Say Thank You

Micheal walked through the streets of the Land of Paradise. But paradise was in chaos. Almost every road was blocked off, and citizens ran around in panic and fear trying to hide and get back to their homes.

Micheal's head buzzed with thoughts.

How am I going to find them? Are Shirley and Tucker okay? What if I'm already too late?

He walked briskly through a narrow alley that opened up to a street blocked by a line of police. Without hesitation, he tried to go around, keeping his head down.

"Sir, this area's off-limits," one officer said, stepping in his way.

Micheal tried to brush past with a light shove, but the officer didn't take it well. He reached for his sidearm and pointed it straight at Micheal.

"Step back. Now."

More officers raised their weapons.

Micheal froze. His heart beat a little faster, but he didn't panic. He was about to speak but his mind slipped into a memory he could barely remember.

Just for a while, he wasn't standing in front of armed police.

3,209 YEARS AGO – CHOREEES

"Oh, and who's this?" a voice rasped from the shadows sharp enough to cut through the air.

"That's Micheal," someone answered brightly. "One of the sweetest kids around. You'll adore him!"

Micheal's eyes squinted against the harsh lighting. In front of him stood a small group of three adults. One, in particular, stood out — a tall man with slick black hair and eyes the color of overripe peaches. His white lab coat clung tight to his figure.

"Hello, Micheal," the man said smoothly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Core."

Micheal blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from his vision.

"Sorry… I didn't catch that. Who?"

"Core," the man repeated with a smile. "Dr. Core Bion. Mr. Jones's personal physician. Just wanted to stop by and greet the rest of his staff."

Micheal gave a tired nod. Too tired to even understand what just happened.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Mr. Jones was dead.

Heart failure, that's what they said. But whispered rumors ran through the city: Core Bion was a prime suspect. Yet, no one had been arrested.

Micheal sat in his office, staring blankly at the wall as rain danced against the windows. The capital of Choreees had fallen silent. Streets were empty, and lights dimmed. It was as if the entire city was holding its breath in mourning.

His door creaked open.

"Micheal," Core's voice broke the quiet.

Micheal looked up, numb. Core stepped inside, dressed in black, holding a sleek box wrapped in deep crimson cloth.

"I know today is hard," Core said gently. "Jones meant a great deal to both of us."

Micheal didn't respond. Core set the box down on the table between them.

"This," he said, "is something Mr. Jones wanted you to have. He left it in my care before he passed."

Micheal looked at it, untouched, perfectly wrapped.

"What is it?"

Core rested a hand on top of it.

"A gift. But not for today. Don't open it… not until I'm gone."

Micheal furrowed his brow.

"What? Why?"

Core's expression didn't change.

"Because some things only make sense once the dust has settled. Trust me, Micheal. It's what he would've wanted."

The rain outside grew heavier. Inside, Micheal sat still as Core walked out the door without another word.

A COUPLE YEARS LATER – CHOREEES

Things had changed drastically. Micheal found himself spending more and more time with Core. Meetings turned to conversations. Conversations turned to lunches. Lunches turned to late-night walks through the palace halls, where Core would speak softly about his vision, a future Choreees, purified of weakness, free from corruption.

"He saw something in you," Core once said, leaning against the balcony. "Jones believed you could be more than a secretary. You could be a cornerstone in this world. I see that too."

The words sank deep into Micheal's chest. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear them.

And maybe that's why, over time, the grief started to fade. Infact I'd say everyone forgot about the death of Mr Jones. And in its place… admiration. For Core, his certainty, his composure, his courage and purpose.

Micheal never noticed how easily Mr. Jones's memory began to blur.

It sat on the shelf, untouched for months. Wrapped in that same crimson cloth, picking up dust.

One night, the power flickered during a storm. Micheal lit a candle and sat in silence.

He pulled the cloth back, slowly. His fingers traced the edge. His heart was racing and sweat ran down his face.

"Don't open it until I'm gone." Core's voice echoed in his head.

But Core wasn't gone. He was very much still here. So why… why was the box still calling?

He unlatched the lid. And froze in pure shock.

Inside was a head, preserved, pale, and impossible to not recognize.

Mr. Jones.

His mouth hung open slightly, he gagged, his gut twisted.

Micheal stumbled back. His breath caught in his throat. The candle dropped and rolled on the floor, flames erupted.

"What did you do, Core?" He asked himself.

Micheal ran as fast as he could. The flames slowly started to burn down his office as Mr. Jones's head rolled out the box. He ran down the palace hallways and staircase straight to Cores office.

CHOREEES – THE PRESIDENT'S CHAMBER

Micheal shoved open the heavy double doors, storming into the grand chamber. A royal red carpet stretched down the center, leading up to a marble staircase and the obsidian throne that sat atop it. And there, lounging casually with a half-empty glass of wine, was Core.

"Micheal," Core said, swirling the glass as if he hadn't a care in the world. "You look… distressed."

