Skylar sat alone in the empty auditorium of the Lightcrest Union Building, the vast space unnervingly quiet save for the occasional creak of the seats and the whirr of the projector he had just finished setting up. As part of the organizing committee, it was his responsibility to ensure everything was perfect for tonight's talk by Wilton Van Boxtel—a name that stirred a storm of conflicting emotions within him. Leaning back in his chair, he was engulfed by a flood of memories, transporting him to a time and place far removed from the sterile, impersonal walls of the university.

In his mind's eye, he was back on the island, his home, nestled in the Sea of Okhotsk. The island was a place of rugged beauty, where majestic cliffs met the crashing waves with a defiant strength that mirrored the spirit of its people. The air was crisp and salty, infused with the scent of the ocean and the earthy aroma of the pine trees that shrouded the island's inner reaches. The community, though part of a larger city-state, was tight-knit and resilient—a bastion of hope against the oppressive regime that hung over them like a dark, ever-present cloud.

Skylar could almost hear the laughter of children playing along the rocky shores. The island's beauty was stark and unyielding, with ancient forests stretching across the interior, their trees whispering secrets to the northern winds. In winter, the landscape became a serene blanket of white, with silence broken only by the call of seabirds and the sporadic crack of ice. Come spring, the rolling hills burst to life with fields of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The sunsets were particularly breathtaking, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple, reflecting off the tranquil waters that encircled the island like a protective embrace, teeming with fish, seals, and whales surfacing to breathe the brisk air.

Skylar had grown up in the northern part of the island, in an area known as Baiyun Cliff. It was there, under the watchful eyes of the elders, that he learned the values of courage, loyalty, and sacrifice. They told stories of the island's past, of days when it was free, and these tales became the foundation of his beliefs.

His father, a man of steadfast conviction and strength, had been one of the leaders of the local resistance. The image of him standing in the doorway of their modest home was engraved into Skylar's brain, his silhouette stark against the setting sun as he spoke in hushed tones with fellow resistance members. Even as a child, Skylar felt the gravity of those meetings, a sense of urgency and danger that was impossible to ignore. His father had always said that freedom was worth any price, that the island's future depended on their willingness to stand against the warlord's tyranny.

But tyranny wore many faces, not just that of soldiers. It came in the insidious form of technology—drones buzzing through the skies, ever-vigilant, recording every movement of the resistance. Surveillance towers sprang up overnight, their cameras trained on every corner of the city-state, stripping away any semblance of privacy or safety. The most terrifying were the automated sentinels—hulking machines of metal and circuits that patrolled the outskirts of Baiyun Cliff, armed with weapons that glowed with an eerie blue light. Skylar had seen one up close, its giant frame casting a long shadow over him as it scanned the area with frigid, mechanical precision. The resistance had fought back, their chi manipulation skills formidable, but they were no match for the warlord's advanced technology, wielded with ruthless efficiency.

These machines had not just been tools of war; they had been symbols of domination, a message that the island's spirit could be crushed with the flick of a switch, with algorithms that calculated the exact moment to strike, with weapons that left no room for mercy. Skylar's father had spoken often of how their enemy was not just flesh and blood, but metal and code—how their oppressors had made a pact with those who could craft these technological monstrosities, sealing the island's fate.

And then came the day that would forever be etched in Skylar's mental landscape. It was five years ago, but the memories were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. The siege had been swift and merciless, a coordinated attack that caught the resistance off guard. The drones had been the first to strike, raining down missiles that obliterated the resistance's hideouts. The automated sentinels had followed, marching into Baiyun Cliff with thunderous steps, their energy weapons slicing through anything in their path. Skylar had seen his father standing defiantly at the edge of their neighborhood, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to shield his people. The flash of blue light had been blinding, and then... nothing. He was only sixteen at the time, old enough to grasp the magnitude of the loss but still young enough to feel the sting of helplessness.

The Baiyun Cliff—the final stronghold of the resistance—had been reduced to smoldering ruins, its survivors scattered into the wilderness, hunted by machines that never tired, never hesitated. Skylar recalled the coldness of the metal hand that had gripped his arm, dragging him through the debris, and the hollow voice that had spoken in the warlord's tongue, relaying orders that sealed the fates of those who remained.

As the situation worsened, Skylar's mother had grown increasingly anxious for her son's safety. She was a woman of fierce determination, a mother who would do anything to protect her child. She had seen the writing on the wall—the warlord's forces were closing in, and it was only a matter of time before the resistance was crushed entirely. Skylar remembered the night she had made the decision, her cadence steady but her eyes filled with a sadness that pierced him to his core.

