It’s the small things first.

That’s how Paige notices.

Azzi stops talking mid-sentence sometimes.

Laughs a little late.

Forgets to eat until someone reminds her.

Keeps saying “I’m fine” before anyone even asks.

And Paige knows her too well for that to work.

So she watches.

Quietly.

At first.

Then one night after practice, Azzi sits in the locker room long after everyone leaves.

Still in her gear.

Staring at nothing.

Paige sits down next to her without saying anything.

Just sits.

Minutes pass.

Azzi finally speaks.

“I think something’s wrong with me.”

Paige doesn’t react big.

She just turns slightly.

“What do you mean?”

Azzi shrugs.

Like she’s trying to make it small.

“I don’t know. I just feel… off all the time. Like I can’t catch up to myself.”

Paige’s chest tightens.

But her voice stays soft.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone.”

Azzi laughs quietly.

“It feels like I already should’ve.”

Paige shakes her head immediately.

“No.”

That’s firm.

Not angry.

Just sure.

Azzi finally looks at her.

Eyes tired.

“I keep messing things up lately.”

Paige scoots a little closer.

“You’re not messing anything up.”

Azzi looks down again.

“I’m not like I used to be.”

Paige pauses.

Then gently:

“You’re still you.”

Azzi’s voice cracks a little.

“That doesn’t feel true.”

Paige hesitates.

Then slowly reaches for Azzi’s hand.

Doesn’t grab it.

Just offers.

Azzi takes it immediately.

Like she needed that more than she realized.

Paige squeezes gently.

“You’ve been carrying too much on your own,” she says quietly.

Azzi swallows.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

Paige nods.

“I know.”

A beat.

Then softer:

“But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Azzi’s shoulders shake slightly.

Not fully crying.

Just… breaking a little at the edges.

Paige doesn’t move her hand away.

Just stays.

Grounding.

Present.

After a while Azzi leans sideways.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Until her head rests on Paige’s shoulder.

Paige immediately adjusts so she’s more comfortable.

No hesitation.

No jokes.

Just steady.

Azzi exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days.

“…is this okay?” she whispers.

Paige looks down at her.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “Stay there.”

Azzi nods faintly.

And for the first time in a while, her body actually relaxes.

Paige gently rubs her thumb over Azzi’s knuckles.

“You don’t have to talk,” she adds after a moment.

Azzi closes her eyes.

“…okay.”

Silence settles.

But it’s not heavy anymore.

It’s safe.

Paige leans her head lightly against Azzi’s.

“I’ve got you,” she says quietly.

Azzi doesn’t answer.

But her grip tightens slightly.

Like she believes her.

The wind seemed to carry whispers of ancient winds whenever you stepped into the stronghold of the Midnight Rangers. It was a place of strict discipline and unwavering resolve, but there, amid the fortifications and stoic faces of soldiers, you found peace. Jiyan's leadership was beyond measure, and his calm was a fortress for everyone, especially you.

Having been an outcast for most of your life, your control over your powers had always been a volatile thing. Your resonance abilities were like the unpredictable storm—one second calm, the next surging with energy you couldn't manage. You’d learned to brace yourself and keep others at a distance. Touch was the most dangerous trigger, yet the one thing that soothed your soul was a simple embrace.

It was an afternoon, like any other, that Jiyan had found you in one of your more unstable states, the storm of power surging just beneath the surface. You knew it wasn’t safe for anyone to come near you; the air crackled with tension, and everything around you seemed to hum and vibrate in response to your emotions.

“Stay back, Jiyan,” you gasped, hands trembling as you tried to hold yourself steady. “I can’t control it!”

But Jiyan, in his calm and unyielding manner, was already stepping closer. His gaze was unwavering, his resolve even more so.

“You are not alone,” he said softly. “I am here.”

His hands reached out, and even as you recoiled instinctively, the intensity of your storm only grew. The emotions, the chaos—they threatened to overwhelm you, like a wave crashing on a shore.

But Jiyan didn’t stop. He gathered you in his arms, strong and warm, offering you the one thing you had been afraid of—touch. His embrace was steady, his presence grounding. Slowly, the energy within you settled. The electric crackle that had surged so wildly faded, and you could feel your breath steadying, the storm inside you dissipating.

“Shh… I’m here,” Jiyan whispered, his voice a steady, comforting rhythm. “You are safe now.”

The hug was not a simple act—it was a promise. A promise that even though the world might be full of unpredictability, you would always have a place in his arms, where you could find peace.

You, who had been cast aside, who feared the touch of others, found solace in Jiyan's quiet strength. In his embrace, you knew you had found a home, a family, in a place where your powers were not a burden but part of the bond you shared with him and the Rangers.

Training under Yuanwu was like stepping into the calm eye of a storm. Though his martial art was steeped in the fierce power of thunder and lightning, his demeanor was always composed, soft-spoken, and patient. You had come to his gym seeking guidance for your powers, powers that, like yours, often raged out of control when left unchecked.

Yuanwu had seen many people with volatile abilities before, but you were different. Your powers had a certain wild energy to them, like a fire too close to an explosive device. You feared losing control, as you had in the past, and pushing others away was your only defense. Yet Yuanwu never let you withdraw entirely. He would watch you with those wise eyes of his, always gentle, never hurried, allowing you to unravel your frustration with nothing but patience.

One day, after a particularly challenging training session, you were on the verge of collapse. Your power had flared out of control, and though you had tried to subdue it, it only seemed to spiral more. Yuanwu noticed this immediately.

Without a word, he approached you calmly, his arms extending as though they were a shield.

“You don’t have to fight this alone,” Yuanwu said, his voice carrying the same soothing cadence as a thunderstorm’s distant rumble.

Instinctively, you flinched, fearing that his touch might be too much for you, but Yuanwu did not pull back. His embrace was strong yet gentle, the weight of it not smothering, but supportive. The warmth of his body against yours helped steady your heartbeat. With every passing second, the tremors that had wracked your form started to ebb.

“You’re not broken,” Yuanwu whispered, his hands rubbing your back comfortingly. “You just need time, patience. And the right people to be by your side.”

Your powers, like a wild storm, slowly receded. You felt calmness spread through you—not because of any magic or external force, but because of Yuanwu’s unwavering belief in you.

He didn’t need words of grandiose reassurance. His actions spoke volumes. The silent, supportive hug became your lifeline—a reminder that even in your moments of fear and doubt, you were never alone.

Yuanwu remained a constant, not as a teacher who demanded perfection, but as a mentor who offered the space to grow, not just in strength, but in trust. Through his example, you learned the most important lesson of all: sometimes, the greatest strength lies not in unleashing a storm, but in learning when to let go, to accept the quiet moments in life, and to allow yourself to be cared for.