This room was almost as bare as the one before it, except that there were more chairs and a small table here, draped in plain white cloth. Meta-Martian and Mercury stood to the left corner of the room near the door, while a group of men and women sat around the table in differently coloured, neatly tailored suits, all except one, who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and beach shorts. Alex’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at them, wondering how they had gotten here. Mercury hadn’t transported anyone else as far as they knew.

The four of them stood up, all looking rather imposing, but the one who caught Alex’s eye was the one at the opposite end of the table.

A rather austere-looking woman in a dark blue pantsuit, wearing red-rimmed spectacles. Her reddish-blonde hair was caught up in a tight bun and sapphire earrings glinted at her ears, the same colour as her nails and outfit. Her frosty blue eyes seemed to bore right into him, as if she was looking through his skin at something even an x-ray couldn’t pick up.

“Good night, you three,” the woman to her right said. She had dark hair that fell in sleek curtains down her head and large, dark brown eyes, and a kind smile played on her lips. “My name is Moira Dearheart, and my colleagues and I are representatives from an organization known as the Department of Superhuman Relations, the governing body that manages all superhuman activity across the country.

“We understand that this has been a particularly distressing night for you, so we’ll be as brief as possible. Most of the witnesses who might have been able to provide more information on what took place tonight were scattered before our forces could meet with them, and of course the battle between Shadow Shifter and Wildfire caused extensive damage to the surroundings, including cameras. The witnesses we did manage to find were unable to provide much useful information.

“So, our only hope of getting a full scope of the night’s events lies in you. Can you elaborate on what you saw earlier? As much detail as possible please, even if you don’t think it would be relevant. Anything helps.” She nodded to Mercury, who raised a pen and a notebook.

“Oh,” Dusty said, looking around. “Well, we didn’t see much, actually. I mean we saw parts of it, Wildfire and Shadow Shifter attacking one another, but no real detail.”

“How would you describe Wildfire’s actions tonight?” the Hawaiian-shirted man asked. “Collected? Desperate?”

“Wild,” Alex said. It seemed an ironically fitting description, given his name. “It was like… he was just chucking fire. No regard for anything except taking Shadow Shifter down.”

“So Wildfire was responsible for the widespread destruction tonight?” the second male asked. He was tall and balding, but the fabric of his suit was being stretched taut over his burly physique.

Alex and Dusty exchanged a look. The way he had asked made it sound as if he wanted nothing more than to hear “yes.”

“Well… I guess, yeah,” said Dusty. “It was mostly fireballs tearing up the place.”

The man nodded at Mercury, who made a jot on his notebook.

“Anything else of relevance?”

“Uh… yeah, there’s one thing,” Alex said, his voice hesitant. He admired Wildfire as a hero, found his powers fascinating, read his comic series, Fires of Retribution, with fervour. But one scene from tonight refused to leave his mind, no matter how furiously he tried to cast it away. “When we were trying to escape, Shadow Shifter caught us.” He indicated himself and Dusty. “He gave Wildfire the choice between letting him go to save us and continuing his fight, and he… well, he chose the fight.”

“Wildfire disregarded your safety, is what you’re trying to say?” Ms. Dearheart asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Dark looks were exchanged all around. Mercury jotted down more notes, his hand a blur on the paper.

“Is there anything else you can remember?”

Alex looked at Dusty, who shrugged, then at Cora, who shook her head. “No. Like I said, we didn’t see much.”

“Very well, thank you. Now we have a few questions relating to you two, specifically.” She pointed from Cora to Alex, who blinked at them, surprised.

“Mr. Michaelson, aside from tonight, have you ever exhibited signs of having abilities?”

“No.” The answer sprang to his lips without hesitation. He didn’t even have to think about it. If he had ever displayed signs of powers, no matter how minuscule, he would never have forgotten.

“It happened during the fight?” Alex nodded. “At the exact moment your abilities were triggered, what was happening? Was Shadow Shifter coming towards you? Was he sending attacks your way?…”

“No, we were being crushed by the shadow tendrils and I wanted to get out,” Alex told her. “I thought I — that we” — he indicated Dusty again — “were going to die.”

“And in your desperation to be free, your jet propulsion was stimulated?”

“My what?”

