𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢

I was supposed to be the hero. 

I was supposed to end the cycle of wars so that we could go back to our regular lifestyles and nobody would have to do what we had to again. 

In the eighteen years I had been alive, I never thought we would get to see the other side of Snoh. When the three of us still shared a room, my siblings and I would stay up talking about what we thought the other side looked like. If they were kids like us. If they went to high-end schools with terrible uniforms like us. If they went to parties in dancy clothes that itched. 

If their parents were rarely in their lives like ours. 

But the problem with seeing the other side of Snoh, while it was an adventure, meant sacrifice. 

We wouldn't have lost all that we did: Families torn apart by the damage. There were lovers stuck on two sides of the wall, my twin brother included. The loss of people that we knew in our neighborhood; had said hello to on our way to school. The wall was nothing more than debris, a reminder of our tragic past. Friendships ruined and bodies buried six feet under the ground. 

A part of me would have been ok not knowing what the other side of Snoh looked like. There a bliss in ignorance. I would have given up seeing the Salem side just to know that my siblings were safe. Those powers they gave me, I would have given those up any day to have a normal life, skipping classes and chasing things that weren't meant to be chased. 

I was the hero in the war they forced us into. They played each of us, giving us powers that set us apart from the other children our age. They whispered promises that they could not keep into our ears at night while we slept. They told us that we would save the world and defeat the Chaotic Trio. 

But instead, we did nothing more than play into the hands of the Titans and the vicious cycle will continue once again. A war that is only a temporary one, until they get bored again. And I'll be the hero once more. 

The second cycle started with a storm.

On the Morningstar side, we love the rain. It makes music on the roofs and children run around in it. We do rain dances and sing praises, especially during our free periods. We skip classes and we let the rain wash away all of our problems and sins so that next time we won't make the same mistakes. 

We always do though. 

Salem High School doesn't do the things we do. They fear the rain while we write poems and praise its existence. We get the founding in Snoh, for all of the wealthy people live in Morningstar. Their schools and homes are shitty, something I didn't know until the wall went down. Morningstar however has everything. 

Our roads shine. Our buildings shimmer with the sun. The students get things through their parent's banking accounts, whether or not they know it. Our parties consist of stealing champagne bottles from our parents and secrets from others, which we use later to get ahead. It's all about getting ahead because those you call friends will leave you. 

And that fateful day, a storm was brewing in the dark sky. 

The white Jeep Wrangler, who I named Angel, was wisping the rain away on each side. She was a new car, one that my father bought for my eighteenth birthday that was just two months ago. 

My twin brother, Nicoy, leaned his head on the window as he watched the raindrops slide down in a race. Our younger sister Omisha laid in the back, wiping away the tiredness from her eyes as she held her backpack in her lap as a pillow. 

From both sides of the car, freshman and seniors alike rushed through the parking lot, trying to avoid getting soaked by the rain. There were umbrellas all over, protecting permed hairstyles and the sharp folds of the high school version of MSA uniforms.

"Hey, sis. Can you drop me close to the entrance? I've got to get to the other side of the building in like five minutes or I'll be late." Omisha asked, trying to hide a yawn behind her hand. I nodded, maneuvering through the people and the cars to get closer to the building for her. 

She opened the black umbrella slightly, waiting until I was close to the stairs before getting out. "See you later sis!" Omisha yelled as she closed the door. Eventually, she became nothing more than another student in the crowd trying to get into the building.

I looked over at my brother questioningly, "You need to get to class too?"

Nico looked over at me, shaking his head. He and I looked alike, the gender counterpart of each other. Big brown eyes on brown skin. We shared freckles that covered our entire faces and shoulders. Long lashes and long limbs to go with it. I kept my hair dreaded down to my waist and he occasionally twisted it, hoping for growth. We were Afro-Latinos with Spanish accents. The only difference that we had was our personality. 

There, we were two different people. The only thing we had in common was our love for water. Nico could swim for hours, days even, without getting bored and I chased storms as far and as long as I could. Today, we were both in heaven with the coming of the storm. 

"Don't you dare leave class going on a persecucíon de la tormenta. Mamá will be upset with you again." He commanded strictly, preparing both umbrellas for the two of us. A deep blue one for him and a dark purple for me. Luckily, my parking spot, which I managed to negotiate with the board, wasn't too far from the entrance. The walk wouldn't be too far and we wouldn't have to worry about getting soaked through. Not that I cared if I got wet or not. There was a freedom to being rained on. 

It washed away the problems of the day. 

"No lo haré." I mumbled back in Spanish with a roll of my eye, "Don't worry. Just go to class. I'll see you at lunch."

That was the last normal conversation I had with my siblings. We were no longer simply siblings joking around in the car.

A part of me believes that the Originals caused the storm to make us their hosts. Because once they came, causing immense pain throughout each of us, the storm dissipated as if it didn't come to begin with. 

I ran through my usual Monday schedule: Avoiding getting dress coded for not wearing my red ribbon properly and the shortness of my uniform skirt. Dropping off books that I should have been studying in my locker. Zoning out in first-period chemistry. Getting yelled at for zoning out in that same class. Debating whether or not skipping second-period calculus was worth getting yelled at by my parents. Going to second period because it's never worth it. 

Third-period gym, however, is always worth going to because the teacher is hot ( not the point ) and it's the only class I have with my sister despite our age difference. Nico managed to fit gym in his sophomore year and I had been putting off the class for as long as I could, eventually having to take it my senior year with my freshman sister. 

