The cracked light of morning slipped between the wooden boards of the shack as Mara hummed softly over a pot of steaming broth. Her hands moved with practiced care wrapping flatbread in cloth, slicing a bruised apple into clean pieces, and tucking them into a worn linen pouch.
She tied it gently and turned.
Emery stood at the door, already lacing his boots.
"You'll forget to eat," she scolded lovingly, placing the small bundle in his hands.
Emery blinked, surprised. "You didn't have to"
"I wanted to." Her voice was warm but firm. "You're doing something important today, aren't you?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Well," she said, brushing a bit of dust from his shoulder, "important things need strength."
He gave a quiet nod, almost embarrassed by the way her kindness still slipped through his walls. Then he turned and stepped outside into the rising sun.
Griff was already waiting by the alley, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
"You get packed a lunch?" he smirked.
Emery didn't respond, just tossed him half the apple.
Together, they made their way through the awakening slums. Smoke rose from cracked chimneys. Rag vendors and meat sellers began their barking calls. But none of it mattered. Today wasn't about surviving. It was about claiming what was theirs.
The warehouse that served as their base stood at the edge of the district forgotten, leaning, and perfect. One large door hung crooked on rusted hinges, the interior lit only by narrow beams of sunlight and oil lanterns set in broken sconces.
Inside, twelve children waited.
The ragtag crew had already gathered in a loose circle, seated on crates, broken furniture, or the floor. Their names weren't whispered anymore. They were spoken with pride: Lio, Ash, Vika, Rell, Kora, Finn, Mina, Tage, Ero, and Nilo.
Bronx and Sabo stood watch silently by the cracked doorway, muscles tense and eyes sharp.
Then, with perfect sync, Bronx and Sabo reached forward and opened the warped door together, its creak long and low. They stepped aside like twin statues, heads slightly bowed.
Emery entered first, posture straight and presence solid. Griff followed right behind him, steps steady and measured. The two didn't speak but the room seemed to acknowledge their arrival like a shift in air.
As soon as they were through, Bronx and Sabo slipped inside behind them, shutting the door with a low thud. Then they stood at the rear, silent sentinels, eyes scanning every face, guarding the entrance like a throne room.
No one questioned who was in charge.
Emery stepped forward, setting his pouch aside. He looked at each face, not just as children, but as warriors-in-waiting.
"This is the crew," he said simply.
Griff gave a short nod. "Looks tighter than the last one."
Kora raised an eyebrow. "You had a last one?"
"We had a lot of things," Griff said, folding his arms again. "We plan on getting more."
"Today's about two things," Emery said. "Getting stronger. Getting bigger."
He glanced around.
"We're good," he continued. "But we're not strong enough to hold territory. Not strong enough to fight the real monsters in this city. And definitely not strong enough to survive what's coming unless we grow."
Rell leaned forward. "Grow how?"
"Training," Griff answered. "And recruiting."
Emery gestured to the crate map laid out between them. "We split into teams. Start scouting for talent. Look for the ones like us. Fighters. Runners. Magic users. Anyone who stands out."
Ash nodded thoughtfully. "We can't just take anyone."
"Exactly," Emery said. "We take those with grit. Those who have nothing and would bleed to have something. Misfits like us."
Vika cracked her knuckles. "What about turf?"
"Not yet," Emery said. "We take the people first. The streets come after."
Tage leaned back, arms crossed. "And what about strength?"
"You'll train," Griff said. "You'll fight each other. You'll spar in shifts. Anyone slacking gets put on trash duty."
That got a few groans.
"And what about magic?" Mina asked.
"You all felt it," Emery said. "Something inside you. It's there, waiting. You push hard enough, it wakes up. We'll make it wake."
Bronx grunted approvingly.
Emery nodded, then stepped up onto a broken crate.
"I'm not building a gang," he said, voice cutting through the quiet. "I'm building something that lasts. Something this city won't laugh at or ignore. We don't just survive. We take. We rise. We become the ones they fear."
He looked down at them his misfits, his council.
"We're not reclaiming what we lost," he said, voice like iron. "We're claiming what we deserve."
They stood as one.
Twelve young rebels.
Two silent guardians.
One commander.
The meeting had begun.
And the war for the city's soul had just taken its first breath.