A delectable aroma rises through the house as a crowren calls to sound the beginning of another day. Venna wakes up in her bed to the faint sound of sizzling oil and clinking dishes. She reaches forward and grabs the empty other half of her bed, clutching onto the loose sheets, wishing as she does every morning that Marcus was there next to her, his charmingly stupid grin waiting to greet her, his beautiful blue eyes watching her with all of the love and protectiveness in the world.

  She lets out a soft sigh and forces herself out of bed, trudging tiredly into the kitchen to see what all the noise is. She rounds the corner and stops suddenly, ducking back behind the wall so that Peter doesn’t see her watching him as he makes breakfast. Venna smiles contentedly as Peter works the stove, managing various different pans of simmering meats, eggs, and even a small skillet’s worth of biscuits that he carefully pulls out of their oven. All has been quiet in the village since he and his friends had returned home. No big disasters, no serious monster troubles, no accidents at all.

  Well, almost none, Venna muses as her gaze drifts down to her son’s bandaged right arm and winces. In the month that they have been back, Peter has been dealing with strange flare-ups with his powers. Not all of them are serious, sometimes just a brief jolt of lightning escaping from his wounds or something similar, but other times he practically bursts into flames, screaming about not being able to stop it. She shudders as she remembers the last time it had happened. He was doing some physical therapy with Doc Felix and Chelsea, trying to restore full motion in his damaged arm and recover some of his strength. No one had seen it coming, least of all Peter. One moment he was fine, the next his arm exploded with violet-and-blue energy, arcing and lashing out in every direction, leaving the hospital and most buildings within twenty feet of it a burning pile.

  If Maria hadn’t been there to whip up a quick sandstorm to smother the flames, the whole village could’ve burned down. Mullen, Ron, and Sullivan quickly went to work on repairing or rebuilding the destroyed homes and businesses, while Joel dealt with Peter’s flare-up using one of his fancy new bombs. It’s been a few days since then, and Peter shows no signs of lasting harm, but the charred and stained blood spots on his bandages are a constant reminder of his pain. He hides it well, but Venna can clearly see her precious boy wincing ever so slightly with each toss of a pan, each stir of a spoon, each and every small motion.

  Through it all, though, he wears a brave face. He still smiles just as brightly as he ever has, and works as hard as ever. She takes a brief look around the kitchen and smirks at the sight of all of the various baked goods he’s whipped up over the past few weeks, all of the pies, cookies, and whatever else he could get a recipe on. A small chuckle escapes her lips. Peter may take after his father in looks and attitude, but he definitely got his mother’s knack for cooking. Thank god for that, because if both boys in her house shared the miraculous ability to somehow make everything entirely raw yet entirely burned, she’d probably lose her mind.

  Peter turns around at the sound of his mother’s laugh and smiles. “Oh, hey, Ma. Didn’t mean to wake you so soon.”

  “Oops, uh, no, you’re fine,” Venna stammers slightly, embarrassed to be caught snooping around. “That bird woke me up more than anything else. So, what’re you cookin’ up today?” She asks, sliding in next to him to examine his work.

  “Omelets with bordan sausage, pepper cheese, and biscuits,” Peter replies with a content smile as he flips the last of the omelets, watching it sizzle and melt against the pan until it’s perfectly cooked.

  “All of that so quickly?” Venna asks, clearly impressed.

  Peter shrugs slightly. “I’ve been up for a while,” he replies casually, getting some plates and utensils ready. “Breakfast!” He calls out, waking the rest of his family and quickly bringing them down to the kitchen to eat.

  “Mm! This is delicious, honey,” Mamaw says through a small mouthful of food. She closes her eyes and savors the wonderful kick of the pepper cheese and the salty cleanse of the sausage.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jane says distractedly as she shoves another biscuit into her mouth.

  Peter laughs at his younger sister’s impatience. “Glad you like it.”

