Chapter 3
Sahiro sat rigid in a chair while Walentrya stitched his wounds; her hands were steady despite the dried blood on his skin. The rest of his friends lingered around the room—some sitting, some standing—none knowing where to look. When Walentrya tied off the last stitch, Sahiro stood up abruptly, wincing but clearly more angry than hurt.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
Walentrya looked back at him. “I know you’re confused—”
“Confused?” Sahiro snapped. “You think? Because some guy who can bend space, regenerate, tried to kill me feels pretty normal if you ask me.”
“I mean… for us, yeah,” Cadoc muttered.
Radford and Yankira both shot him sharp glares. Cadoc immediately shrank back. “Sorry,” he said under his breath.
Walentrya exhaled slowly. “Sahiro, do you remember what I told you about our parents?”
“Yeah. You told me they died in some freak car accident coming home from the store. Why?”
Walentrya took another deep breath. “When our parents had me, they were both part of an organization called Strast.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Strast mainly deals in drugs—but there are branches that protect civilians. Keep things… balanced.” Sahiro frowned, listening.
“A few days after you were born,” she continued, “rival gang members attacked our house. They shot it up. Burned it to the ground,” her jaw tightened. “I got us out… but our parents didn’t survive.”
The room felt silent.
“After that,” Walentrya said quietly, “I… joined Strast. Not only to protect you, but also the people around us. I was fifteen years old—but I didn’t have a choice. Someone had to provide for us.”
Sahiro stared at her. “Wait—so you’ve been working in the mob since you were fifteen?”
“I had to,” she shot back. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I lost both our parents in one night. I had a baby brother to protect.” Her voice wavered for just a moment before hardening again. “When I turned nineteen, I had enough. I got out of that place, took you far away from it, and started a normal life.”
Sahiro slowly turned to his friends. “Don’t tell me you guys sell drugs too?”
“No,” Walentrya said quickly. “They don’t. But their parents do.” She met his eyes. “The boss ordered them to watch over you. He’s powerful—powerful enough to pull strings, enough to make sure at least one of them shared classes every year.”
Something clicked. Sahiro had always wondered how, no matter the year or the schedule, one of them always ended up nearby. He chalked it up to luck. Coincidence. But now he realized it was all manufactured.
He looked at his friends again, his stomach sinking.
Sahiro swallowed. “Wait… I’m confused. So, were you guys really my friends? Or just bodyguards?
The group hesitated. They knew Sahiro didn’t make friends easily. The few he had made over the years had either moved away or drifted out of his life. Whatever answer they gave him now was only going to hurt.
“It’s true, Sahiro,” Yankira said quietly.
“Yankira—” Radford warned.
She shook her head. “Yes. Me, Radford and Cadoc were tasked with watching over you. Protecting you. If you want to call us your bodyguards.”
Sahiro’s chest tightened.
“But that doesn’t mean we despised you,” Yankira continued. “We’re glad we became your friends.”
Radford nodded. “It’s true. Even if we hadn’t been assigned to you… we would’ve been friends anyway.”
“Yeah,” Cadoc added quickly. “The protecting part came second. You came first.”
Sahiro looked pale—almost ghostly. Even though they were still standing there, still calling him their friend, he couldn’t shake the truth: their friendship had started as an order. It made everything feel staged. Like the ground beneath him had never been real.
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Then a phone rang—sharp and sudden—slicing through the tension. Walentrya’s phone buzzed on the counter—black, unmarked.
She froze. They all knew who it was.
Walentrya picked it up. “Hello?”
“How’s Sahiro?” The voice on the other end asked.
“He’s alive,” Walentrya replied. “But we had to tell him everything.”
There was a pause.
“Interesting,” the boss said calmly. “I thought I was clear. I did not want him involved.”
“We had no choice,” Walentrya snapped. “Alyosha attacked him.”
“WHAT?!”
The shout was loud enough for everyone to hear. Sahiro caught the words, but the voice was deeper than he expected—heavy. Dangerous.
“From what the group said,” Walentrya continued, “they were eating lunch when Alyosha crashed through the ceiling. He also… killed a few students.”
There was another pause on the other end.
“I was told Alyosha was attacked,” the boss said slowly. “No one mentioned who did it. Where is he now?” Sahiro motioned for his sister to hand him the phone.
“Alyosha,” the boss clarified. “Where is he?”
“He’s dead,” Sahiro said flatly. “I ripped him apart.”
Walentrya spun on him. “YOU WHAT?”
Yankira’s voice shook. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”
“What did he say before he died?” the boss asked.
“He said we’d be dead before we even step out of Kazan.”
There was a long silence before the boss spoke again. It stretched on—five seconds… ten… fifteen.
“There’s no other choice, then,” the boss finally said. “You five must go to Moscow and kill Gennadi.”
Walentrya ripped the phone out of Sahiro’s hands. “Think very carefully about what you’re asking. These are kids, for Christ's sake. Remember what happened last time?”
