“Oh holy mother, what have I gotten myself into.” Chris wondered to himself standing before the large red door of Nami’s house. It was supposed to be a fresh start, new friends, new experiences, but of course he got strung up in a drama with a Mage he knew nothing of.

One of them could be the Mage we’re looking for, and here I am standing before the door of the Lions den. Just like prophet Danyal. Though the thought was reassuring, he couldn’t help the shivering in his hands. He had yet to even ring the bell, having stood there for a good 10 minutes after his parents dropped him off.

Sure, he hadn’t told the full truth why he wanted to come there, but his reasoning was Just, so he had to be forgiven. Saving the person who welcomed him with open arms was the least he could do to repay her. It was because of her that he met Cindy, it was because of her that he became less socially anxious of the people at school. She made him feel like he belonged, so catching the person behind her downfall was the least he could do.

Chris took in a few heavy breaths, hyping himself up before pressing the doorbell. His heart raced in his chest as he realized that there was no turning back after that. The doorbell rang a calming tune, almost in mockery to his anxious state. With his phone ready to record and Cindy ready to receive the recording in the safety of her home, he was ready to catch the culprit.

He was ready to face them, whether it was Nami or Mitchell who opened the door, he was ready to face them.

Wait, wasn’t there a Southerner among them? Chris’s blood ran cold. Mohammed was there that day too. Mohammed, the Southerner. Mohammed, the son of Aha’med. Mohammed, the Mage.

Just before he realized just how grave of a situation he’d put himself in, the door swung open and, of course, the one person who came to answer the door was him. The Southerner scanned him with those sharp amber eyes of his, picking him apart from his feet to his face before locking eyes with the petrified boy.

His whole body shivered as every cell in his body urged for him to run.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Mohammed’s calm voice made him flinch as he took a step back. Southerners are unpredictable and violent people that Chris never wanted anything to do with, but there one stood before him, tall and imposing despite his skinny figure. Chris knew he had to watch his words around him or risk losing his life.

Mohammed stepped aside to let Chris in, but the boy didn’t budge, only staring at him with the same petrified expression he started with. His entire body was shivering at the man’s presence which betrayed his desire to act like he wasn’t fazed by him.

“I’m sorry, my manners have seemed to escape me.” Stretching his hand out Mohammed greeted the boy properly. “My name is Mohammed, welcome in.” Shock began to overtake the boy’s fear as the elusive exterior was replaced by a warm and inviting smile.

C-Could he be trying to get me to drop my guard? Does he know I’m recording our conversation? He’s on to me, I know it! Taking a deep breath Chris calmed his rampant thoughts. If that’s the case, then the best course of action is to play into it. If all goes south, I still got my own trump card.

“M-My name is Chris, th-thank you for having me.” He said, finally building up the courage to speak, although he still couldn’t stop the rampant tremors that travelled all over his body.

Chris walked in with Mohammed following behind him. Having his back turned to someone who could potentially kill him didn’t sit well with Chris, but trying to change their positioning would only raise their alarms. He had to play by their games to expose them as the puppet master, but just as he was about to suck it up Mohammed walked in front of him and began leading him up the stairs.

Wait, what’s happening? Doesn’t he see me as a threat? Of course he doesn’t you idiot. Why would he be afraid of someone weaker than him? This could be good though, it means his guard is lowered. I don’t need to worry about him noticing it. Chris’s hand brushed past his phone, hopingthat the recording caught everything.

“Nami and Mitchell are busy in the dojo downstairs, with you here we can finally get down to solving who has been giving us hell this past month.” Now Chris was truly confused. Was he still trying to convince him that he wasn’t involved with what’s been happening to Maze? Based on how they reacted to what happened to Maze, it was likely that they were on the same side. But a Southerner, trying to help people he isn’t acquainted with? There was no way that could happen. He must’ve played a part in it.

Chris kept quiet, paying close attention to the path they walked. Just in case he needed to make a quick escape. The house was two stories, so jumping through the window was still an option for him. He could get caught if he tried to outmaneuver them inside the house, but he could still use the walls and wooden floors to his advantage.

They reached the top floor and walked into the room in the furthest end, passing by 4 rooms to get there, with there being more rooms on the other side. It looked like more than 8 people could live in the house as it was quite spacious inside.

Mohammed opened the door and walked in first, going to sit on the large Queen-sized bed in the center and then inviting Chris to join him.

“Nami has cranberry juice in her fridge, so don’t hesitate if you want a drink.” Mohammed offered, still dawning that deceptively kind smile he welcomed him with. Whatever act Mohammed was putting up, he was doing it well. Chris hadn’t noticed by the time he sat on the bed next to him that his shivering had ceased. He still hesitated with every breath he took, his eyes scanning the room for any escape routes.

The room was spacious with a large bar fridge next to her wardrobe, another door that probably led to the bathroom and 2 windows that were luckily open. If he needed to escape, he still had a chance to get away.

“I’ll be fine for now, thanks for the offer.” Chris said. Mohammed stretched his arms above his head, his long sleeve slipping down to reveal a few of his scars before he slumped on the bed.

“You said you knew who took the video that started all of this, mind telling me the details?” Mohammed relaxed his head on his hand as he stared intently at Chris. It was like he was trying to gauge Chris’s reaction from the question, looking for a fault in his mannerism.

Chris couldn’t tell what reaction he was looking for. What lay behind those striking amber eyes still remained a mystery to him.

“I-I t-think it’s best we wait for the others to get here.” He stuttered, avoiding eye contact out of fear that he’d see right through him. It was too soon to bring it up, and he needed all of them to be there before he did. He took out his phone, pretending to check the time, but instead made sure the recording was still going. 16:09. If he didn’t count the 10 minutes he wasted waiting to ring the bell, he had 6 minutes of conversation to work with.

