Seen through the eyes of Peter Stark

Day in the story: 12th December (Friday)

I'd just dodged a claw the size of my head when I saw her launch. She shot up, cut through the rain as gravity flipped, then fell like a silver comet. Another clawed swipe forced me into a defensive pivot. I grabbed the incoming limb, twisted the elbow, using the momentum and the right angle to wrench the arm from its socket. I glanced at Lex as I turned. She was a streak of silver falling sideways toward the woman in the distance.

I'd always admired her guts. Since Penrose started taking her away from me, she'd peeled fear off like an old coat and replaced it with dares. She loved the run, the heist, the fight, the truth seeking. Today I'd asked her to try once more, for Jason's sake.

She hadn't hesitated.

She had become a missile.

My sister was one of a kind.

I had to dodge again as I shredded through alien things that kept us occupied. I punched a creature in the jaw, spun it sideways so its teeth met glass and steel. The suit lent me force that felt equal parts black metal and lightning. Light—white and blue—kept flaring from the rain as it hit me, little ribbons of shadowlight lending surge after surge. With each burst I felt stronger, faster, my vigor returning like the tide.

That feeling, my own power, was exhilarating.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Malik: the clone he'd left behind took a blow aimed at Nick like a living wall, then the real Malik used that same echo as a springboard. He flipped, landed a whirling kick that sent an attacker sprawling, and the echo of that very kick smashed the next one. His power was pure poetry in motion. But there was no time to applaud.

A distant crash drew my eyes to Alexa, who lay on the glass, unmoving.

Rage overcame me.

I obliterated the thing Nick had skewered. Then I drove another down with a hook, vaulted off the corpse, and launched myself through the horde. Alexa's power still flowed through my suit; I felt her strength in my limbs.

Not all was lost, but I had to be fast.

"Be careful, Pete, please," Zoe chimed—my angel, my steady. She tried to keep pace, but I was a current. I launched.

Unreflected moved in on Alexa too—four, no five of them—closing like carrion. My muscles were steel threaded with water.

Rain parted around me as I too became a comet charging down toward Mirrored City. I didn't try to stop. Momentum and I were one. The first black body I hit broke like a bundle of sticks, its frame stealing the energy of my run and collapsing.

I planted my footing, grabbed the surprised head—teeth snapping uselessly—and felt the watery light coil around me. Ribbons of blue dressed me like armor, making me quick and cruel. I yanked so hard the head flew into the reflective ground. It met glass and the soft tissue burst; blood and brain matter spat out. Oddly, I felt connected to it—this red, visceral version of water we all carry. Droplets traced the arc my hand set, like tiny moons following a planet.

My arm swelled, muscles knotting, and when my punch hit the next Unreflected its chest caved in like a sinkhole. I redirected the momentum into a roundhouse, turning along the beast's body to down another.

The last one lunged, eyeless skull glinting, slashing across my chest. Claws tore skin and armor. It hurt. But it was the last one standing, Alexa still motionless, and I was her brother, her protector. I'd die before I let them touch her.

Light burst out of me. White and blue, bright as a flare. I hit and I kicked. My knee collided with its jaw. Another punch drove the creature down and I dropped into it, locking it dead. It flailed until my hands found its neck and I snapped it.

Zoe finally arrived, breathless. "She's safe," I said as the light around me swelled.

It seared blindingly, bright like the sun.

Then the darkness came.

I felt no weight, no air.

Coming back to my senses was as sudden as losing them had been. It came with a light—blue and white, glowing around me. Oddly, it felt warm against my skin, seeping out from somewhere deep within me. I was floating, suspended, caught in a cold embrace. My eyes were open, and my body ached, but I had enough strength to move.

I oriented myself, letting the water guide me. I could feel the pull of the currents, the gravity slowly dragging me down, and instinctively, I started swimming upward.

When I finally broke through the surface, my lungs burned for air—there wasn't a single breath left in me—but I pushed through.

