Arcane Anew

'I hate getting angry like that...' Orion thought gloomily as he walked, lost in his thoughts.

Vi, biting her lip with silent tears streaming down her face, was not something he wanted to see. Nor a crying Powder in the background as he walked away.

But he was angry and needed space. When he snapped, that was it. In the past, he remembered snapping in more violent, aggressive ways, so he avoided it as much as possible.

'Outside of that... How am I even supposed to deal with this- Ah, I was supposed to stay and watch the performance. Well, that's fucked.'

'She's probably wondering where I am with her soul searching or whatever that power is,' Orion thought, snorting. 'I'll have to apologize later-'

As he veered into Emberflit Alley, Orion blinked as a thought struck him. 'Hold on, Vi likes Scratch's music. I can introduce her if I stay friendly with Seraphine. That's a pretty good makeup apology.'

His thoughts continued to trail him as his old home came into view with the tarp still hung on the second floor's corner.

Orion exhaled as the door to his old home creaked open. Faint, gray dust sparkled in the air- everything was coated in a layer of dust.

Casually he flicked the light switch, but the power was finally cut off. His gaze drifted across the room slowly. 'Looks like it hasn't been ransacked at least...'

It was a pretty strange feeling coming back to Emberflit Alley after a year. Each thud of his boots against the floorboard sent waves of memories rushing back to him.

The confusion, the looming sense of danger, the unknown, the raging storm within as their souls had merged. Dust puffed up with every step as he ascended the stairs. Everything was exactly how he left it.

Everything except one thing- his bed.

Hung directly above it was a jacket- his old jacket- with two drawings on the chest pocket. He smiled and slowly walked toward it. One was Powder's monkey face drawing in blue and green, and the other was a strange... bunny...? in pink.

'That had to have been Vi,' Orion chuckled, lifting the flaps of his old jacket. His fingers ran across the rough fabric as his thoughts drifted. 'It would still fit, but how many people would remember it? The bar patrons might...'

His eyes wandered across the encircled "V", centered inside the jacket's interior on the back. Turning it on its hanger, he saw the larger stitched version, stitched in with bold red thread.

Two spots with heavy thread, marking where he had been punctured in the topside explosion, stood out prominently.

Silco's goons wouldn't know what Orion looked like- only Silco's closest confidants, like Sevika. While she wasn't the brightest, spotting familiar people as a life-long enforcer and bouncer was something she could do.

Letting go of the thought, Orion gave the jacket one final look, his gaze lingering on the two drawings before he turned away, a soft, gentle feeling floating inside him.

'I'll make it up with them. I don't want to see them cry more,' Orion thought as he rummaged through the house, checking hidden stashes under floorboards and panels on the walls.

Relief flooded him when he found the five left-over silvers and some bullets. While the bullets were useless unless he bought a new gun, he could still sell them back at a discount.

'I suppose the question now should be whether I should operate with Vander's group or step away and continue alone for a while... There's the Syntaxi crystals- and this "Ferros" clan- that I have to worry about now.'

Since Orion's stashes had yet to be looted, he returned three to their original hiding spots before stepping outside. 'I suppose I still have this place- just without lighting or heating, unless I ask Vander to turn it back on.'

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//The Last Drop//

"Twist at your hips, move your head off centerline when you're punching." Vander instructed.

Inside Mylo and Claggor's room, a new punching bag hung in the corner. After their last incident, both of them were riled up.

They had failed to protect Vi and Powder again. Their pride was hurt, their sense of 'manliness' tarnished by their inability to protect what they cared about.

Vander was shocked when Mylo, of all people, asked for this. Even Claggor looked a little stunned until Mylo started explaining the feeling of powerlessness he felt.

Smiling, Vander placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded. "It's alright. You're growing and discovering yourself. No one wants to lose people close to them or feel powerless."

Within the day, the punching bag was hanging in their room, and they were already training.

'Knowing them,' Vander thought with pride, 'they'll be at this for weeks at least.'

Claggor was sat down on the bed, sweat dripping from his forehead as Mylo continued taking instructions, delivering different combos.

After slipping off centerline, he drove his gloved fist up to where the imaginary ribcage on the bag would be, but his feet were awkwardly placed, so it didn't deliver much power.

"You're improving," Vander praised, studying his footwork. "Just mind your foot placement."

Bang!

Their heads snapped toward the door as it slammed open. Vander shifted sharply, startled since he hadn't heard the approaching footsteps over the bag work.

He instantly relaxed when he saw it was Vi and Powder, but his face quickly contorted with concern.

Their eyes were puffy and tear-marks stained their faces. Vander's expression darkened as he walked up to them, though it still carried worry and concern.

Someone made his daughters cry.

Vi hiccuped, and Vander blinked, his protective instincts sharpening.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Vander asked softly, but the anger at the unseen culprit seeped into his voice. 

"Orion," Vi said, her voice cracking as she hiccupped again. "He's alive."