"You have to leave, Tian Le," she had told him, her hands trembling as she packed a small bag with what little they could spare. "There's a way off the island, but you must go now. They'll be here soon, and if they find you..." Her voice had trailed off, the unspoken horrors too much to bear.

She had coordinated with other resistance members, brave men and women who risked everything to ensure that Skylar could escape. They had spirited him away in the dead of night, leading him through the dense forests and along the hidden paths that only the locals knew. The memory of the fear that gnawed at his insides surfaced, along with the way his heart had thundered as they approached the small boat that would take him away from everything he had ever known.

His mother had hugged him tightly before he left, her tears soaking into his shirt. "Be strong, my son. Live. For your father, for all of us. One day, you'll come back, and you'll help us reclaim what's ours." Her words had been both a plea and a command, the last thing she had said to him before they pushed the boat off into the darkness.

Skylar had watched the island recede into the distance, its silhouette slowly swallowed by the night. He had tried to burn the image of it into his mind—the cliffs, the forests, the fields of wildflowers—knowing it might be a long time before he saw them again, if ever. And not long after his departure, he had learned that his mother had been arrested, her fate unknown, but Skylar could guess well enough. It was a thought that haunted him still, a wound that had never fully healed.

The sound of footsteps rebounding in the auditorium roused Skylar from his reverie. He blinked, his eyes refocusing on the dimly lit space around him. The memories of the island, of his father, and of that fateful night, were never far from his thoughts, but he had learned to push them aside when necessary, to bury the pain deep enough that he could function, could fight for the cause that had cost him so much.

But now, sitting in this auditorium, preparing for Wilton Van Boxtel's speech—a man whose technology was helping to fuel the warlord's reign of terror—Skylar felt the old anger simmering just below the surface. His hands balled into fists as he glared at the projector screen, the images of Van Boxtel's achievements flashing before him.

He was here, not just to set up slides and sound systems, but to seek justice, to avenge the lives destroyed by the warlord and those who aided him. And tonight, as the world listened to Van Boxtel's words, Skylar would be ready.

------------

"Adam, calm down!" Jaden's call trembled as he hurried after Adam, who was marching through the house. "This is all speculation, okay?"

Adam's strides resounded ominously as he passed the living room, each one a booming declaration of his resolve. His jaw was set in a hard line, and his blue eyes had turned to steel, narrowed with a singular purpose: finding the truth. He stopped in front of Skylar's bedroom door and banged on it with a clenched fist.

"Skylar! Open up!" Adam's shout was a harsh command that reverberated through the house.

Jaden hovered behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never seen Adam like this before—so intense, so unwavering. It was as though Adam had shed his usual aloofness and let his duty as a law enforcer take over completely. Jaden reached out, trying to grasp Adam's arm, hoping to pull him back, to make him pause just for a second. But Adam shook him off without even a glance.

"We need to think this through."

Adam disregarded him, his attention solely on the door in front of him. He knocked again, harder this time, the door rattling in its frame. "Skylar, I know you're in there. We need to talk."

Jaden hesitated, observing the empty hallway. "I don't think he's in his room."

Adam's patience was wearing thin, his features tightening. Without a word, he reached for the door handle. The air around his hand grew unnaturally cold, and frost began to crawl across the metal. With a twist, the lock shattered with a crack, and Adam shoved the door open, splintering the wood in the process.

"Seriously? Why do you have to be so rash about this?" Jaden grunted, following Adam into the room.

But Adam didn't respond, his eyes sweeping the room with an intensity that sent a shiver down Jaden's spine. The room was neat, almost too neat, as if Skylar had been preparing to leave. "If what you told me is true," Adam finally said, his utterance sharp and dangerous, "then he's a criminal. He broke into a high-security facility, assaulted someone, and let you take the fall for it. What baffles me is why you're not angrier about it."

Jaden exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "I was angry. But this is Skylar we're talking about. He's been your friend since you started at Lightcrest. There must be more to it."

Adam either didn't hear him or didn't care. He started searching the room, opening drawers, checking under the bed, and rifling through the closet. Each movement was methodical. The tension in the room was thick, a palpable force pressing down on them.

As Adam continued his search, Jaden's anxiety and guilt coiled into a knot in his stomach. Skylar was his friend too, but the mounting evidence against him was hard to dismiss. Jaden couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal settling in, and the thought made his chest constrict.

Desperation took over, and Jaden moved behind Adam, wrapping his arms around the older man. "Please..." he murmured as he tried to halt Adam's relentless search. "Calm down. Why are you being like this?"