The sky was dark, only patches of stars visible between swathes of black clouds. I sucked in a full breath, then set my sights on the bank in the distance—a patch of solid ground wedged between a crystalline wall and jagged rocks.

I swam for the land, desperate to come back from where I'd been taken. I knew where I was. Lex had explained how it works. Nick had mentioned it too. It was my trial, to judge me worthy of something I'd created anyway. Where was the sense in that?

It gave me power already, so why the pretense now? Why the need to prove? Wasn't my life enough of a proof for whatever this was?

Questions lingered in my mind as I tore through water. They usually did. It was always difficult for me to move on mentally, while moving the body came easy. There was this duality in me I couldn't overcome.

Land was getting closer.

Breath, stroke. Breath, stroke.

This would be it, right?

Shadowlight always appeared when I made contact with water. Hard to notice at first, slipping through my mind. But Alexa had given me a memory anchor on a chain and everything eased.

I made it to shallow ground.

My feet hit the sand and I forced myself to walk. Steps replacing strokes. Determination still inside me.

The sand was soft. I was soft, I realized as my fingers skated over the costume, the armor Lex had lent me. It didn't hum with her power. Couldn't she reach me here? Or was she gone already, and everything I was about to face–pointless?

I'd been at the orphanage first. My family hadn't wanted me, so they left me in the nuns' care. I didn't understand it then, and I still don't now. Time doesn't heal every wound, nor does it offer answers to those who are lost.

But after a month or two, I'd settled in. I learned the kids, the caretakers. They liked me because I was obedient, because I told the truth. What they didn't know was that I was hollow. I couldn't find a single person to connect with. Not one soul needed me.

Then she came.

A tiny thing, all tears and fear. Bruised and cut from whatever stole her future. The staff cleaned her up and tried to comfort her, but she was sharp and angry, snapping more than she smiled. Kids kept their distance. I did too, at first. But I watched.

When she was alone she took crayons and drew. It was mesmerizing how those small hands could frame the world. She put everyone on the page, including me. The first time I saw it, something went quiet inside me. I watched myself in her drawing, standing a little back, looking for someone to connect with.

I moved closer.

"I'm Peter," I said.

"Nice. Nice name," she answered. "I like it. I can get used to it." She sounded older than she was. That made me pause and I knelt beside her to watch her finish. I said nothing, just watched until she looked up.

"You're not going to ask me anything?" she whispered, tears barely kept from falling.

"I am alone with them too." She burst out, tears running down her cheeks as she threw herself into me, folding all the weight of her sadness and grief into my ribs. I caught her, let my own sorrow answer hers until the world narrowed to the two of us.

We stayed like that, frozen and endless in those small moments. That's when our souls braided together.

"I am…" she stammered. "I am Alexandra. My father," she swallowed, holding the tears back for a second, "he called me Alexa, or Lex." She looked at me then, and those eyes cut through time, clear as if it were yesterday. Later I learned people called that color hazel, a mix of green, brown and gold that shifts with light. Right then, with tears on her lashes, I saw every color at once. Her soul was there in them.

"My mother," she continued. "She called me Ali. Will you be my friend, Peter?"

"I will," I said.

"That's a story, isn't it?" a voice said, dragging me up from the pool of memory. The moments dissolved like parting mist and I was back on the beach, the dark island in the middle of an ocean. The crystalline fortress loomed ahead. A misty figure stood before me, shaped like my own face but wrong in the ways a lake's surface can lie.

"What were you then Peter, when the world was smaller?" it asked.

"I don't have time for games. I have to go back to help them!" I snapped, anger flaring up.

"There it is," the apparition replied. "A quality we admire. One we will test." Droplets ran off its misty form and gathered into a puddle at its feet.

"Are you a healing presence in people's lives, Peter?" it asked.

"Am I?" I shot back. "Why do you ask? Why prolong this? If you know my memories, then stop wasting time."

"We may know it, but the test is for you. When it's done, you'll be the one who knows."

"This is messed up. You know the answer."