“Jet propulsion,” Ms. Dearheart repeated, enunciating every syllable. “It’s the technical term to describe the ability you demonstrated tonight. Continuous streams of fire erupt from your feet and generate enough propulsive force to move around through the air, a technique very similar to flight. So it did happen because of that rush of emotion?”

Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

“Then I believe it’s safe to say we could classify tonight as your Trigger Moment.”

“My what?” Alex said again.

“A Trigger Moment is —” She paused, contemplating. “I don’t suppose I can explain what a Trigger Moment is without first explaining the Deva Gene.”

Without explaining the what? Alex inhaled deeply. It felt as though with every word that came out of her mouth ten more questions blossomed in reply. He waited while she collected her thoughts, hoping that things would start making sense soon.

“The Deva Gene is a genetic mutation that all superhumans possess. It can only be passed down through hereditary means and it grants the carrier of the gene the potential to develop a myriad of extraordinary abilities, when active. In a large number of cases the gene will lay dormant throughout most, if not all of the average superhuman’s life. In others, however, under certain circumstances, the gene can be forcibly stimulated and abilities will manifest in the host.

“One of these circumstances is when the host finds themselves in a situation that causes them extreme distress. Studies have found that a sudden rush of intense emotions — particularly negative emotions, such as fear, anger, or grief — can trigger the Deva Gene. This is most common in life or death situations, where it acts as a kind of self-defense mechanism, potentially giving the superhuman the tools to tip the scales to survival.”

Alex listened to her explanation without comment. It was certainly interesting, but there was one aspect of her description that stuck out to him.

“‘Hereditary means?’” He turned instead to Cora, who seemed to have developed a sudden and extremely deep interest in the floor. “Does that mean our parents have powers too?”

Cora shook her head, although she still didn’t meet his eyes. “Mom and Dad don’t have abilities. Biologically, Dad is just a plain old Joe. Mom has the Deva Gene. She… she inherited it from Grandpa Harold. He had abilities, and he was actually a very popular superhero in his day.”

A multitude of responses sprang into his mind, ready to be fired off about the ludicrousness of their situation, but the mention of their grandfather stunned him into silence. Harold Farwell, their toothy, grey-haired, balding grandfather, who often made inappropriate jokes, wore clothes two eras out of style and didn’t even know how to work the toaster, an accomplished Hero? It was almost laughable, but Alex didn’t feel much like laughing at the moment. Their grandfather, whom Alex had adored despite his eccentricities, had tragically passed away four years prior. It had been he who had most supported Alex’s adoration of all things superhero-related (which now made complete sense, given recent revelations), fervently arguing for him to receive any comic book, toy, or other superhero-themed accessory he wanted, regardless of the cost.

It had finally started to feel as if he was able to move on, and yet the mention of his name had brought back the familiar tightness in his chest, the prickle of tears ready to flood to his eyes, but he blinked them away. The other people in the room remained silent, looking away while he composed himself. He appreciated the gesture, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Wiping his eyes, he turned back to Cora.

“Why did no one ever tell me this?” he said. “What, did no one feel I had a right to know? Did it just slip everyone’s mind? I could have lived with the disappointment of not having powers.”

“Grandpa wanted to tell you but Mom and Dad forbade it, and they told me the same thing. If you want to know, they’re the ones you should ask.”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” said the man in the Hawaiian shirt, as Alex opened his mouth for a follow-up question. “But I believe this conversation would be better suited to have in private. I think it would be better to finish up here as soon as we can, so that we can let you three go.”

“Right. Yeah.” Alex nodded.

“To pick up where we left off, the triggering of the Deva Gene could have brought with it any number of powers. They could all have manifested at that point, or they can likely develop over the next couple days. So you can see the problem.”

“No, not really,” Alex said, frowning. He felt as if it should have been obvious, but bombarded by the memories of his grandfather and the news that he was descended from a family of potential superhumans had fogged his mind too much to decipher the meaning of his statement. “I’m not really sure.”

“As a safety precaution, the Department of Superhuman Relations cannot allow newly triggered or young superhumans to remain unsupervised in public areas,” said the woman in the blue pantsuit, speaking for the first time.