  “Oh, definitely. Ma’s cooking is great and all, but I’ve really been missing your desserts,” Jane replies after swallowing, eyeing a batch of cookies in the corner of the kitchen voraciously. “If you didn’t come home soon, I’d probably have to go and chase after you, just for your berry cookies, of course.”

  “I see someone has their priorities right,” Mamaw says mock-sternly, smirking the whole time. “You have been baking a lot since you got home, Peter. Did you miss it?”

  Peter nods distractedly, chewing a bite of his omelet almost mechanically before swallowing. “Yeah, I guess. It just helps me take my mind off of…everything, you know? Gives me something good to think about.”

  Venna nods sadly, her gaze falling to the bandages wrapping around his right arm. “How’re you holding up? Feeling any better?”

  “Meh, a little,” Peter says, poking at his biscuit with his fork. “I’ve gotten used to the pain in my arms, more or less. But there’s something else that keeps bothering me. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like there’s some sort of…something burning me inside, you know? I remember Dad once saying he was always in pain, but I don’t remember him mentioning anything like this.”

  “Marcus went through something similar to what you’re going through now when he was about your age,” Mamaw says slowly, trying to remember what it had been like for her son so long ago. “He’d said that he felt like a hurricane was stuck in his chest, all the time. There were times when he had some small flare-ups, but nothing like what you’ve gone through, Peter. His were always contained, just little bursts that came when he was stressed out or hurt.” She shakes her head slowly, images of her son’s arm igniting like lightning flashing through her eyes, eventually morphing into Peter’s combustion the other day.

  Peter looks down at his hands, clenching them together into weak fists and letting out a small sigh. “I never shoulda listened to Elyas,” he mutters ruefully.

  “Who’s Elyas?” Jane asks, looking up curiously. Peter had remained mostly silent about his adventure, so any details about what had happened to him were valuable.

  “He was someone we met in the desert. We thought he was a friend at first, but… Well, it’s complicated. He was a little too trigger-happy for us. If something or god forbid someone got in his way, he would cut it down without hesitating. He… Well, he taught me this technique he knew, some kinda way to let your full power loose. He called it ‘Unleashing’. I tried it out and, well, I’ve been having these flare-ups ever since,” Peter explains with a sad expression. “We kicked him out after that. Last I saw him, he was practically dead. He tried to fight off that Vega monster, but he just tossed him into the desert miles away. I don’t know if he’s even alive right now…”

  A heavy silence falls over the table, no one knowing exactly how to carry on after that statement. “Sorry, guys. Didn’t mean to kill the mood,” Peter apologizes awkwardly. “Anyway, all that to say I’m glad to be home right now. It’s been nice to take a break and get back to some normalcy.”

  “‘Normal’ being relative here,” Jane quips, drawing a good-natured glare from Peter.

  Venna laughs softly, happy to see her children bickering as usual, happy to have such a delicious meal, happy to simply have her son back. Her smile fades slightly as the thought crosses her mind that Peter’s stay might be cut short soon. Felix gave him a month of rest to heal and recover from his adventure, and now that month is over. Everyone had been enjoying this brief moment of peace, but for almost the entire month, all Maria could talk about is how much they all needed to train. According to her and the others, whoever this ‘Vega’ creature is will be returning very soon. After weeks of traveling just to get back home and a whole month of rest, they only have around eight months left in the year Vega gave them.

  Venna understands Maria’s sense of urgency. Eight months to train isn’t much time, especially not to catch up to someone who was supposedly so powerful. The idea of having to watch her son go back out there and fight once again is enough to break her heart, but Venna knows it has to happen, no matter what she may think. Peter just has too much of his father in him; he’s too stubborn to give up, too noble to not get involved, and too stupid to realize when he’s in over his head.

  Still, despite it all, that’s why Venna loves him, loved them both. Marcus may have been a reckless bonehead, but he was kind and brave to a fault. There wasn’t a person alive that he wouldn’t risk his life for, and Peter clearly took that lesson to heart. Venna looks down at the white bandana around her son’s neck, the same bandana that Marcus had once worn, his last gift to his son before he died. Of course Peter takes after his father—he has to. He carries a little piece of Marcus with him wherever he goes, always has for the past decade, a constant reminder of the values Marcus lived by, the life he led, the example he left. If Marcus would’ve dropped everything, risked life and limb if it meant saving even one person, then shouldn’t Peter do the same?