"Just say it—don't you always tell the truth?" It toyed with me, and I'd had enough. I lunged. I jumped to catch it. It didn't move. I ran straight through the apparition and hit the sand hard.

"Rage and destructive force are welcome as well. Seas rage often—but learn to point it in a useful direction next time. You can't hurt me."

"I want to hurt you—for taking me now, when I was needed elsewhere!" I shouted.

"We can do it your way, Peter. If you don't want to follow the path of your ancestors, you can carve a new one."

"Ancestors?" I asked, curious, but the world went black for a beat.

When it returned I was back in the ocean, half-submerged, and that thing rose out of the water—part sea, part human, as if the ocean itself had taken on a shape.

"All in time, when you prove yourself. You wanted rage? You wanted destruction? It is granted. Survive until dawn. That is your test."

With that said it sank and vanished into the water.

"No!" I shouted, but no answer came.

I scanned the horizon—nothing but endless water. Alone, adrift, with time itself as my enemy.

Rolling onto my back, I let the waves carry me, conserving what strength I had left.

Rage sank in again, quiet and coiled. I couldn't unleash it now; that would be a distraction and a danger. So I drifted, carrying the anger inside me while the water washed over it.

Time passed like that. Hard to say how long, until the situation changed.

Something prodded me from below. Then another touch.

I dropped into the water in an instant as daggers caught my feet and dragged me down. They cut through boots and costume, hooks biting into flesh, pinning me under the surface.

I thrashed, trying to pry the grip open, to claw my way back up toward the stars.

Air bubbles slipped from my mouth. Holding my breath wasn't just about oxygen; it was about staving off carbon dioxide too, and that kills faster than lack of air.

Whatever held me was strong. It felt like an octopus, tentacles searching for purchase. I smashed at them with my hands. More bubbles came. The grip around my feet tightened and pulled me deeper. The surface slipped farther away. Even if I tore myself free, I wouldn't make it now.

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Anger rose in me like a tide. I failed again.

I couldn't keep failing.

I hit the monster, but its grip was relentless and my strength was bleeding away with each bubble that escaped my mouth.

I was out of air, god knows how far below the surface.

I took the first breath.

Water filled my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but I couldn't. It was everywhere. I swallowed and it came back in. Terror wrapped around me. I was going to drown.

One with water for so long, and now it would kill me. What an irony. For years I forced my will on it, made it obey, and here it was finally taking its revenge.

My mind began to slip. Then a little burst of blue light flickered on my hand as I was dragged down. Shadowlight, dancing on my palm, cutting the dark.

I was supposed to be the master of water. My will moved it, ordered it.

Get out, I thought with the intensity of a dying man. Give me air.

A bubble formed around my head and I spat the water out of my lungs. I drew a huge breath and the world came back. Blues and whites flamed across my skin. I looked down at the thing that had been my anchor. It was red and enormous—bigger than I'd expected. Tentacles fanned out like the branches of a drowned tree.

Still, I felt the water move with me. My muscles answered.

Give me strength, I commanded. My sinews tightened like steel cables. I dove, grabbed a tentacle, and dug my fingers in like claws. The creature jerked. It let go. I exploded upward, slicing through the water like a dolphin—faster than I had ever been, the current riding with me.

The attacker did not like that. It had tried to take me quietly, conserve energy when possible, but its prey was slipping away and that was not the plan. It followed.

I felt the wave before I saw it. A current, a push. Shadowlight braided around me, giving sight in the black. The thing launched itself like a building in motion—ten tentacles, a terrible beak, a body the size of two stories—all of it coming for me.

It lashed at me with its two biggest appendages, trying to snare me. I swirled in the water.

Give me speed, I ordered, and the water obeyed, folding around me so I moved like an eel.

I dove beneath the creature, corkscrewing behind it, and drove an underwater kick into the back of its cephalopod head. The impact made the water hiss and boil; blood exploded out from the strike.

The monster thrashed, tentacles whipping everywhere. There were too many of them—no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't dodge them all. They scraped me, tearing armor and skin until my own blood mixed with the black water.

