Chapter 1 #3
His throat tightened. Panic surged. But he forced himself to acknowledge it. Elder Isarion’s first lesson; an empath must recognise the panic before they can control it.
Ground yourself.
Five things you see. Dark tile. Black boots. Laces…
He stalled, breath hitching as panic rose again.
His gaze snapped upward. The two friends stared at him, frozen with fear. He needed to do this, for them. To protect them from him. It was the least he could offer.
Come on, Rain. Get your shit together.
His thoughts cut through the fog, giving him just enough clarity to move on.
Four things you can touch.
The buttery leather of his pants beneath his fingertips.
The wooden stool under his thighs.
The cotton of his shirt.
The warm skin of his arms.
Three things you can hear.
Glasses clinking.
Distant chatter.
Crappy music humming through the speakers.
His breathing steadied. The fog receded. Relief washed through him—he had regained control. He skipped smell and taste, too aware of the eyes on him.
He pushed himself to his feet, ready to face the people he had just overwhelmed. They deserved the chance to confront him. They deserved far more than he could ever give. But survival instinct kept him from offering the justice he believed the world would be better for.
He lifted his hands in surrender, body language open and nonthreatening. The bravado that usually shielded him was gone, replaced by raw sincerity.
“From every ounce of my being,” he said, voice trembling, “please know that I am so incredibly sorry. To you and to your families.”
His words were rough, barely above a whisper. Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought to keep his emotions contained, determined not to lose control again. Frustration tightened around him—his apology felt— weak.
With a shaky sigh, Rain’s shoulders slumped further, defeat settling over him like a heavy cloak.
He kept his eyes fixed on the black tiles beneath his boots, unable to meet their gaze.
His eyes had always frightened people; he didn’t need to see their reactions to know what they were feeling.
Guilt pressed down on him, thick and suffocating, and he retreated inward, curling around the ache that never truly left him.
His posture folded in on itself, his attention locked on the floor as isolation wrapped around him like an old, familiar shadow.
“Well… she was my least favourite aunt. And she was incredibly old. She probably only had a few more years left in her.”
The young woman’s nervous snort cut through the tension like a blade through paper. Her unexpected compassion slipped past Rain’s emotional barriers with startling ease, slicing through the walls he’d built around himself.
Startled, Rain’s head snapped up. His eyes searched hers with a wary, fragile hope. He reached out with his senses, filtering through her aura, bracing for malice or mockery. Instead, he found confusion, fear, pity—but none of it twisted into cruelty. None of it aimed to wound.
Relief loosened something tight in his chest. Still cautious, he let himself breathe, his posture softening as he sank back onto the stool. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, warm, steady, grounding. It pulled him out of the stunned haze that had swallowed him whole.
“Hey, it’s okay.” The young man’s voice was soft, his baby-blue eyes filled with genuine concern.
His hand remained on Rain’s shoulder, a quiet anchor.
Leaning over the bar, he signalled to Elijah, who was already hurrying over.
“Can we grab three beers, please?” he asked, offering a warm, disarming smile that radiated kindness.
Elijah moved quickly, pouring the drinks and adding an extra one—Rain’s usual. “Thank you, Elijah. Add them to my tab,” Rain murmured, grateful for the familiar routine.
Elijah’s gaze lingered on him, cautious and empathetic. “No problem, babe. You good?” Rain nodded, then lifted the tray and followed his new companions to the nearest booth.
Once they settled, the young man introduced them properly. “I’m Jay, and this is Wren.”
Wren raised her glass with a wicked grin. “Here’s to new friends, teammates, and dead relatives!”
“Wren!” Jay gasped, scandalised, but Rain found himself smirking. Her dark humour cut through the lingering heaviness like a welcome breeze.
“Hear, hear,” he said, lifting his glass before taking a long swallow. Warmth spread through him, easing the tension in his muscles.
He hadn’t known what to expect from this encounter, but already it was mending parts of him he hadn’t realised were cracked.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to hope—just a little—that this might be the beginning of something meaningful.
A friendship, perhaps. A connection. Something real.
The next hour passed in a blur of planning—mapping out training schedules, strategising how to recruit new members, tossing ideas back and forth with growing enthusiasm.
Their camaraderie deepened with each passing minute.
The evening had been an emotional storm—exhausting, exhilarating, and maybe, just maybe, the turning point Rain had quietly dreamed of for years