  “Grace… Do you remember that man Marcus used to train under?” Venna suddenly asks, breaking the silence with as much subtlety as a mallet.

  Mamaw pauses for a moment, trying to think of what Venna could mean. “You mean that old guy in the north he talked about once?”

  “That one,” Venna confirms. “What was his name?”

  “Oh, I don’t think Marcus ever told us his name…” Mamaw replies, looking off slightly into the distance as she racks her rusty memory for the man’s name. “Didn’t he say he lived in some kind of oasis?”

  “I think so… God, what was it called, again?”

  “What’re you guys talking about?” Jane asks curiously.

  “Years ago, after a really bad accident, Marcus left the village for a few weeks. Said he’d gotten a call and would be back soon,” Venna begins to explain, remembering that day ruefully. “Never did tell us what the heck he meant. Anyway, he left for a while, came back, and after that he never had another flare-up again. Heck, he might’ve even gotten stronger after whatever training he did up there. All he ever told us was that some old guy in an oasis taught him some tricks, and that he couldn’t tell us anything else.”

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  “So Dad just disappeared, had an adventure, and came back acting like nothing happened?” Jane asks, eyeing Peter sarcastically. “Wonder why that sounds familiar.”

  “The heck do you want from me? I didn’t exactly keep a diary out there, I don’t remember every little thing that happened,” Peter says through an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, what were you saying about this guy’s training, Ma?”

  Venna shrugs uselessly. “I don’t know much else. I wish your dad told me anything more, but he was weirdly quiet about the whole thing. Whatever happened out there really helped him, though. Maybe if you and your friends could find that oasis…”

  “Wait, you’re saying you want me to go?” Peter asks in disbelief.

  “No, I don’t want you to go, but I know you have to,” Venna replies tartly. “I’d rather you just stay home and be safe with us, but I know that ain’t happening. So instead of trying to stop you, I figure I’ll at least send you to someone who can help.”

  Peter pauses for a moment, trying to think of a way he could get more information on who this strange man is or where he could be. “Do you think Gideon would know anything else about this?” He asks slowly.

  Venna and Mamaw consider that, the thought never really occurred to them before now. “He might. If there’s anyone Marcus would trust with whatever secrets he had to keep, it would be Gideon,” Mamaw says. “I don’t know if he’d be willing to talk about it, but it’s worth a shot, at least.”

  “Great,” Peter says, quickly rising to his feet and bolting to the door. He almost steps out before he suddenly turns on his heel and rushes back in. “Should probably do the dishes, first,” he says with a sheepish grin, quickly cleaning up the kitchen before rushing back out of the house, chasing this new lead like an excited pup.

  “We’re never having a normal morning again, are we?” Jane asks dryly as she watches her brother run down the road to Gideon’s house, the morning sunrise shining softly off of his hair.

  “Nope,” Venna says with an expression that’s equal parts worried and proud, refusing to take her eyes off of her son until he finally slips behind a bend and fades from view, leaving just the peaceful, quiet emptiness of the morning in his wake.

  ***

  Peter hurries through the streets of West Village, bypassing people on their way to set up their shops or deal with morning errands and skidding to a halt when he finally arrives at Gideon’s house. He knocks on the door a few times and waits for what feels like forever for it to open. When it finally does, Gideon’s small frame peeks through, not fully opening the door, just cracking it enough to see who it is.

  “Hello?” He asks slowly, inching his face closer to the crack until he sees Peter’s telltale yellow shirt and opens the door fully. “Oh, hello, Peter. What brings you here so early?”

  “Hey, Gideon. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but you and I really need to talk,” Peter says, inching closer to the door, trying to walk into the house without completely shoving the older man out of the way.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Gideon replies anxiously, stepping out of the way to let Peter in, cringing in mild embarrassment at the unsightly mess his home is.