I felt the world narrow to pain and weakness as hit after hit tested me. Then the thing closed on me—arm and leg seized—and it pulled with such force my leg tore free at the socket. Warm blood gushed, and for a second everything went white at the edges.

I observed the crimson flow. I was flesh and bone, yes, but above all I was water. Every cell in me rode on that element. I could move it, speed it, pull it into service.

Heal yourself, I ordered my body. The command wasn't gentle; it was the kind that shocks a system awake. The water inside me and around me answered. It gathered, congealed, pushed back into broken tissue. Pain flared as nerves and muscles knitted, as bone reknit its scaffolding, but the repair took hold. I swallowed the agony and kept going.

Repaired, renewed, I swam—limb whole again—with the lithe, whipping grace of a fish. I wove through the beast's myriad limbs, striking any that came close. Each blow sent shockwaves through the water. When I closed on one of its great, unblinking eyes I focused everything into a single attack and drove my fist through that soft globe, my arm planting shoulder-deep into the mass.

When I pulled back, the creature did not follow. Instead, it stilled, then sank—claimed by the depths it had ruled.

I rode the current up until light danced on the surface. When I broke through the sun was rising and land was only a few feet away. I swam for it, found purchase, and collapsed on my back, gasping.

"Good show." The voice came again, sounding like mine. "You can be a rage, Peter Stark. You learned that about yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes!" I shouted without turning, sprawled on the sand. "I can when it's needed."

"So, can you be a healing presence as well?"

"Yes. I am that. I was that for Lex. I healed her when she needed it most."

"That we agree with. You certainly made her mind a better place."

"Look now." The apparition said, and the world folded in on itself. I was no longer lying down. I was standing before a vertical sheet of water, a mirror suspended in the air. I saw my own face looking back. "What do you see, Peter?"

"I see myself. What else is there to see?" I asked.

"You tell us, truth-speaker."

"You want to know why I don't lie? Why all the theatrics?"

"Why don't you lie, then, Peter? Is it for yourself? For the greater good? Or for another reason? Why do you despise the lie so much in yourself, when you let it slide in others? You let Alexa lie all the time and you love her. Why don't you love yourself?"

"I… I love…" I wanted to say it. I really did. But saying it would be a lie, wouldn't it? I stared at the reflection. I knew why I never lied, but the memory was fogged. Only the feeling remained.

"What feeling?" the apparition asked.

"You can read my thoughts?" I said.

"It doesn't matter. What feeling remains?" it pressed, and maybe it was right.

"I would be left behind if I lied again. Like the first time." The scene shifted.

I had been a kid, barely ten, and I stood with two people. Their faces were already slipping away in time, but the apparition pointed them out. They spoke softly, promising they would always love me, whatever happened, and saying they were sorry.

"I won't love you if you do that!" I'd screamed at them from the backseat as they drove me away. It was a lie. I loved them then—deeply—and I never meant to stop. I only wanted them to stay. To keep me. The lie didn't work. They were gone soon after.

"Why don't you lie, Peter?" the apparition asked, while we stood in front of the vertical water-mirror and I stared at my own face.

"I'm afraid I'll lose myself and be left behind," I said, and the words broke me. Tears fell, and with them the scene shifted.

I found my composure again moments later. I was looking up at a vortex of light and water trapped in a great crystal at the center of a chamber. Polished floors stretched out beneath me; below them an abyss of water teemed with jellyfish and bright fish. Everything pulsed—like the chamber was breathing with me, like my heartbeat had somehow become its metronome.

"There is one more test, Peter, before you can put your hand on this soul core and claim what was theirs," the voice told me.

"Theirs? Whose?" I snapped. This was mine—wasn't it?

"Yes," came the answer. "But this Domain is not your creation. It belonged to your father, and to his ancestors before him. You were deemed compatible… and so you must be tried."

"To my father?" I said. "I don't even know the man."

"Yes. And yet you turned out like him."

It hit me then—a punch that trembled the soul, not the body.

"I am not like him. I'd never leave my kid behind," I said.

