“Thank you, what a great crowd!” Oliver Ollyson jaunted around the stage liked he owned it, beaming at everyone in the audience.

  For a third time, he paused to wait for the applause to die down before he continued. Sami whistled, waving his Shadow Hand overhead in excitement.

  “Don’t embarrass us,” Claire hissed.

  “Aw come on, it’s not like it’ll make HUE look bad to show enthusiasm for The First Woken!”

  “Yeah, but it’s still humiliating.” Claire lowered herself in her chair.

  Oliver Ollyson was a thin man, his face hugging his cheekbones lightly and accenting the point in his chin. At the oldest he should have been twenty seven, but he had a hunched, bearing of a man twice that age. Brown hair thinning into a wispy combover, and suit jacket too big for his body, he looked like a man who had peaked in high school. But he brought the energy of a man invited back to that high school as a hero.

  Oliver spun his microphone like a revolver then brought it back to his lips. “I can’t express how honored I am to be a part of this event. The We Will Rebuild Campaign holds a special place in all of our hearts. Day after day, we see skirmishes and battles across the city bringing down buildings, bridges and roads, and we have to deal with those disasters however we can. Clay is not enough. With this endowment, we can be sure that our city will always be resilient. On the path to rebuild better!”

  Oliver not so subtly pointed his hand outwards toward a campaign slogan of Timaria Burr with the subheading: Rebuild Better. Claire rolled her eyes as Sami joined in the new round of applause. He didn’t care how much of it was performative. He was inspired!

  Another spin of the mic and Oliver continued walking across the stage, twirling around gracefully. “Behind me is a thermometer to display how much money we’ve made so far. We have a modest goal of fifteen million dollars to get this fund started. This is an evergreen project. It’ll run twenty four hours, every single day of the year. This will barely be enough to show a proof of concept to hopefully get more funding from the city, state, and other grant opportunities. This is just the start… We Will Rebuild!”

  A money thermometer appeared projected behind Oliver, displaying a massive $15,000,000 at the top and a tiny sliver at the bottom, representing the first $10,000 that had been donated. A QR code and website appeared next to it for anyone that wanted to donate.

  “Any takers for an immediate donation?” Oliver asked, grinning.

  The $10,000 made a tiny adjustment, filling the thermometer to the $12,000 mark. The audience was silent, waiting expectantly.

  Oliver turned from the screen to his audience, winking. “What about now?”

  Outstretching his hand, Oliver held the microphone ahead of him and made it float an inch above his hand. The audience roared in approval, some jumping immediately into a standing ovation. Oliver raised his other hand in a cheer as the microphone very slowly rotated on its axis, like it was swaying while dangling from a string. His face was beet red, a dark vein protruding his forehead as he maintained his power.

  The attendees went mad, pulling at their hair and pointing madly at the showcase of Oliver’s power. Some of the most finely dressed guests were jumping up and down, refinement gone in the face of absolute perfection of power. Phones appeared in hands in the hundreds, pointing toward Oliver and the stage.

  Trembling, the thermometer on screen jumped to life. The donations rolled in the hundreds of thousands, and spiked straight to $9.4 million. Oliver smiled through his strained expression, pleased at the increase in numbers and bowing at his audience.

  “What is the extent of his Path?” Gan Wen asked loudly to be heard over the berserk crowd.

  “You’re looking at it,” Claire replied.

  “Apologies, this one meant what more can the Path do?”

  “That’s it. He can literally only make things float like an inch above his hand. That’s all he’s ever been able to do.”

  “This one does not understand. It is a pathetic Path. Your Path of the Seen Sounds is significantly more useful, Senior Sister. Why do they celebrate him?” Gan Wen frowned at Oliver.

  “Gan Wen, I apologize for anything mean I’ve said to you. You make more sense than all the idiots that cheer for this guy.”

  “You honor this one, Senior Sister.” Gan Wen lowered his head slightly.