Adam froze at the contact, the sudden embrace cutting through his anger like a knife. For a moment, he didn't move, shocked by the boy's plea. Jaden's voice, so small and fragile, pierced through the tempest of emotions swirling inside him. He had to have scared Jaden—this was a side of him he rarely let show, the enforcer of laws, the unfeeling frigid figure everyone whispered about.

Adam turned his head to look at Jaden, his expression softening ever so slightly. "I'm sorry," Adam muttered. He gently pulled Jaden's arms away, turning to face him fully. "But if Skylar's up to something, I gotta get to the bottom of it. I swore an oath when I joined the Iron Phalanx—to serve and protect the Cataclysm Federation, no matter what."

Jaden lifted his eyes to Adam, a twinge of emotion coursing through him at the sight of the man he admired so much. Adam's unshakable sense of duty, his pride in his role, were qualities that had always drawn Jaden to him. But a new fear crept into the boy's thoughts—what would happen if, one day, he found himself on the opposite side of the Federation? Would Adam do everything in his power to stop him too?

"I get it, okay?" Jaden insisted. "But Skylar is your friend. Does he not deserve the benefit of the doubt? How come you were so willing to bring me here, to your townhouse, when Chase and Dawn wanted to put me in jail? You believed in me then, but now, you're so reluctant to give Skylar that same trust. Why?"

"That was different," Adam replied, his tone clipped as he turned and walked to the other side of the room, resuming his search.

"How was it different?" Jaden pressed.

Adam paused, glancing back at Jaden, but he couldn't find the words to explain—at least not in a way that made sense. How could he put into words the insatiable urge he felt to protect the younger boy? It was a compulsion, something primal that went beyond duty or logic. This force shattered his usual detachment, pushing him to defend Jaden at all costs—even when it made no sense. There was something about this silver-haired boy that kindled feelings in him he couldn't quite name, something that made him act without thinking, something that made him treat Jaden differently from anyone else. But Adam didn't fully understand it himself, let alone how to explain it to Jaden.

"It just is," Adam said.

Jaden huffed in frustration, "That is not even an answer, you frosty furball!"

Adam brushed off the remark, fixing his attention on the task at hand. His blue eyes began to glow with a faint, icy light as he activated his cryokinetic abilities. His vision shifted, allowing him to detect the infrared radiation emitted by everything in the room. The warmer objects shone with an orange hue, while cooler ones appeared in shades of blue and purple.

Adam's gaze zeroed in on a particular spot on the floor, where a weak but distinct heat signature was coming from beneath the floorboards. He extended his hand, and a wave of cold emanated from his palm, causing the temperature in the room to plummet. The wood groaned and protested as frost spread over it, forming a brittle sheen. Adam brought his foot down, shattering the frozen planks and revealing a hidden compartment below.

Inside, nestled among the broken shards, was a laptop and a stack of documents. The laptop, though shut down, still emitted a residual warmth, suggesting it had been used not long ago—probably within the last half hour.

Adam crouched down, retrieving the laptop with a grim expression. "Let's see what you're hiding, Skylar." He carefully opened the laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

As the screen flickered to life, Adam's hope of accessing the contents was dashed by the sight of an encryption prompt. A password was required to proceed. He scowled, the challenge only fueling his intensifying agitation.

Jaden knelt beside Adam. His earlier frustration melted away, replaced by a blooming sense of unease. He reached for the stack of documents, flipping through them cautiously. Each page was covered in Chinese characters, a cryptic script that hinted at secrets buried deep within.

Adam stared at the encrypted screen. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy," he muttered, half to himself. "Skylar's no amateur—he's a tech genius." He glanced over at Jaden, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. "I'll take the laptop to HQ. We'll need someone there to crack this and translate these documents."

But before Adam could rise, Jaden's attention was drawn to a piece of newspaper tucked among the documents. The headline, written in bold Chinese characters, immediately caught his eye: "爭取自由，與恒气岛同在!"

Jaden's eyes widened as he uttered, "No need. I can read all of this. This one is an article from five years ago. It says, 'Fight for Freedom. Stand with Heng Qi.'"

Adam's gaze pivoted to Jaden, surprise briefly showing on his face. "You can read Chinese?"

"Yes, I can." Jaden nodded, his visage turning serious. "But Heng Qi... isn't that the island ruled by Xiong Jianpei?" he asked, recalling the recent news report about Supreme Leader Xiong Jianpei's savage execution of ultra-tellurians.