"Sometimes choices are made for us," it said. "All we are left with are consequences."

"What?" I asked, stunned.

"Show me how well you stand in uncomfortable places," he said— and the world obeyed.

Suddenly, I was on the sticky floor of a fraternity house during one of Jason's parties. I hadn't wanted to come. I'd planned to train. But they had insisted.

Crowds were always hard for me. I was a loner, even if people thought I fit in. Maybe because I never spoke ill of anyone—if there was nothing good to say, I said nothing at all.

But tonight felt different.

"Hi, girls," I said, forcing boldness into my voice. "I'm Peter. I'd love to spend some time with you tonight."

Zoe approached, "Oh?" she said, tilting her head. "And what would you want to do with that time, Mister Peter?"

"Sorry—I didn't catch your name."

"I'm not mad about it," she replied, and I liked her immediately. That little dodge, that playful edge—she made it clear I was only allowed into her world on her terms. In that moment, I heard only her.

"I'd be happy to be the butt of your jokes," I answered. She lifted her cap then, and I froze. Seeing her face for the first time was like glimpsing a dream I hadn't known I'd had, a perfect echo of everything I wanted in a person.

"Lucky for you, I'm not cruel enough to do a public dissection. Lead the way, Mister Peter," she said, and just like that, she pulled me along.

"I can't keep up with your pace. Where are we going?"

Peaches intervened, at least she tried.

"Don't torment the poor guy. He's the first one to walk over and be polite and you're already grilling him."

"Oh, Peter's taking me on a stroll. A stroll where he tells me about himself and I decide if I'll tell him about me." Zoe answered, tugging me further along.

And that was a walk I would never forget.

I couldn't remember the last time I was this nervous before it. Still, I followed her lead, guiding her toward the little greenhouse on the far side of the fraternity grounds.

"This way. I'll show you the glasshouse Jason helped the guys build. Honestly, it's more impressive than he is," I said, forcing a laugh.

"I said talk about yourself, not others," she replied sharply.

Right. Okay. "Um… Law school's okay. I'm not the best, but I try to be. What I always really cared about was swimming."

She smiled at that. "What do you think of me?"

"You're… interesting. I like your confidence. And the fact that I have no idea how to categorize you."

"Do you usually categorize people?" she asked, a hint of mischief in her voice.

I felt my face heat up. "I guess I do. Not proud of it. It helps me know how to deal with people."

"How do you mean? You change who you are depending on who you're talking to?"

"Don't we all?"

By the time we reached the greenhouse at the far end of the grounds, shadows were stretching, and the late afternoon light cast a golden glow through the glass panels. I pushed the door open and gestured for her to go in first.

"They keep every flower I know in here, I swear," I said. "Worth seeing."

She stepped inside gracefully, and the scent of damp soil and blooming petals hit me immediately. She crouched near a patch of lavender, running her fingers gently over the blooms.

"I don't know flowers," I admitted quickly, watching her. "I can't charm you with names or meanings."

"That much I guessed," she said, brushing her hands on her jeans as she stood. "You walk like someone who's used to being alone in his own head."

I blinked. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's rare," she replied simply. "I like rare."

My brain stalled for a second, trying to come up with something clever. "You're kind of intense, you know that?"

"I know," she said without missing a beat. "Most people don't know what to do with me. You're doing better than most."

"That's… encouraging?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck. "So, what should I do with you?"

She turned, arms crossed, eyes glinting with challenge. "Good question, Peter. What do you want to do with me?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I—uh, well—"

"Relax," she said, amused. "I'm not setting traps. Just don't waste my time with fake charm. I've had enough of that for three lifetimes."

I nodded, trying to recalibrate then. "Okay. No charm. Just me. Honestly? I wanted to meet someone new."

She smirked. "You're not very subtle either."

"I'm not good at games," I admitted. "Unless they involve points and a scoreboard."

"You play to win?"

"Always."

"Do you always know what you're playing for?"

I paused. "Not always. But sometimes the game tells you what matters once you're in it."