  Peter ignores the mess and takes a seat on the couch, motioning for Gideon to do the same, which he does after a moment of hesitation. “I wanna ask you something about my dad. I know this might be a bit of a sore spot for you, but I need all the help I can get. Ma was telling me earlier that Dad went off on some training journey years ago, but she didn’t remember where. She said he trained with some old guy in the north, but that was all she knew. I came here to ask if you knew anything else about this.”

  Gideon’s eyebrows lift in mild surprise at this. “Huh… It’s been, what, almost twenty years since that happened… A little bit before you were born, anyway. Or, was it a little bit after? Anyway, not important. Let me think…” He pauses for a long while, scratching his pale, patchy beard contemplatively, his eyes taking on a very distant look, not the same kind of distantly haunted look that they normally have, but a more thoughtful one instead.

  “Jack,” he says suddenly.

  “Who’s Jack?”

  “That was the old man who trained your dad. Marcus only said his name once, just as a passing thought, but that was it. It was Jack Miff… er, Muff… Moffken? Moffson? Did it even start with an ‘m’?” Gideon rambles on, getting lost in his own train of thought until Peter finally shakes him out of it with a jolt to his shoulder. “Er, sorry. It’s not important. Jack, that was his name. He was old back in the day, though. Not sure if that geezer would still be kicking now.”

  “Did Dad ever say where he went to train? Ma mentioned something about an oasis in the north?”

  “An oasis… Nah, he didn’t say nothing about an oasis. He did go north, though, I’m sure about that. He was gone for a long while, so he might have even made it to the pole by then, but I’m not really sure,” Gideon says, smirking sadly. “Sorry, I know that ain’t much to go on, but that’s all I got. An old guy named Jack somewhere from here to the North Pole.”

  “It’s the best lead I’ve got,” Peter says, getting to his feet. “Thanks for the talk, Gideon.”

  “Hey, wait!” Gideon exclaims, bursting to his feet and rushing into a side room, tossing various clutter here and there as he digs for something specific. “Don’t go anywhere, I have something I needed to... Gotcha!” He erupts out of the room carrying a box of metal scraps, rolls of paper, and all kinds of thin wire-like things that Peter can’t even begin to pretend to understand. “Take this to Joel. This’ll help him work on the Psycho Scrambler. Probably.”

  Peter takes the crate of assorted junk with a heavy grunt, ignoring the pain of wood digging fresh gashes into his bandaged arms and smiling. “I will. Thanks again, Gideon.”

  “No problem,” Gideon says as he watches Peter leave, slowly ducking back into his home, closing the door to the outside world yet again.

  ***

  A soothing melody strums through the air. The beautifully simple sounds of a guitar being played fill the village, adding a strange sort of tranquility to the rising sun. As Peter and Maria make their way down to Ron’s house, the sound of music starts to get stronger and more defined, until it becomes obvious that there are in fact two guitars being played at once. As they near the house, they can make out the silhouette of Ron on the porch, casually strumming his guitar, and surprisingly, Sullivan sitting right next to him, adding his own sound to the melody.

  “Hey, Sully! I didn’t know you played guitar,” Maria announces when they reach the house, waving to Ron as he finishes his segment of the song.

  Sullivan takes a second to finish his music then sets the guitar down next to him. “I’m a little rusty. I haven’t played in…a few years, but I used to dabble. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to get everyone together for some big news. I might have found someone who can train us,” Peter says, hefting the box of supplies into his left arm to relieve the pressure on his right arm.

  Sullivan perks up at that and gets to his feet. “I like the sound of that, but are you sure you’ll be up to it? You still look a little rough.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Peter replies casually, though no one truly believes him. “Come on, let’s go get Joel.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Sullivan says, turning to give Ron a handshake, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, Ron.”

  Ron smirks and takes Sullivan’s hand, pulling him in for a firm hug with surprising strength. “Don’t mention it, son. You be safe now. Keep those kids out of trouble.”