  “You guys are overthinking it. It’s not about the power! He’s The First Woken!” Sami gesticulated with every word of the last sentence, as though physically framing the argument on the table. “The catalyst to let us all get to this point of being Awakened. It’s like the first man on the moon!” Sami said, applauding along with the feral audience.

  Oliver’s eyes bulged with continued effort, his face going from hot red to blue.

  The microphone completed a single rotation. The thermometer ticked up to 11 million.

  “What if his power was to grow his nose hairs? Would you cheer that on?”

  “Well, he was just fortunate to have a cool power.”

  “It’s not cool!”

  “Unimpressive, at best. Almost insulting to anyone on a Path,” Gan Wen agreed.

  Claire turned away from the stage, scanning the crowd for someone to speak to. Gan Wen sat straight in his seat, looking like he was deliberately not applauding anything he was watching.

  Sami beamed at Oliver, seeing more than the power the man held. It felt like without The First Woken, the Awakening would have been lost with Lightcrown. But when he first discovered Oliver online, he had hope he would one day be able to manifest his own power. Even after he had Awakened, Oliver gave Sami hope in his own future. What more he could become.

  Heaving for air, Oliver dropped the microphone back into his hand and leaned over to catch his breath. Multiple veins stuck out of his face, his eyes a sunken, bloodshot mess. Spittle dropped from his lips and he dragged his forearm across his mouth as he brought himself back upright. Blinking hard, he stumbled back a few steps then caught himself.

  “Hey, what about that crowd?” Oliver asked, gasping between each word.

  Their energy didn’t wane, applauding madly as Oliver coughed loudly into the microphone. Wiping his forehead and coming off with a slimy hand, Oliver turned back to the thermometer.

  “12 million! That’s a fantastic start. I’m so grateful to be a part of a community that cares about…” Oliver stopped to catch his breath, dabbing a handkerchief over his balding head.

  “Two million!” A voice called from behind Sami.

  Oliver looked up, peering in a fight to focus on the individual. “Two million?”

  “I would like to donate two million to the We Will Rebuild Campaign,” Don Crede said loudly.

  “Amazing! Give it up for Mister Don Crede!” Oliver said, looking immensely grateful to not be the center of attention at the moment.

  The audience applauded politely as Don scanned the screen with a phone and the thermometer leaped up to 14 million. The audience turned back to Oliver. Sweat drenched his chest in a long V, stretching down to his stomach.

  “Just a measly one million more. Would anyone else like to donate a sum of money to help us cross the finish line?”

  “Five million.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Heads turned again, and Sami didn’t recognize the individual standing with his hand raised. The man stood tall, perhaps as tall as Apex’s impressive height of seven feet. His thick black hair was slicked back and his eyes were calculating. Scanning him, Sami saw yet another set of three bubbles above him, yet he exuded power in his demeanor alone. Apex mentioned that three powers was a rarity. Were all these people involved in the Silent Scream? Is that what drove them to donate to rebuild the city?

  Shoulders back, chest out, and back straight, the large donor looked like he might own the entire event hall. On his collar was a small pin, one that would have been too small to see if Sami didn’t immediately recognize it.

  A crown in a circle that radiated like it was part of the sunrise.

  Sami tilted his head slightly in interest. The pin was that of Lightcrown. For a brief stint, people used to display it as a symbol of support for Lightcrown in his youth, but later used it as a status of mourning for the Silent Scream. Was he using it as the former or the latter?

  “Weldon Steele! What a pleasure to have you close us out to our goal!” Oliver said, pointing at him with a wide grin.

  “The pleasure is mine, to be in the company of such fine people who would donate to such a worthy cause,” Steele said, raising a glass to salute every member of the audience.

  “Well, with our donations already reached, I don’t want to delay the meal. Legendary chef Jordon Bambsi prepared it himself!” Oliver announced, eliciting enthusiastic applause from the audience. Not nearly as enthusiastic as the applause he received when displaying his power, but a close second.

