized how much thought she’d put into this, how much she’d wrestled with the past, with what their father had done to them.

"You’ve thought a lot about what happened to us, haven’t you?" he asked quietly.

Tyra’s face softened, and for the first time in a while, she looked fragile. She gave a small, bitter smile. "Yeah… more than I care to admit."

June 2, 2006 - 7:00 PM

Beatrice cradled Diane in her arms, rocking the little girl who had been crying for what seemed like hours. The others—children like them—hobbled back to the manor in a ragged line, clinging to one another, broken and beaten. The attack had left them all in pieces.

Inside, they collapsed, some on the floor, others on the furniture, too exhausted to care about the blood that stained the cushions. Their small bodies trembled with pain, too young to endure what they had just survived, yet still alive—barely.

Tyra’s legs felt like lead as she closed the door behind them, locking the world outside. She scanned the room, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight of her siblings sobbing, clutching their wounds—it felt unreal. She moved as if in a dream, numb to everything, her mind struggling to process the horror.

Beatrice shuffled over, her face pale and tear-streaked, holding out Diane to Tyra. "Take her," she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking. "Please."

Tyra took the baby in her arms, her hands trembling as she gently unwrapped the blood-soaked blanket. Diane’s tiny body was marked with the same scar Tyra bore—a deep, jagged wound that ran from her back to her side. Tyra’s breath caught in her throat as her vision blurred with tears she couldn’t afford to shed. She held Diane close, rocking her gently, her mind screaming for a solution.

Beatrice knelt beside them, wiping her face furiously, trying to hold herself together. She reached out, her hand trembling as a soft light glowed from her palm—a stigmata. She pressed it to Diane’s back, concentrating, transferring what little healing magic she had left. Diane’s sobs slowly quieted to weak whimpers as the pain subsided.

"Th-that’s enough, Bea," Tyra said softly, grabbing her sister’s hand as blood dripped from Beatrice’s nose. "She’ll be okay now…"

Beatrice nodded, but the look of devastation in her eyes mirrored Tyra’s own.

Lana, clutching an unconscious Aiden, looked up at Tyra with wide, frightened eyes. "Wh-what do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

All eyes turned to Tyra, waiting for an answer she didn’t have. Her heart pounded in her ears, the weight of their trust suffocating her. She wasn’t their leader. She wasn’t strong like Hiroko or wise like Patience. She was just a child, too—but they needed her.

"We need to survive," she said finally, her voice firm despite the terror gnawing at her insides. "We need to heal each other, look after each other. Father isn’t who he said he was… we can’t trust him. Not anymore."

She hugged Diane closer, her voice growing more certain with every word. "I won’t let anything happen to you. Any of you."

Slowly, she stood, her small hand gripping the railing for support as she headed for the stairs. The others watched her, their silent hope resting on her shoulders. She paused, turning to face them one last time.

"I mean it. I love you guys, and I’m going to protect us. No matter what."

In shadows deep, a burden borne, An eldest daughter, innocence torn. At tender eight, life's harsh decree, An orphaned heart, a destiny.

Siblings small, with eyes so wide, She shelters them, their silent guide. Her laughter lost, her childhood fleet, In twilight's grasp, her fate complete.

No time for dreams, no time for play, Her purpose clear, come what may. She sacrifices, her needs unseen, To shield them from life's cruel sheen.

In solitude, she finds her strength, A beacon in the dark, at length. Her love a fortress, strong and true, A guardian fierce, through and through.