Resonance Unbound

If things hadn't been awkward between them earlier, they certainly were now. Shirley hadn't spoken a word since they'd started walking. It was as though a dark cloud loomed over him, heavy with thunder, following him relentlessly and pelting him with a torrent of unspoken thoughts.

The tension in the air was suffocating, a palpable weight pressing down on them both. Each step felt heavier than the last. Shirley wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words eluded him, caught somewhere between the churning in his mind and the tightness in his chest.

The unspoken questions hung between them like an invisible tether, fragile yet unbreakable. Just as Shirley wrestled with his own doubts and fears, he was certain Ezra had questions of his own—questions Shirley wasn't sure he could answer.

Ezra wasn't just good. He wasn't just lucky. No, he was extraordinary.

Shirley's jaw tightened as the realization dug deeper. Ezra's raw talent was undeniable, a natural-born gift that, with time and proper guidance, could rival even the most Skilled Resonarchs. But that wasn't comforting—it was a problem. A dangerous problem. Talent like Ezra's wasn't just rare; it was unpredictable, unstable, capable of doing more harm than good if left unchecked.

Shirley rubbed his thick beard, the coarse hair scratching against his fingers as frustration rolled off him in waves. Hours had passed since the incident, yet the memory refused to let go. It clung to him like an unwanted shadow, haunting his thoughts. He couldn't shake the image of Ezra standing amidst the rain and rubble, blood-soaked and motionless, clutching the creature's still-beating heart.

But it wasn't the brutality of the act that unsettled him the most. It was the aura.

That aura.

Even now, the memory of it sent a shiver down Shirley's spine. The oppressive, suffocating energy Ezra had exuded in that moment—it had been unlike anything Shirley had ever felt before. It wasn't just powerful; it was overwhelming, consuming. For a brief moment, it had nearly brought him to his knees. And Shirley wasn't the type to be easily shaken. He'd fought monsters, Resonarchs, and even things that defied explanation. But this? This felt different.

And then there were Ezra's eyes. Those hollow, unfeeling eyes, devoid of warmth or recognition. It wasn't the look of a boy pushed to survive. It was something darker. Something far more troubling.

Shirley's fists tightened at his sides as his thoughts spiraled. What had triggered that power? Could Ezra even control it? And if not, what kind of destruction would it bring when it surfaced again?

What in the world am I supposed to do with this kid?

Raw, natural-born skill like Ezra's was something Shirley had seen maybe once or twice in his lifetime, and each time it had led to either greatness or catastrophe. Probably both.

The way Ezra had torn that heart out… it wasn't desperation or survival. It was something else. Something colder. And it scared Shirley more than he cared to admit.

What are you, kid?

His gaze flicked toward the younger man walking silently beside him. Ezra's face was blank, unreadable, his lilac eyes fixed on the horizon as if he were somewhere far away. Shirley exhaled sharply, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog of his thoughts. No matter how many times he replayed the scene in his mind, there were no answers. Only more questions. And that terrified him more than anything.

This wasn't just troublesome—it was dangerous. And it couldn't be ignored. Not forever.

For now, Shirley let the silence linger. The time to confront Ezra would come, but not yet. Not when the wounds—both physical and emotional—were still fresh. Shirley glanced sideways at Ezra again, his expression softening ever so slightly. Despite everything, the kid had survived. That was no small feat. But survival wasn't enough. Not when something so destructive lay dormant within him.

Not yet, Shirley thought, his lips pressing into a thin line. But soon.

He clenched his fists one last time, forcing himself to push the thoughts aside. For now, they needed rest, clarity, and—most importantly—time. Whatever storm Ezra carried inside him, Shirley knew it was only a matter of time before it broke loose again. When it did, he'd be ready. He had to be. For both their sakes.