Chapter 7 The Influence part 2

In the heart of Accra's neon-lit sprawl, where buzzing generators harmonized with hopeful dreams, there lived a boy burdened far beyond his years.

Charles Oduro.

Seventeen, yet aged by the weight of the world. His father's sickness had wrung their household dry, and though Charles still wore a smile to school, his soul bore bruises no one could see.

He didn't ask for pity. Never had. Because pity didn't pay hospital bills.

So he learned to code. By candlelight, between shifts. He became the quiet star of a dozen tech startups—hopping from cafe to company like a boy chasing constellations he could barely afford to dream of. People saw him. Admired him. But they didn't know he was coding to keep a man alive.

His father—bedridden, frail, but full of fire—would always smile when Charles came home.

> "A good coder doesn't just fix problems… he prevents them."

Charles had read those words a thousand times, scribbled on the old whiteboard beside his dad's bed.

> "Whatever it takes, Dad," he'd whisper.

And then one day, it happened.

His bank account—his entire savings, everything he'd built with blistered fingers and late-night gig work—was gone. Wiped clean.

Hacked.

Stolen.

He stared at the blinking zeroes on the screen, disbelief strangling his breath. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was sit in silence.

That night, he went to see his father. The old man didn't know.

Still smiling.

Still trusting.

> "My son, you're here. I hope you didn't fall into any trouble."

Charles forced a grin.

> "No, Dad… nothing."

But his voice cracked.

> "Just know this—I'll do anything. Anything to cure your illness. I promise."

> "I know you will," his father replied softly. "But listen—don't go astray. The world is cruel. But don't become like it."

Those words… they shook him.

But so did the hunger in his belly. The rent. The medication. The cold stares of a world that chewed people like him and spat them out as statistics.

And then came the offer.

A smooth-talking "friend" from the underbelly. A shortcut. Fraud work—just a few jobs. Money fast. Faces faceless.

Charles refused.

Then reconsidered.

Then... almost relented.

He sat before his laptop that night, trembling. His cursor hovered over the dark site's registration form. Sweat beaded down his face. Nobody helps you unless you help yourself, right?

That's when it happened.

His laptop flickered.

Glitched.

And then…

Text appeared. Not typed. Not downloaded.

> "A good coder doesn't always fix problems... he prevents them."

And then:

> "Listen, child. You don't have to do this. Your father would never want that."

Charles stumbled back.

> "What the… who's doing this?"

The screen pulsed again. This time, the text glowed—not with code, but with power.

> "I am the Creation Stone. And I speak to you through what you understand most."

> "You are wise. But you're breaking your own code, Charles."

His breath caught.

The stone knew. The pain, the betrayal, the temptation. The fury boiling beneath his skin. The despair.

He cried.

> "I just wanted to save my father…"

> "And you will," the Stone replied, now glowing through the keyboard. "But this is not the way. Choose the light. And you'll never fear again."

Charles reached out—hesitant. But something inside him knew. His father's voice, his code, his hope—it all converged in that moment.

He touched the light.

And in that second—

The Ghoul watching from the shadows screamed. Its plan had unraveled. It had whispered through fake friends. It had mimicked his father's voice. It had baited him.

But it was too late.

Charles rose—his laptop transformed into a shimmering glyph in his hands, letters swirling around his skin.

He had chosen the Creation Stone.

And now… he wielded Inscription Manipulation.

With a flick of his hand, lines of Avian code bent to his will—defensive sigils, virus shields, encrypted barriers. He was no longer just a coder. He was a Scribe of the Light.

---

The Convergence

And that's when he met them.

Osei Jerry, the misunderstood savant, now gifted with Instinct Manipulation. He saw danger before it struck. He moved like a rhythm no enemy could follow.

Yyvone, the broken orphan, who could heal wounds and weave barriers of silk and soul. Her crutches were gone. Her kindness remained.

And standing at their front—

Kainen, the scarred knight of Airious, gathering Earth's chosen.

> "Welcome," Kainen said. "The light has chosen you. Not because you were perfect. But because you still chose hope."

The four stood there. Battered. Fractured. But no longer alone.

The war was coming.

The corrupted ghouls would rise.

But so would the Chosen Earth Bound Guardians....

The room was quiet, humming softly with the energy of the newly chosen. The faint glow of the Creation Stone still pulsed in Charles's palm, its warmth strangely comforting—like a hand on the shoulder of a child who'd just faced the world's weight and stood tall.