  “I will,” Sullivan says with a gentle smile before waving his goodbyes and stepping down from the porch to follow the others. They all make their way down to Mullen’s workshop, where they find him and Joel working hard on some sort of large metallic dome.

  “Hand me that wrench!” Mullen shouts from across the workshop, his face hidden from view by a large stack of metal scraps.

  Joel’s head pops up from underneath the metal dome, a small wrench in his hand. “Incoming!” He shouts, tossing the wrench to the older mechanic, who catches it with practiced ease.

  “Thanks, kid. How’s the ammo rack comin’?” Mullen asks as he gets to work on whatever it is he has stationed behind the scrap.

  “All set, just need to add the swivel to the base and the turret’s main body will be done,” Joel replies, about to slide back under the shining steel dome of the turret when he sees his friends enter the shop. “Oh, hey, y’all. How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. Isn’t it a little early for you guys to be making all this noise?” Maria asks, giving Joel a sly smirk. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  Joel just scoffs good-naturedly and steps forward to talk. “Meh, they’re all used to it. So, what’s up? Why are you all here?” His eyes drift to the large wooden box of supplies Peter has cradled in his arms, then narrow slightly as he begins to examine its contents. “What’s all this?”

  “I’m not sure,” Peter says, hefting the box onto a nearby table with a resounding clang. “Some spare parts and plans that Gideon wanted you to—”

  “Save it,” Joel says, sticking a hand up to silence his friend. “I don’t wanna know what it is.”

  Peter seems taken aback by this for a second, but he recomposes himself pretty quickly. “He said they’d help you fix the Psycho Scrambler. I don’t know what they are, but I think you might. Would you at least give them a quick look?”

  Joel hesitates for a while, just staring at his friend with his arms crossed, until he finally relents with a tired sigh. “Fine. If it’ll help fix that piece of junk, why not?” He mumbles, stepping forward to get a better look at the scraps of material, assorted components, and a few of the blueprints stashed in the box. His eyes slowly start to light up as he gets more and more familiar with the prints, a small spark of inspiration glinting within him. “Huh. I’ll admit, the old man really outdid himself with these. They ain’t half bad…” He rolls up the print he was scanning through and puts it back in the box. “Thanks for this, I guess, but that isn’t all you came for, right?”

  “Right. I also think I found someone who can train us before Vega gets back,” Peter says. “I heard from my mom that apparently my dad went off to do some training years ago with a guy named Jack in some oasis in the north. I think if we could find this guy, then he could train us.”

  “An oasis in the north…” Sullivan muses, stroking his chin for a second. “I wonder if she meant the Diamond Oasis.”

  “What’s that?” Joel asks.

  “It’s an old legend where I’m from. Some sort of long-lost forest oasis that’s supposed to be in the North Pole somewhere. People have tried to find it for years now, but everyone’s come back empty,” Sullivan explains with a noncommittal expression. “I’ve always thought it was just some old myth that miners used to pass down.”

  “Well, myth or not, do we really have any other options?” Maria presses, eager to get moving as quickly as possible. “If there’s a chance someone out there could help us get stronger, even just a little bit, then I say we have to go for it.”

  “Agreed,” Sullivan replies with a nod.

  “Right, then. You in, Joel?” Peter asks, turning to face his friend, his eyes drifting to the cluttered mess of the workshop behind him with some guilt. He hates to pull Joel away from his work like this and drag him across the planet all over again, especially when he doesn’t even know for sure if it’ll be worth it in the end.

  Joel smiles lopsidedly and gestures toward Maria vaguely. “I can’t very well let y’all go out there on your own, can I? You need someone qualified to drive out there.”

  “I’m very qualified, thank you very much,” Maria says with mock offense, smirking back at Joel and swatting his hand away.

  Peter chuckles and shakes his head ruefully, his mind going back to the first time he and his friends had set off on some grand journey. They’d all been laughing then, too. Hopefully, this adventure won’t end as painfully as the last one did. “Right, then. Let’s get going.”