“I see,” Mohammed said plainly, but that plain answer sent Chris’s mind in a spiral.

Oh crud, did I piss him off? Is he mad? Apologize! His thoughts scrambled as he turned to him with a bowed head.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude! It’s not like I don’t trust you or anything like that. I mean you are a Southerner and all, and… oh.” Realizing what he just said his anxiety began to skyrocket.

“I-I-I mean it’s not because you’re a Southerner that I won’t tell you I---” Mohammed raised a hand, finally getting him to stop. Chris could feel his heartbeat in his ear. Oh crud, I messed up. He’s gonna kill me! Chris’s voice cracked as his hands desperately tried to gesture anything that could explain his point, but just as he thought he’d get annihilated, Mohammed shocked him yet again by letting off a hearty laugh, before stretching up when he caught his breath. Chris’s gaze caught on the scars that revealed themselves behind his long sleeve, before they disappeared behind the fabric once he slumped on the bed.

“I still can’t get over how comfortable these beds feel, my bed back at home feels like stone in comparison.” Mohammed started, his gaze stuck at the ceiling with tribal paintings and patterns.

“You’ve never been to the South, have you Chris?” His question sounded more like a statement, but it was true, nonetheless. Chris had never stepped foot outside of the safety of his Suburban community whether that was in his old city Bostonica or Newark.

“The South is separated into 12 zones, looked over by 4 major gangs. The Asakusa Tigers, The 9th cloud, Undertakers, and of course Ruyat Jadida, the gang that overlooks where I’m from.” Chris wasn’t familiar with the other 3, but Ruyat Jadida stood out to him. The gang had the most influence and was the most infamous out of all of them. Of course, that could all be attributed to the national threat known as Aha’med Binyam.

“All of these gangs have a different way of running things and a different doctrine they follow. Do you know what that means?” Mohammed asked, getting up from the bed before turning his gaze to the baffled Chris.

“U-Uhm, no.” Chris answered, not knowing where this conversation was going. Is this the big monologue bad guys do before annihilating the protagonist? The thought brought back the fear that escaped him, returning the tremors on his skin as he braced for his impending destruction.

“It means that not all Southerners come out believing the same things or abide by the same morals. You’re totally right for fearing us, my dad didn’t make it easy for you guys not to, but know that not all of us are blood thirsty murderers, nor are we born that way.” Mohammed extended his fist to Chris which he needed a second to process before bumping it with his own.

Letting out a sigh after the fist-bump, Mohammed sat himself next to him. Chris squeaked a scream before slapping his hand over his lips. “I guess she really is the weird one then.” He said more to himself than to Chris.

“Who is?” He asked, not getting what Mohammed meant by that.

“Oh nothing, I’m just grateful.” Mohammed sat closer to Chris and threw an over his shoulder. “You showed me that I stay among a bunch of weirdos.” He chuckled, but Chris didn’t get the joke, the proximity not bothering him as much as he thought it would. None of what his parents told him about Southerners rang any truth with Mohammed. In fact, he was the kindest guy he had met up to that point. Then again, the bar wasn’t all that high. The thought of Bastien slipping in when, reminding him how much of a point he made to avoid the guy after the party. If he could help it, he never wanted to talk to the guy ever again.

“Tell me Chris, what led you to come all this way for Mazekien? About a month ago you didn’t know who she was, and yet here you are, worried about her like you’ve known her for a long time.” Mohammed asked, putting the spotlight back on Chris.

It was a weighted question, but the fear he felt for Mohammed had lessened.

“She…” He struggled to find the words to describe it. When he scurried in the halls of Rosemary, all he could think about was never seeing her smile again. The smile that eased him into his new and unfamiliar environment. The one that got him to lie to his parents and go to a party he should have never attended.

“It’s because she’s a good person.” He started. “Sure, she might have done some bad things, made a few enemies, but nobody deserves to suffer in solitude. No one deserves to be abandoned like that. I can’t turn a blind eye to someone in need, it goes against my faith!” Chris proudly declared, but in thinking his declaration sounded preachy he retreated back into his shell.

“I’m sorry, I said too much.” He apologized. Mohammed patted his shoulder, feeling Chris’s words resonate with him.

“Not at all,” He started. “You should stand proud alongside your ideals, because those are the ideals of a true hero.” Chris lifted his head to look at Mohammed for the first time. There was no hidden motive behind his words or any malicious intent in his eyes, the intense amber he once feared, now a warm flame that calmed his nerves. Chris’s eyes lit up with joy as his words struck an emotional chord he never thought was there.

A true hero? He thought, as the idea played in his mind.

“I see you two are having fun.” Nami interrupted as she walked in with Mitchell following behind her, both emanating steam and dripping in sweat from their intense workout.

“You two have been in there for a while. You sure sparring was all you were doing?” Mohammed teased, getting Nami’s damp towel thrown on his face, and muffling the little snickers that escaped him.

“I need a shower.” She said, taking her clothes from her wardrobe.

“We’re all here because this puppeteer is destroying Mazekien’s life, and is threatening to ruin ours. I think I speak for all of us when I say I’m tired of dancing to this bastard’s tune.” Mitchell sat on the floor, his eyes burning with fury.

“Mitchell’s gonna lead the first discussion, after my shower we will conclude with how we move forward. Understood?” Nami said, wrapping her towel around her neck with her eyes carrying the same determined fire.

With Nami disappearing into her bathroom, the room became quiet. Chris’s nerves began to rise as he wondered what would happen next, his hand brushing against his phone. Mitchell took in a deep and loud breath and looked straight at them.

“Let’s close this fucking.”