He sat beside Osei Jerry and Yyvone, their presence familiar now—not by time, but by trauma. They were strangers who somehow understood him better than most who'd known him for years.

Charles looked at them, eyes narrowed with thought. "Can I ask something?"

Yyvone nodded gently, her fingers weaving through the soft golden threads that danced at her will. "Of course."

Charles turned to Osei first. "What's your story? You seem... strong. But I feel like you've had to be."

Osei didn't look up at first. His fingers fiddled with a rubber band he always wore around his wrist—snapping it softly with each second, a grounding habit.

He finally spoke.

"I just wanted to fit in," Osei said, his voice low but clear. "That's all. Not to stand out, not to be the weird one. Just... belong."

He paused, the weight in his chest threatening to crawl into his voice. "But no matter what I did, they always noticed me... noticed my flaws. The stutter. The ticks. The way I couldn't understand their sarcasm, or the noise in the cafeteria."

"My mother," he continued, "she tried to help, I guess. She thought she was protecting me. Controlling everything. But she never listened to me. Not really."

His eyes glazed. "And then she died. Sudden stroke. I didn't even get to say sorry for... for not being what she wanted. Or maybe for resenting her. I don't know anymore."

He chuckled bitterly. "The ghoul whispered that I didn't deserve her. That her death was my fault. And for a second—I believed it."

Charles watched silently.

"And then?" he asked.

"Then the Creation Stone appeared," Osei said. "Right in my notebook. Like a message from myself. It showed me… my instinct wasn't a flaw. It was my power. It saved me."

Charles sat back, stunned. "Damn..."

Yyvone smiled softly. "He's not the only one with ghosts."

Charles looked over. "Your turn?"

She exhaled deeply, her hand grazing the hem of her long skirt, brushing over the brace beneath. "I was... the soft one. The weak one. I thought kindness would be enough, even if I couldn't walk like others or run. But the world doesn't always reward kindness. It forgets it."

Her voice trembled. "One bad fall. Down a flight of stairs. And suddenly, I wasn't a girl anymore—I was a burden."

Charles leaned in.

"The people who brought me to the hospital couldn't afford the treatment," she said. "And they looked at me like... like I should've just stayed broken. Easier that way."

"The ghoul tried to convince me it would be better if I gave in. That the pain would stop if I just... let go. But I didn't."

"Why?" Charles asked.

"Because if the world won't choose me," she said with a brave smile, "then I'll choose myself. I picked the Creation Stone. And I chose to heal—not just me, but others."

Her threads glowed gently between her fingers, like strings of mercy. "My powers reflect my soul. That's what the stone told me."

Charles blinked, mouth slightly open. He finally whispered, "I thought I was the only one who didn't have it easy. Turns out... no one asked for this pain. But you all worked with what you had."

They all sat silently, nodding.

Then Kainen stepped forward.

"The Stone doesn't pick randomly," he said, arms folded, cloak swaying softly. "It doesn't judge you by your past—it responds to your essence. Avia knows. Always. It gives you a power that's a reflection of your heart's core."

He looked at each of them.

"Osei, your instinct was never a flaw. It's precision, awareness, survival. So you were gifted Instinct Manipulation."

"Yyvone, your pain birthed kindness and courage. You don't break, you mend. So you were gifted Healing Threads and Barrier Creation."

"And Charles," Kainen turned, voice firm but proud, "you were always a creator. A mind that doesn't just fix problems, but prevents them. So you were given Inscription Manipulation. Your code becomes command. Your words will shape reality itself."

Charles looked at his hands. They tingled with new potential.

Kainen continued, "More will come. More will be tested. Some will choose the light like you did. Others... may not be as strong."

He looked out the cracked window, where the sun peeked through gray clouds.

"But the storm is coming. And the ghouls—they're only just beginning."

Charles clenched his fists.

"Then let's write our code," he said.

Osei smiled. "With instinct."

Yyvone chuckled, standing with effort. "And heart."

Kainen turned. "Then follow me. Airious awaits."

Meanwhile, Jack was still living a normal life, trying to hide his insecurities, but Henry knows, however, he doesn't want to pressurize him, but it's only a matter of time before something tragic happening...

For now the creation stone is still in search of other pure souls to save