“And you made it out alive.”
“Barely.”
“Nonetheless,” the boss replied, unmoved. “Sahiro killed their second-in-command. It’s only a matter of time before Gennadi finds out and starts a war. He must die.”
“This is bullshit,” Walentrya snapped, “isn’t there a peace treaty?”
“If there was, Alyosha broke it when he attacked Sahiro. His rank gave him clearance.”
Sahiro frowned. “So… we’re going to kill some crime boss?”
“It seems so,” Radford muttered. Walentrya handed the phone back to Sahiro.
“Gennadi’s organization, Terror, specializes in eliminating the competition,” the boss said. “They’re filled with hitmen. Assassins. Corrupt officials. Even civilians.”
Sahiro looked around at them. “Have any of you… killed anyone?”
Yankira shook her head. “No. Our only job was to protect you.”
“You don’t have a choice, Sahiro,” the boss said. “Place the phone down. Everyone needs to hear this.” Sahiro flipped it face-up.
“You five must travel to Moscow and kill Gennadi before he finishes what Alyosha started.”
“Why do I have to go?” Sahiro snapped. “I’m not even part of this!”
“You are now. You killed Alyosha, you’re a sitting duck if you don’t go.”
Walentrya sighed. “As much as I hate the boss, he’s right. You just killed one of their second-in-command. You’re their number one target right now.”
“And from what we’ve seen,” the boss added, “you’re strong enough to kill Gennadi.”
Cadoc clapped his hands. “Alright! Road trip!”
“Don’t think this is gonna be a walk in the park,” the boss warned. “Gennadi’s followers are just as deadly as Alyosha. They’ve probably already received orders to kill you. Once you reach Moscow. I’ll send you his coordinates.”
The call ended.
Sahiro swallowed. “So… am I the only one with powers?”
“No,” Walentrya said. “All of us do.” She reached behind her back, pulling out a double-bladed sword in one smooth motion. “I can summon any bladed weapon.”
Yankira smiled faintly. “I have telekinesis, that’s how I was able to pull that rod from your leg without killing you.”
Radford drew his handgun. “I’m a gunslinger, which means I have unlimited bullets—and I can control them with my mind.”
Cadoc pulled out a pen, pressed his thumb against it, and revealed a void inside. “I create living spaces inside objects.”
Walentrya stepped closer to Sahiro. “Grandma Quadira didn’t have any abilities. Our father had them. Now we do. Learning is the hardest part—but we’ll figure it out.”
She slung an arm around his shoulders and smiled reassuringly.
“Alright, everyone,” she said. “Get ready.”
Epilogue
In Moscow, Russia, the air was bitterly cold as light snow drifted through the streets. A five-story mansion stood isolated behind iron gates, its windows dim and lifeless.
Inside, a man sat alone in a darkened room, facing a large window while reading a book. Fog clung to the glass, giving the room an oppressive, unnatural stillness. Anyone who entered felt it immediately—the weight in the air, the warning to leave.
“Enter.”
The door opened slowly. Dimitri—his personal guard—stepped inside, his body tense, his breath shallow. Speaking to his boss always felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
Dimitri swallowed. “Please forgive the intrusion, sir, but we have a situation. Alyosha is dead.”
The man closed the book. The sound was sharp—loud enough to echo through the mansion. He stood, still facing the window.
“How did he die, Dimitri?”
Dimitri hesitated. “He was ripped apart, sir. His blood and—"
The man raised a single hand. Dimitri stopped instantly. “My friend. My loyal companion,” the man said calmly. “Killed by a couple of students?” his voice rose just enough to make Dimitri’s knees weaken. Sweat poured down his back.
“Stop trembling,” the man said. “I can smell your fear from here. Relax. I promise no harm will come to you.”
Dimitri forced himself to breathe. “Of course sire. But… it wasn’t the children of Strast who killed Alyosha.”
The man’s hand slowly clenched into a fist.
“It was Sahiro.”
“Sahiro.”
The name lingered in the air.
Dimitri felt the pressure spike—raw anger radiating from his master—but he didn’t dare move. If he ran, he wouldn’t make it halfway down the hall.
“So,” he said softly, “the prodigal son finally manned up and awakened his lineage.” He returned to his chair and reopened his book.
“I suppose Strast will send those na?ve children here to kill me.” A smile crept across his face. “Good. Let them come. They won’t even make it halfway.” He turned the page. “Alert my followers. I want them tender before I get my hands on them.”
Dimitri bowed. “Yes, of course, Your Highness.”
As Dimitri left the room, the nausea finally faded. Moments later, an alert spread through Gennadi’s network.
WANTED—DEAD OR ALIVE
Cadoc Alekseev
Radford Petrov
Yankira Volkova
Walentrya Macario
Sahiro Macario
Reward: $5,000,000