"It is," Adam confirmed, his curiosity piqued. "What's the article about?"

Jaden took a slow breath and skimmed the article: "五年前，恒气岛上抵抗力量的最后堡垒——白云崖，在军阀熊建培的残酷围攻中被攻陷。这次攻势导致了抵抗力量最后一位重要领袖宋建宏的牺牲。在围攻之后，许多抵抗成员被捕，包括建宏的妻子，而他们的儿子宋天乐则神秘失踪。"

He then translated it aloud into English, "Baiyun Cliff, the final stronghold of the resistance on Heng Qi Island, fell five years ago during a brutal siege led by warlord Xiong Jianpei. The assault claimed the life of the resistance's last prominent leader, Song Jianhong. In the aftermath, many resistance members, including Jianhong's wife, were arrested, while their son, Song Tian Le, vanished without a trace."

Adam frowned and grunted, "That doesn't get us any closer. We still have no clue why Skylar broke into Van Boxtel Technologies."

"Song Tian Le..." Jaden mumbled, his brow furrowing in concentration. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with realization, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That's a clever play on words."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked.

"Song Tian Le... Skylar," Jaden's utterance was calm, yet it echoed with the heft of revelation. "It's his real name, Adam. 'Tian' means 'Sky' in Chinese. If you say 'Sky Le' quickly, it sounds just like 'Skylar.' He's been using an anglicized version of his name all along."

Adam's brow knitted in a mix of confusion and anger, a tension building in his chest. "What?" was all he could muster.

"Skylar is the son of a resistance leader from Heng Qi Island, who died five years ago. He is..." Jaden's voice drifted off as he unfolded a different sheet—a weathered page with faded lines. "Gale of the Rebellion?"

Adam stiffened, the name ringing a distant bell. "The folk song? That old war anthem?"

Jaden looked up, studying Adam's face. "You've heard it?"

"Skylar used to hum it now and then," Adam mumbled, his brain scrambling to piece it together. "He said it reminded him of home. I never really gave it much thought—just figured it was just some nostalgic kick."

Jaden shook his head. "It wasn't just a song to him. The ninja I fought called himself, Gale of the Rebellion. It wasn't just some alias—it was a tribute. A legacy. Skylar's father led the resistance, and now... now he's carrying that fight on his shoulders." Jaden's words were tinged with sadness. "His father is gone, but justice didn't die with him. It is carried by his son."

For a moment, sympathy welled up in Jaden—he could only imagine what it must have felt like to lose a father so young. But before he could dwell on it, Adam scoffed, the sound cold and dismissive.

"Justice? We live in the Cataclysm Federation, Jaden. This place runs on law and order. What Skylar's been up to isn't justice—it's straight-up revenge. Justice doesn't involve breaking into secure facilities or putting people in the hospital."

Jaden opened his mouth to respond, but he could see it in Adam's eyes—this was about more than just right and wrong. There was something else festering underneath it all. "You're not just angry about what he did, are you?" the boy asked.

Adam's eyes darkened, his fingers clasping around the edge of the laptop. "Has that little shit ever told the truth since I met him?" he snapped.

Jaden's countenance shifted to a blend of exasperation and exhaustion. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he met Adam's. "Come on, Adam. Where did you think he was from when he said he was from an island?"

"Taiwan? Or maybe some random place I'd never even heard of? I don't know, it's not like I grilled him about where he was from," Adam retorted bluntly. "Who would have guessed he'd be some kind of defector from an island ruled by a warlord?"

The Winter Wolf's mind involuntarily drifted to the first time he met Skylar—or rather, Tian Le. It was in a high-tech training arena during their freshman Tactical Combat Training for Ultra-Tellurians class, designed to test their abilities under pressure. Even then, Skylar had been the quick-witted tech genius, always ready with a joke to lighten the mood in the thick of their university struggles.

They'd bonded fast, two exiles in a strange new world. Adam, still grappling with the loss of his werewolf powers, felt like an outsider, rejected by his pack and the town of Wild Prairie. Skylar, as he had claimed, was also an exile, no longer welcome on his home island. They'd worked side by side, laughed together, and even pulled all-nighters studying. Adam had never once questioned his friend's background—why would he? Skylar had appeared so genuine, so easy to relate to. At least, that's what Adam had thought.

Now, though, that trust felt like a rope slipping through his hands—something he could no longer hold onto. Had he been too blind, too distracted by his own failures and losses to see the truth? Maybe he had wanted to believe in Skylar too much, clinging to the idea of a friend who understood exile the way he did.