“Quite simply, they’re far too unpredictable. Just as your Deva Gene gifted you with the ability of jet propulsion, so too can it provide you with the ability to manipulate the weather, or to spontaneously combust any item by simply looking at it, or perhaps create earthquakes strong enough to level an entire building. Too many unknown variables can have disastrous consequences, and in the past, they actually have.

“That is why we are offering you the same choice we gave your sister. You cannot be allowed to integrate back into the public until we’ve determined you no longer pose a threat to the people, so while you work to gain control of your abilities, you have two options: you can remain at home, under the supervision of DSR officials who will provide you with formal training, or you can do what Cora has opted to, and enroll in one of our private institutes filled with young superhumans such as yourself, where you will work with some of the best teachers our system has to offer, and also be given the chance to become a recognized Hero yourself.”

“Wait, there really is a superhero school?” Alex asked, intrigued. A training program was one thing, but an entire school? How many students would there be? What would the classes be like? What determined if you passed or failed an exam?

“Of course. Well, not only one actually, there are seven in total. The closest of which is known as Helix Academy of Superhuman Development, of which I am Chancellor.” She stood up once again, this time sinking into a gracious bow. “Diane Lewis. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Alex’s earlier apprehension and sadness had been completely drained away. In its stead came a rush of excitement and anticipation. “So all I have to do is decide which one I want to go with?” Chancellor Lewis nodded, a warm smile on her face. “Well that’s easy, I think —”

But for the second time that night, they were interrupted by raised voices. Beyond the door they could hear stomping and someone shouting. Alex looked around at the door. That voice was extremely familiar. Sure enough a second later the door burst open, almost knocking Meta-Martian and Mercury aside, and in came their father and mother, followed closely by two more exasperated figures in suits, urging them to calm down.

Completely ignoring them, their eyes landed on their children and the two hurried forward, letting out noises of relief as they swept the two of them into their arms.

“Thank God you’re okay,” Mrs. Michaelson breathed. “When I got the call, I thought…” She shuddered, the thought too horrible to voice aloud.

“I was in a meeting,” Mr. Michaelson added. “Strict cellphones off policy. I came as soon as I heard. Are both of you all right? Hold on, let me take a look at you — Alexander, you’re bleeding!”

Alex looked down at himself. He had almost forgotten; when he and Dusty had been captured, a few of Shadow Shifter’s weapons had nicked at his sides. Dusty had been healed up by Mercury and Meta-Martian’s teammate, but Alex had been too wrapped up dealing with Shadow Shifter to receive treatment. Luckily they hadn’t cut too deep.

“I’m fine, Dad. It’s just a few scrapes. A few bandages and I’ll be good to go.”

“Absolutely not. I want him healed, now,” he said to the room at large, speaking in the same stern, fatherly tone he sometimes took with Alex himself. “It should have been one of the first things they did.”

“A small oversight, Sir. I’m very sorry,” said Meta-Martian, as one of the two men who had followed them inside left to retrieve the Healer.

“Small?” Jonathan Michaelson said in disbelief. “He shouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place! Where is the Hero who was onsite? I don’t see how they could have let this happen!”

“Dad! I’m fine, really,” Alex said. His eyes turned to his son, who gave him a pleading look. His father clearly had more to say, but he thankfully let the matter drop. The healer appeared, looking apologetic. He held his hand over Alex’s chest and a stream of bright, warming energy streamed from his palm, washing over him. The pain faded, replaced by a soothing sensation, and once he was done Alex looked down to find the blood stains still on his clothes but the skin underneath whole and blemish-free. Looking satisfied, his father then turned to Dusty, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay too, Dustin.”

Dusty gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Your mother would have been here to pick you up but she was caught up at the hospital. A sudden influx of injured patients, most likely from tonight’s debacle. In the meantime,” he said, turning his gaze back towards the table. “What were you talking about before we came in? I suppose they gave you the rundown: the fancy gene, your grandfather’s history, the choice between staying here with one of their appointed babysitters or leaving to some private training center?”

“Spot on, actually,” Alex said. He supposed it made complete sense that they had had this exact conversation before.

Jonathan Michaelson sighed, then shared a look with his wife. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you, Alexander. And we will talk about all of this, but not now. For now, I would like to take my family home so we can all get a good night’s sleep and forget about this mess. If that pleases the court, of course.” He gestured at the table, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. It seemed to Alex that the first time they had had this conversation, it hadn’t gone very well.