  Servers raced around the tables immediately, delivering meals to each sitting member of the audience as quickly as possible. A platter of firehouse potatoes appeared from under steel lids, with peach salad and orange passionfruit cooler served to every diner. Before Sami could even load his plate, breakfast sandwiches, steak, and eggs were served alongside to complete the meal. Blinking, he stared in amazement, never having seen such a decadent meal before.

  “It smells quite good,” Gan Wen said, producing two chopsticks from his robes to pick up some potatoes.

  “I feel like they could have saved a lot of fundraiser money by not flying such a famous chef in,” Claire said, grabbing a piece of steak and looking it over, impressed.

  “He was already in the area to film an Awakened version of that show where he yells at a bunch of cooks until they have psychological breakdowns and leave the show,” Sami said.

  “Heavenly Order?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “You watch?”

  “No, but I saw it in the news recently.”

  With that, the trio dug into their brunch, savoring every bite. Sami considered forgiving Jordan Bambsi for all the mental breaks he caused when the food came out so delicious. Maybe proper food was made under maddening stress. He might have to try improving his Shadow Hand under similar settings.

  “How are you enjoying the meal?” Timaria approached the table, smiling contently in her thin way.

  “Quite good, Elder Sister. Some of the best this one has ever…” Gan Wen coughed when Claire elbowed him in the chest. “Ma’am! Good, Ma’am!”

  “Yeah, it’s delicious. How did you get Bambsi?” Sami asked.

  “He owed me a favor,” Timaria said wryly.

  Sami knew it was supposed to come off as eccentric and impressive, but from a politician it came off suspicious. Like she had dirt on Bambsi. Or held his children captive. He shook the idea away, trying not to go too far in conspiracy.

  “Pretty cool. I never thought I’d eat food made by his hand. And I gotta say…”

  Sami stalled, Timaria’s eyes were focused somewhere to his side. Curious, Sami turned and saw she was staring at Claire who was peering intently at a table across the dining area, leaning in her chair far enough that it looked like it might fall over.

  “Find something interesting?” Sami asked. “You’re kinda lacking decorum.”

  “Not right now, this might be serious. I’m reading something about a…” Claire’s eyes strained.

  On alert, Sami turned back to Timaria. She raised a hand, freeing him of the conversation. “By all means, do what HUE does.”

  Nodding his appreciation, Sami slid into the seat next to Claire and held her chair to make sure it didn’t tip further. “What’s going on?”

  “Hard to see over all the other Subtitles of the room, so I’m only half certain. Someone over there is talking about something called an ‘Antiserum,’ I’m trying to figure out…”

  Breathing easier, Sami was at least glad it wasn’t a fight about to break out in the cramped space. But an Antiserum sounded interesting. Sami glanced over, trying to find the table Claire was referring to. All guests looked to be having pleasant conversation over their meals.

  One group suddenly went quiet and turned toward his table. Sami blinked, turning away quickly, his face warm. It was Weldon Steele’s table.

  “What happened?” Claire turned to Sami urgently. “You cut them off. It was like someone turned off the subtitles mid-word. Did you do something?”

  “What could I do?” Sami asked.

  “I dunno. What’s that third power of yours?”

  “Maybe they just noticed you staring. That Weldon guy looked over here immediately.”

  “I’m telling you, their mouths moved, but it cut off midway. Like someone knew how to turn off my power. But only for that one table. It was working on everyone else in the hall.”

  “Steele approaches,” Gan Wen said calmly, focusing on his meal.

  Scrambling, Sami shoved a handful of potatoes in his mouth and Claire took a massive bite of steak, both failing to look even remotely natural. Sami coughed, smacking his chest as one potato went down the wrong pipe and Claire downed a whole cup of passionfruit cooler just to chew the meat properly.

  “Burr. I just wanted to come over and thank you for the invitation. Truly an honor,” Steele said, placing himself between Claire and Sami, who struggled to force down their food.

  His arms remained clasped in front of him, sharp eyes seeming to pierce straight through the host of the Gala.