She studied me, expression unreadable, then smiled.

"You're more interesting than you look."

"Isn't that also categorizing?" I asked, cracking a nervous smile.

"Yep. I'm just putting you in a better box now," she said. "Maybe even a custom one."

I laughed, caught between nerves and thrill. "So, custom box. I can live with that. Are you going to tell me anything about yourself, or is this still just your interview?"

"Ask better questions," she said, strolling further into the greenhouse.

I hurried to keep up. "Okay. Favorite color?"

"Grey."

"Grey? That's barely a color."

"It's all colors muted at once."

I blinked. "Okay. Deep answer. Let's see… favorite movie?"

"Don't like watching people pretend to have problems."

I laughed. "Wow. You're just crushing all my go-to questions."

She glanced back at me. "You're still trying though. Points for that."

"Thanks. I'll take the points where I can."

She stopped in front of a tall, strange-looking plant with long curling leaves. "What about you? What do you really want, Peter?"

I hesitated. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"I want to make a good enough impression that you'll still be thinking about me when you get home."

She paused. Didn't smile, but her eyes warmed a little.

"Okay," she said. "That was a good answer."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. Now take me back to the people. I'm starving."

"As you wish."

I led her out of the greenhouse, arm still looped through hers. The late afternoon sun had mellowed into gold. The air smelled of earth, but I barely noticed. Every sense was tuned to her.

Then, without warning, she spun ahead—a twirl, and she was facing me again, her blonde ponytail swinging.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" she asked, chin tipped up, grin sharp enough to cut glass.

I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Very," I said quickly, maybe too quickly, but meant every heartbeat.

"Good." She gave a single, satisfied nod, then slipped back under my arm like water flowing around stone, fitting there like she belonged. "You're my boyfriend now, Peter. Unless you've got other plans?"

I came to a sudden halt, eyes wide. "I don't even know your name."

She raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you're not interested?"

"No! I am. I really am." I stumbled over my words, desperate not to lose the thread. "I just… I'd like to know what to call you. It feels like—like I should know, at least that much."

Her expression softened just a hair—just enough to hint I'd said the right thing. Then she tilted her head, smirked, cruelly beautiful. "You're doing just fine so far. Keep this up, and we'll be great."

I opened my mouth to reply, a clever retort on the tip of my tongue—but before I could speak, she stood on her toes, pressed against my chest, and leaned in.

Her kiss was like static catching fire. Not slow, not searching—confident, firm, the kind that demands your attention and leaves no room for doubt. My thoughts blinked out like stars in daylight. My hands hovered for a second before finding her waist, still unsure if I was dreaming.

When we broke apart, she lingered, breath mingling with mine. I was trembling, dazed, completely undone.

"Well done, Peter," she said, arms draped across my shoulders. Her glacier-blue eyes flicked between my lips and eyes. "Now give me your number."

I mumbled it out. She entered it deliberately, then called me just to be sure.

"Save me in your contacts. Call me tomorrow. Take me on a date," she ordered, stepping back. "Now I'm off to grab food with the girls. I promised my parents I'd be home early."

A wink. A smile.

"Later, Peter."

She turned and vanished into the crowd like she'd never been there, I stood there, lips still tingling, heart stuttering, staring after her like the world had tilted on its axis.

I didn't even know her name, by then.

"What do you say, Peter?" the apparition asked as the memory faded. I wanted it to linger, to never let go of how it all began for me.

"I fit just fine into uncomfortable situations," I said. "And something great came out of it for me."

"Indeed," it replied. "You are like water in that case. But remember—this began with your choice to be there. Fitting in is good, but water also carves its own way. It doesn't always follow the riverbed; it makes its own path."

"You mean… to not always follow other leads?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Yes. But now, follow mine. Press your hand to the crystal. Your world is about to change."

I nodded to this strange being, part of me, part memory, and turned to the soul core at the center. My fingers hovered over its surface before I pressed my palm against it, feeling the pulse of something immense beneath my skin.

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