The Regime said emotion was a crime.
So love was how the war began.
And somewhere, years before the fire and the blood, five children laughed in the rain.
"Do you remember when it all started?" a woman's voice asked through static.
"Do I?" a man replied, his voice warm but tired. "We were just kids back then… but I remember every moment."
This is the story of how five orphans saved the world.
Rain pattered softly on the metal roof of a small apartment in New York City. Four children played in the living room while a woman hummed in the kitchen, stirring a pot of spaghetti.
"Unhand the princess, you foul beast!" cried a blue-haired boy, swinging a stick like a sword.
"Help me, brave knight!" the "princess" called from her blanket fortress, her blond hair spilling from beneath a crooked paper crown.
"You'll get no help from this coward!" shouted another girl dressed in cardboard scales. "I am the mighty dragon, and you are doomed!"
"Uh… what does 'doomed' mean?" the knight asked.
"It means you're an idiot!" she yelled, charging straight at him.
Their heads collided with a thud, sending both crashing into a quiet girl reading on the floor.
"Hey! Watch it!" she snapped, clutching her book Plants of North America before it slid into the fire pit.
The dragon groaned. "It's not my fault he doesn't know how to walk!"
"Oh yeah?" The knight grinned. "You've got enough plants in your hair to start your own garden, Vida."
Vida rolled her eyes, plucking a leaf from her dreadlocks. "And you've got enough hair dye to open a salon, Chase."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Chase yelled, lunging at her.
Their scuffle ended when keys jingled at the front door.
"Alright, knights and dragons," the woman called, wiping her hands on her apron. "Pause your war and say hello to Mr. Frewin."
The door opened. A tall man stepped in, rain dripping from his dreadlocks. Beside him stood a small boy with dark eyes and a torn shirt covered by a jacket far too large for him. Both flinched as a patrol car cruised by outside, its red-blue lights painting the walls.
"Hello, love," the woman said softly. "And who's this?"
"This little guy's had a long day," Mr. Frewin said gently. "Why don't you say hello, kid?"
The boy said nothing. His face was streaked with half-dried tears, and faint stains of red marked his arms.
Mrs. Frewin crouched to meet his eyes. "Well, around here, we don't use government names, anyway. I'm Mrs. Frewin, and that's my husband." She turned to the children. "Everyone, come meet your new friend!"
The kids bolted over, tripping over each other in excitement.
"I'm Chase," said the blue-haired boy proudly. "This is Amora, she's a princess sometimes."
Amora waved shyly.
"That meathead over there is Akilah."
Akilah grabbed Chase in a headlock. "What did you just call me?!"
"And I'm Vida," said the girl with the botany book, extending her hand.
The new boy hesitated before taking her hand.
"Let's show you around!" Vida said, tugging him up the stairs.
"This is our room! What do you think?"
The boy glanced around the shared bedroom, four beds, walls covered in doodles and old posters.
"He's not gonna answer," Chase muttered. "He hasn't said a word since he got here."
Akilah elbowed him in the ribs. "Be nice."
The boy's quiet voice surprised them all. "Thank you… for taking me in."
Vida smiled. "You should thank Mr. and Mrs. Frewin too. They take care of all of us. You'll fit right in."
"Yeah," Chase groaned, rubbing his stomach. "Just don't punch as hard as Akilah."
Laughter filled the room.
Downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Frewin stood over the simmering pot.
"I still can't believe it," she whispered. "Another one, all alone."
Mr. Frewin sighed, then glanced at the flame beneath the pot. "Needs a little more heat."
He raised his hand as fire bloomed from his palm. The blue-orange flame caught under the pot like it had always belonged there.
They shared a quiet, knowing look.
When the food was ready, the seven of them gathered around the table.
"Mrs. Frewin's famous spaghetti tonight," Mr. Frewin announced.
The kids cheered.
As she ladled out the noodles, the new boy whispered, "Thank you."
Mrs. Frewin smiled. "You're welcome, baby."
The boy smiled back just enough for Mrs. Frewin to see.
By the time dinner ended, the rain had stopped. The kids dragged their cardboard armor outside while Vida compared flowers in the garden to pictures in her book.
"Come look at this!" she said, pulling the boy over. "These are daffodils or narcissus. Aren't they pretty?"
He watched her face light up, unsure why it made his chest feel strange.
"There's stuff in your hair," he murmured, picking petals from her dreadlocks.
Vida blushed. "Thanks…"
They played until the sky turned dark. Patrol helicopters swept overhead, their searchlights crawling across rooftops.
"Inside, everyone!" Mrs. Frewin called. "Curfew's started!"
Later that night, as the others got ready for bed, the new boy heard faint music from down the hall. A lonely, aching melody that seemed to glow through the walls.
He peeked into the Frewins' room. Mr. Frewin sat on the edge of the bed, strumming a battered guitar.
"You like that sound?" he asked.
The boy nodded.
"You ever played?"
"No."
"Then come here. I'll show you."
Mr. Frewin's fingers danced across the strings, filling the room with sound. It was raw, full of something wild and human, a kind of emotion that could get a man arrested these days.
The boy's eyes lit up.
"No wonder I found you in front of those old speakers," Mr. Frewin said with a grin. "You've got music in you."
He reached for a cracked vinyl sleeve on his dresser with a yellow and orange cover, worn soft by time. Electric Ladyland.
"You ever heard of a man named Jimi Hendrix?"
The boy shook his head.
"He played like the world was on fire," Mr. Frewin said. "I think you'll like him."
He handed the record to the boy, then smiled. "Yeah. That's what I'll call you."
When they reached the kids' room, Mr. Frewin opened the door.
"Everyone, meet your new friend, Hendrix."
"Hi, Hendrix!" the others cheered from their beds.
For the first time, he smiled.
"Goodnight, kids," Mrs. Frewin said softly from the doorway.
As the lights went out, Vida whispered, "That's a cool name, Hendrix."
"Not as cool as mine," Chase muttered.
Amora giggled.
The room went still. Hendrix lay awake, unsure how to fall asleep without being afraid.
None of them knew how close the fire already was.