  “The honor is all mine after receiving such a generous donation,” Timaria said. “These are my guests from HUE. Sami, who can control a Shadow Hand, Claire who can read subtitles from speakers, and Gan Wen… Who…”

  “I am of the Path of the Radiant Sun,” Gan Wen said politely.

  “I see,” Steele said, eyes remaining on Timaria. Releasing his hands, he opened them to her graciously. “Thank you. I should be back to my guests.”

  “By all means. Best of luck on your mayoral run.” Timaria smiled slightly at him as he turned and left.

  Sami found it an odd exchange, like they were talking about something important while saying nothing at all. Swallowing his food and taking a deep breath, he wished he had paid more attention to the hand signals. Maybe he should learn sign language. With Shadow Hand!

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to draw his attention,” Claire told Timaria. “Someone at his table was talking about something interesting, but I couldn’t figure out who was saying what.”

  “Not a problem. I hope you can find whatever piqued your interest,” Timaria said, smiling in her mild way.

  “What a meal!” Mayor Sugar plopped himself back into his seat. “Sorry Tim, I already ate at another table. But this was great. Good to see a lot of friends before heading off to D.C.”

  “You’re retiring and going straight to the capitol?” Sami asked.

  “Hammerton is national news every other day, and I single-handedly kept the place from burning to the ground,” Sugar said facetiously. “I’ve got a name for myself, jumping straight to the top.”

  “You going for a congressional seat? Or straight for president?” Claire asked, also facetious.

  “Something a little adjacent to that.”

  “Lobbyist,” Timaria whispered, pointing a fork at him.

  “Aren’t those like the scum of the earth?” Sami asked casually. Claire didn’t even give him a look, her face drooping into disappointment.

  “Not all of them, I hope.” Mayor Sugar winked. Then he stood and waved at another diner. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

  Sami turned to watch him greet another guest with his massive smile. “That’s lame. I thought I liked Mayor Sugar. At least based on the news I read about him.”

  “They say don’t meet your heroes,” Claire said flatly, sounding equally disillusioned.

  Sami thought of Lightcrown, his jaw jittering lightly in thought.

  “This guy’s definitely not my hero.”

  Claire’s phone chimed, and she quickly went to check it. “That’s Naomi. We’re out. Thanks again, Miss Timaria, for allowing us to join you for such an incredible meal and the honor of attendance.”

  “Again, the pleasure was all mine. Thank you for joining me, and for leaving to keep the city safe,” Timaria said kindly, but her smile remained reserved. “Quick tip: You may want to hurry out.”

  Turning to the stage, they saw The First Woken had returned for an encore performance. Eyes widening, the three raced out of the dining area as fast as they could muster, reaching the outside sun just as the audience began roaring in approval.

  Sami quickly turned to Claire. “Antiserum! What did you hear about it? Or see about it, whatever!”

  “Not much, honestly. I probably should have let you keep talking and just focused harder. I have no idea who was saying what when so many subtitles overlapped one another. Steele wasn’t even talking, that much I’m sure of. But they were definitely talking about something to do with powers and how to subdue them. Maybe they were worried about the creation of such a thing. Or, the discovery of one, because then someone mentioned some sort of injection,” Claire said.

  “An injection! So they already have something to inject!” Sami said rapidly.

  “Already?” Claire raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “That would explain the dots on their arms,” Gan Wen said.

  “Huh? What dots?”

  “Sir Steele and Sir Crede. When they shifted their hands, sometimes the slightest bit of their arms would show. I enhanced my eyes with the Nether Eyes of the Third Realm, and witnessed small dots upon their arms here.” Gan Wen pointed to the inside of his elbow on his robe.

  “Dude, what the heck are your powers?” Sami asked, squinting at his golden Power Sense bubble.

  “They were shooting themselves up? With something that apparently removes power?” Claire asked.

  “Unless they also have the ‘Serum’ and can increase their powers too,” Sami said, suddenly realizing why several people might have three powers.