Oakridge City. Calm on the outside. Rotten at the core.
Here, strength was currency and fear was tradition. The sky sagged like a bruised‑purple shroud, pressing down on cracked sidewalks and neon signs that flickered helplessly against the gloom. The air smelled of wet asphalt and faint metal—like a storm that had settled over the city and refused to leave.
Aarvin Hale stepped off the bus with his shoulders drawn inward, a loose jacket hanging over a body still figuring out how to grow. His gaze stayed on the rain‑slick pavement, watching warped reflections ripple beneath his feet, as if the ground could explain the place he was being forced to call home. His face was the kind you forget in a crowd—ordinary, unremarkable. But in the set of his jaw, in the tension under his skin, there was a quiet unrest. His bulk came from accidents, not training—bike crashes, tumbles, childhood scrapes. And fear followed him like a shadow: twitching fingers, quick breaths, flinches he tried to hide. He hated crowds. He hated noise. He hated this city. Honking horns, distant sirens, layered voices—all of it pressed against him, loud and merciless. But he didn't have a choice.
His older brother was here. Riyan Hale. A name people stepped aside for.
*Cold – Brutal – Unreadable.*
The unofficial gangster of Oakridge High. Rumors clung to him like smoke—he could get anything, end anyone, and disappear before teachers even sensed trouble. Aarvin was everything he wasn't: quiet, introverted, uneasy around raised voices—let alone fists. Together, they were the city's two faces.
"You're here?" Riyan's voice cut through the damp air as Aarvin reached the gate. He stood taller than most, posture relaxed but sharp, eyes scanning the courtyard with practiced precision. A thin scar crossed his left cheek, catching dim light—a souvenir from some fight he had clearly won.
Aarvin nodded, throat dry.
"Listen." Riyan leaned in, voice low. "Everyone here is strong. Don't be weak." It sounded like a warning, but there was something else buried in the words—concern, maybe, or habit. He slapped Aarvin lightly on the shoulder. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind him of the distance between them.
Aarvin flinched. Riyan noticed. He let out a tired breath, as if carrying the school's weight on his shoulders.
"If you have trouble… tell me." He turned away. "Come on. Class is starting."
Rain thickened as Riyan walked toward the building, leaving Aarvin alone at the gate. Each drop hit the pavement with soft, relentless rhythm. That was how Aarvin Hale entered Oakridge High.
Inside, chaos swallowed him instantly—slamming lockers, graffiti bleeding across concrete walls, voices layered into an overwhelming roar. Fluorescent lights buzzed harshly overhead, making the shadows feel darker than they should. He found his locker after several wrong turns. His hands trembled as he spun the combination. When the metal door finally clicked open, a piece of paper fluttered out. He picked it up.
"Meet me after school. Rooftop. – R."
His heartbeat stuttered. R? Riyan? He glanced around, half expecting his brother's eyes on him, but the hallway was already emptying. The bell rang—sharp and unforgiving. He folded the note, feeling its rough edge against his palm as he slipped it into his pocket.
Class passed in fractured moments. Mrs. Patel lectured about _Macbeth_—ambition, fate, downfall—but her words dissolved into background noise. Aarvin's thoughts circled the rooftop, the letter, the meaning behind a single initial.
At lunch, he sat alone by a window, rain tracing thin lines down the glass. He scrolled through old photos—open fields, a quiet river, his mom's smile. A life that felt impossibly far away.
"You're the new guy, right?" He looked up. A girl stood there—short, curly hair framing bright amber eyes. A loose hoodie draped over her shoulders, a tiny lightning bolt stitched into one sleeve. Elena Cross.
"Yeah," Aarvin said. "I'm Aarvin."
"Elena." She sat across from him. "You look like you're carrying a storm in your head."
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Just trying to figure out where I fit."
Elena smiled—warm, but knowing. "Oakridge pulls people in whether they like it or not. If you need help… or just someone to talk to—library, after school."
Before he could respond, the bell rang. The cafeteria burst into motion. Elena gave a small nod and vanished into the crowd. For the first time that day, Aarvin didn't feel entirely alone.
When the final bell rang, he stayed behind. He reread the note once more, then stepped into the rain‑darkened courtyard. Clouds churned above him as he climbed the old stairwell leading upward. The rooftop wind clawed at his jacket. The city stretched out below—its lights flickering like trapped fireflies. A figure leaned against the railing. Riyan.
"Thought you'd chicken out," he said.
Aarvin swallowed. "Never."
Lightning split the sky. For a heartbeat, the city froze under blinding white light. And in that instant, Aarvin saw the path ahead—dangerous, merciless, unavoidable.
_"A storm was coming. And somehow… he would learn to stand inside it."_
To be continued…