But Skylar wasn't some fellow exile. He was a revolutionary, tied to a resistance Adam had never even heard about. The sting of it all—the lies, the secrecy—it cut deeper than he had expected. The anger the Winter Wolf had initially felt about Skylar breaking the law now twisted into something more personal. It wasn't just that Skylar had committed a crime. No, what truly infuriated him was the realization that Adam didn't know him at all.

Adam shoved the laptop into Jaden's hands. "Take this to Chase or Dawn. Tell them to get it to the Iron Phalanx HQ. We don't have time to waste."

"What about you? Where are you going?"

"I think I know where Skylar is," Adam said coldly, already heading toward the door.

The boy was eager to follow, hurrying behind Adam. "I am coming with you."

"Jaden, would you listen to me for once?" Adam growled. "You're not with the Iron Phalanx. You've got no reason to tag along—this ain't your fight."

"Are you kidding me? If I let you go after Skylar like this, you'll end up killing him." Jaden's inflection sharpened with concern. "You're not thinking clearly—you're too angry right now."

Adam's jaw set, his fists clenching. "Stay out of this," he warned, but Jaden ignored him, pushing forward.

"You're being reckless, and—"

Before Jaden could finish, Adam stopped short in the doorway, causing the silver-haired boy to collide with his broad back. The impact wasn't hard, but the suddenness of it left Jaden momentarily stunned.

Adam turned around slowly, his blue eyes locking onto Jaden's brown ones, and for a moment, a flicker of something softer passed over his face—regret, maybe. "Sorry, Puffball," he murmured. But Jaden hardly had time to respond before Adam's expression hardened again, and he pushed him back into the room.

Jaden staggered, barely catching himself, when he noticed the glint of frost forming in Adam's palm. "Adam, wait—"

With a surge of cryokinetic force, Adam thrust his hand forward, and an icy barricade shot up from the floor, sealing off the doorway. Frost snaked across the walls, layering and hardening until the barrier became an impenetrable block of ice.

Jaden slammed his fists against the freezing surface. "Are you frigging insane? Let me out of here."

"Make sure Chase gets the laptop once this ice melts away."

"Dang it, Adam." Jaden's hands were going numb as he continued to strike the ice. "Please don't do something you can't take back," he whispered, his breath fogging in the cold air.

But Adam was already gone, the rhythmic thud of his shoes dissipating down the hallway as he stormed out of the townhouse.

Jaden's heart pounded, panic creeping through his veins. The icy cold bit into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the fear writhing inside him. Adam was formidable on a normal day, but now? Now he was plagued by betrayal and rage. Skylar didn't stand a chance.

Outside, the air held the crisp promise of early autumn, but it wasn't cold yet—just a mild September afternoon typical of New England. Adam barely registered it. His pace was brisk and deliberate as he descended the townhouse steps and hit the sidewalk. A light breeze rustled the trees, sending a few leaves skittering along the pavement, but his mind was a whirlwind, fixated on a single target.

Skylar.

He needed answers. He needed the truth. He marched forward, the townhouse shrinking behind him. His muscles were tense, coiled like springs ready to snap. The frost lingering on his fingertips mirrored the cold fury within, the power thrumming beneath his skin as he let the icy tendrils of his cryokinesis slip free.

He knew exactly where Skylar would be.

The Lightcrest Union Building came into view, its tall windows gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Students were still milling about, some leaving, some heading to classes, but none of them mattered to Adam right now.

He pushed open the doors. The low hum of air conditioning greeted him as he entered the lobby, but the temperature around him seemed to drop further with each passing moment. Students sat scattered across the wide space, lost in their own worlds—some lounging in chairs, others tapping away at laptops. The murmur of conversation faded into the background as Adam moved down the nearly deserted halls, his focus set on the auditorium ahead.

Then, he saw him.

Skylar sat alone in the vast auditorium. Afternoon light slanting through the high windows was muted by thin, gauzy curtains, painting a subdued, grayish glow across the space. Long shadows stretched across the empty rows of seats, and the dim illumination created a somber, almost oppressive atmosphere. The quiet whirr of the projector was the only sound breaking the silence, while Skylar remained motionless, either unaware—or perhaps simply unfazed—by Adam's arrival.

The room's temperature plunged as Adam stepped inside, his fists squeezed, ice forming in the creases of his knuckles. With each movement, a shimmer of frost trailed in his wake, advancing along the floor like crystalline veins. The frost curled upward, snaking up the walls and slithering across the empty chairs like the fingers of winter itself, inching closer to where Skylar sat.

"Skylar, we need to talk!"