“Of course,” Chancellor Lewis said with a smile, albeit a rather forced one. “We’ve already explained most of what needed to be said, for now it’s just for you to converse and for your son to make his choice. But we will be sending a DSR Agent tomorrow to watch over him, just in case anything goes wrong.”

He clearly didn’t like the decision, but their father didn’t disagree. “And Cora? I know there are strict regulations about your charges using their powers outside of school grounds. Is she in any form of trouble?”

“On the contrary, we owe her a ‘thank you’ ourselves,” said Ms. Dearheart. “From what we’ve gathered, Ms. Michaelson handled the situation with poise and maturity beyond her years. She helped maintain order in the restaurant, assisted the civilians with escaping, saved the two young men in front of us and played a hand in dealing with Shadow Shifter, all while maintaining her identity for most of the night. Only two people actually saw any of what she did — both of whom had their memories erased — and given the circumstances that is commendable.

“There will be no punishment, and this will be recognized as an achievement on her Helix record.”

Cora tried to hide the smile that came to her lips, but wasn’t very successful. Their mother on the other hand was positively beaming, looking at her daughter with pride.

“Thank you for that,” Mr. Michaelson said. “It’s much appreciated. We’ll be leaving now, and I’ll be taking Dustin home with us since his mother won’t be available until tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night to you as well.”

Before they turned to go, the four of them at the table stood up. The man wearing the Hawaiian shirt placed a hand on Ms. Dearheart’s and the other male’s shoulders, then they vanished. Alex started, looking around wildly. But he saw nothing, not even a blur of colour. Which explained why they hadn’t noticed them coming; they hadn’t traveled here by superspeed, they had teleported.

“Mr. Shaw is one of our most efficient travel agents,” Chancellor Lewis said in reply to his questioning look. “He was to be on vacation, but most of our other agents are on duty elsewhere and he graciously agreed to assist. Ms. Dearheart and Mr. Reed are heading back to the same location, so he’s dropping them off first.”

That explained too why he was the only one not dressed up. Their father nodded at the Chancellor and turned, gesturing for the others to follow.

“And one final thing, Mr. Michaelson.” Their father froze, but he didn’t turn around. Chancellor Lewis was staring right into his back, her gaze hard and unrelenting. “You may not like it, which is perfectly understandable, but this conversation is extremely important, and it must happen regardless of our personal feelings. Do keep that in mind.”

Their father ushered them along wordlessly, shutting the door behind them with more force than necessary as they stepped outside.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The drive home took place in complete silence. Though Mercury had made the journeys back and forth in only a few minutes, the trip from the DSR safe house took them nearly three hours. By the time they arrived home it was well past midnight and all parties were thoroughly exhausted. After promising that they would discuss the night’s events the next day, Alex and Cora retired to their bedrooms while Dusty was given the guest room that was usually reserved for their Uncle Steven.

The door swung shut behind him as Alex threw himself into bed, too tired to even change his clothes or remove his socks. But despite his physical weariness, his mind was ablaze. Different pieces of information gleaned from their discussion flitted about wildly in his head; it was proving quite difficult to settle on a single one to think about.

The miraculous Deva Gene, which was responsible for the existence of superhumankind; the revelation that he himself was one of the reality-defying individuals whose exploits he had so extensively followed in the media; his grandfather, who had been revealed as a prominent superhero; the existence of elite institutions dedicated to the development of people such as himself; the idea that not only did he have powers, but the fact that he could potentially develop even more over time. He didn’t know where to start. This night, which had begun on one of the most disastrous notes he could think of, had ended with the possibility of erecting a bridge between his world and a world he had always dreamed to be a part of.

The choice was as clear as glass: given the opportunity, how could he — how could anyone — pass up the chance to attend a prestigious school for superheroes in training? What higher purpose could there be than becoming a protector of the innocent, an upholder of justice, and following in his grandfather’s footsteps.

Alex rolled over in bed, a small smile on his face as he thought of what was to come: the conversation between his family, and the inevitable visit of the representative from the Department of Superhuman Relations. From excruciatingly dull and lengthy, this summer was shaping up to be one to remember indeed.