Micheal stood at the base of the stairs, panting. "The box," he said. "Jones. His head. His head was in the damn box, Core!"

Core raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. "You opened it?" he asked, setting the wine down. "I told you not to."

Micheal's voice cracked. "Don't try to pin this on me! Why was his head in the box, Core?! That wasn't a gift. What the hell is going on?!"

Core sighed, standing up slowly. "Mr. Jones was… dangerous, and manipulative. You were too close to see it. I removed him for your sake."

"You killed him!" Micheal shouted. "You're insane!"

He turned and bolted toward the door. But Core didn't chase. Instead, he calmly reached into his robe and pulled out a small syringe, stabbing it into his own forearm without a flinch. His pupils thinned, veins rising along his temples. A cold energy hummed through the room.

He lifted a singular finger and then a sharp crack of ice shot across the chamber like lightning, striking the door. It erupted into a hail of frozen shards, sealing Micheal's exit in a wall of jagged frost.

Core descended the stairs.

"You never really listened," he said, voice deeper now. "This… this was always part of the plan. You were part of the plan."

Micheal backed away, hands trembling. "You're out of your mind."

Core kept walking. Quietly, he began to hum, a soft, eerie tune, barely above a whisper.

"I know the Master of the wind…

I know the Maker of the rain…

He can calm the storm…

And make the sun shine again…

I know the Master of the wind…"

He reached the bottom of the stairs. Standing only inches from Micheal, he smiled.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "Now, tell me. Would you like to continue this life… or join Mr. Jones?"

Micheal's throat tightened. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.

Core drew a pistol from his robe, loaded it with practiced ease, and raised it.

The shots rang out in quick succession.

MICHEAL'S POV

Bodies hit the ground with a thud. Blood pooled around their uniforms.

Micheal stood in the chaos, gripping the pistol tight. The one he'd pickpocketed earlier from the officer who tried to block his path.

He hadn't planned it but his heart had told him he'd need it. He felt his chest where his gun wounds were. Shrugged off his thoughts, and continued searching for Shirley and Tucker.

AT THE UNDERPASS

Cael and Asura clashed like titans, blow after blow echoing across the broken concrete of the underpass. Shockwaves rippled with every strike. Sparks flew from the impact of blade and fist.

Shirley stood frozen for a moment, watching in awe. Tucker was out cold, sprawled beside him, barely breathing.

Suddenly, Cael swung his sword with violent force. A wide arc that let loose a sharp burst of strength presence. The blast tore through the air toward Asura, but Asura dodged at the last second, vanishing in a blink.

The blast kept going, and Shirley's eyes widened.

Across the lake, a small boat rocked in the water. A little girl clung to her mother as their family tried to row back home. Directly in the blast's path. How unlucky.

Shirley dashed across the broken terrain, leapt over debris, and reached the lake in a blink. He flipped the boat just in time, sending the family plunging into the water as the blast soared overhead, missing them by inches.

In one motion, he pulled all three from the water and carried them to the other side of the underpass.

"Thank you!" the father gasped, breathless. "We thought… we were done for."

The little girl sobbed into her mother's arms as they ran off toward safety.

Shirley turned back to the battlefield, soaked and seething. "Okay, ladies," he muttered, stepping forward. "This is getting way too hectic. Maybe tone it down. Better yet, just stop fighting!"

Cael turned to him then to Tucker, unamused. His cold gaze narrowed.

Without warning, he rocketed toward Tucker faster than a thought.

He grabbed him by the collar, lifted him off the ground, and hurled him across the lake like a ragdoll.

Tucker hit a far embankment beyond the Land of Snow.

By the time Shirley looked up, Cael had already landed again.

He glanced at Asura. "Maybe he's right. Let's make this fair. One-on-one."

Shirley stared, stunned and breathless.

Asura gave a short, sharp exhale through his nose — almost a laugh. "This isn't over," he growled as he darted off, eyes scanning for Tucker.

TUCKER — POV

He woke with a jolt, slamming into something soft, hay? His back ached and his skin stung.

The heat hit him next. Blistering, suffocating easily over 118 degrees. The air felt like fire pressing against his lungs. Sweat poured from his face before he even sat up.

Tucker groaned, his body barely responding, and clawed his way out of the barrel of hay he'd landed in. He was still weak.

He stumbled out and collapsed onto scorched, cracked earth.

Rocky terrain stretched in every direction. Jagged hills. Blackened stones. The sky above was cloudless and blinding.

"Where… am I…?"

His voice came out dry. Even speaking felt like sandpaper in his throat.

A cluster of figures emerged from the heat haze, a group wrapped in shredded brown robes, their faces half-covered by cloth and dust. They surrounded him in silence, gazes unreadable, shadows cast long by the burning sun.

Tucker dropped to his knees, panting.

But then the ground burned his skin. Literally burned. He hissed and forced himself upright again, wobbling on weak legs, body screaming at him to lie down, but the land refused to let him rest.

"What the hell…" he whispered.

He had just stumbled into what might just be hell.