While Nico and I looked nearly exactly the same, Omisha looked nothing like the two of us. She was pale-skinned with endless blue eyes, like the folding foam of the ocean. Her brown hair rested just above her shoulders and was as straight as a board. If she didn't sleep enough, then the black circles around her eyes would make her look even paler. 

Omi was adopted back when she was only a couple days old, Nico and I were three years old. She was a foster child and there was a chance she would have been stuck in the system if Mamá hadn't urged our father to taken into consideration adopting. From that very day, we were siblings, whether blood-related or not. 

I would fight anyone for these two, no matter if they were right or wrong. And I have before, and I will as long as there is breath in my lungs. 

The two of us always partnered up for Gym; debating what we wanted for lunch and whether our brother would go to Lily and Rose's cafe afterschool with us when the Salem kids cleared out at two ( he usually did ). After shooting suggestive looks at Coach Robinson and messing around with a basketball for fifty-five minutes, the two of us quickly changed back into our school uniforms so that we could get to the cafeteria before it got too full. 

This was my last year wearing the terrible designed MSA uniform. The white blazer over a black blouse. The red ribbon that acted as a tie for the girls and the modest length black plaid skirt. The socks that went above our knees and the grandma shoes were the worst part. Long hair was to be tied up and piercings were frowned upon. I was hoping that throughout the years the uniform and the rules would change but they hadn't sadly.

That didn't stop me from getting a double piercing and a bull ring through my nose. It didn't stop me from wearing my dreads wildly, arguing with teachers about how they were coming off as racists for making comments about my hair. 

But when you did your time, you were done. Mine was ending and Omi's was just starting. 

Omi and I walked through the hallways, following the beginning crowd into the cafeteria, looking for an open spot. Luckily, it hadn't taken us too long to get there so we didn't have to wait too long to get our food. If you were unlucky, then you would be stuck in line for almost half an hour. 

With our trays in hand, we passed people that we knew, who had already sat down at the tables and indulging themselves in today's food-rich menu. 

There was Yao Baldwin, a quiet Asian with giant round glasses who said nearly nothing, but he was shifty like he knew something that the rest of us didn't. He sat with Aponi, a loud-mouthed Native American who was the pride and joy of the archery team. Both upperclassman who I barely talked to but knew. 

Aarush sat small, leaned over a textbook with a notebook underneath it taking notes and a frown on his dark brown face. Lexi, a bubbly sophomore who was usually table-hopping around the cafeteria, sat across from him, popping his tater tots into her mouth every so often. It wasn't rare to see her sitting with a different group every day for she knew everyone at Morningstar Academy. 

In the corner sat the dark-skinned Skye. They were older than the rest of us, one of the oldest in the school but they were shy so not many people spoke to them. I looked over at Omi, whose pale cheeks turned deep red as she eyed them. "Don't look too hard or they'll see you," I whispered to her, watching her ears turn as red as her cheeks were. 

"Shut up Nova. It's nothing. They're a senior, you forget? I'm just a freshman. I'm barely fifteen. Mamá would kill me if she found out." She frowned, sitting her tray on the table.

"¿Por qué te mataría Mamá?" Nico asked, trying to figure out what conversation he had found himself in. Why would Mamá kill her? 

"Don't worry about it Hermano. It's nothing." Omi took a seat across from him and I sat next to her.

"Omi got a little crush on Skye," I informed with a sing-song voice, resulting in her burying herself into her white jacket. 

"The nineteen-year-old? Aren't they a little old for you?"

"I'm not acting on it, Nico. I just think they're nice, that's all. It's like looking off of a menu that you can't eat off of." She murmured as she kept her head down. 

As much fun as it was to tease my younger sister about a newly discovered crush, my stomach starting growling, asking for food as soon as possible. I looked down at the tray of food. There was the famous chicken sandwich and some dry tater tots. A carton of apple juice (because milk for lunch is a disgrace), a caesar salad, and two packages of dressing. An eventful lunch that probably would end up being my snack later in the day. 

While the two of them argued about how Omi was too young to even be considering someone that was four years older than her, and how she wasn't planning on doing anything, I tilted my head up slightly. 

Above us was the glass ceiling that usually let in the natural skylight all hours of the day. Since the clouds were gray and heavy, the lights inside had been turned on to assist. It still didn't hide the heaviness of the storm hitting the glass. 

I could feel the thunder rumbling throughout the building and the lightning seemed to be closer and closer. Soon we would be in the eye of the storm, the most beautiful part of a day like this. But something was off about this storm. Usually, I was calm during the storm, but something was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

Something was wrong. 

"¿En qué piensas? What are you thinking about?" Nico asked, kicking me under the table with his foot. There was something calming about Spanish and we all knew the reason why. It was the only thing our mother taught us before becoming obsessed with her work as a scientific researcher. 

Our first language was Spanish. English we had to learn by ourselves, for our father never spoke to us. Nico spoke it more than he did English, especially when addressing one of us. That's just how it worked with us. 

I looked back down at the two of them, leaning forward so that they could hear my whisper, "This is a bad storm. Something's not right."

As soon as those words left my mouth, the building went dark. Lightning had struck the roof, currents surged through the metal. I felt the pain of thousands of needles shove their way through my body. It rose from my legs up to my brain as the speed of lightning itself. 

I felt like screaming bloody murder, crying until I had no more tears left to cry, and curling up fetus position right there on the marble floor. But I couldn't. I had to protect my siblings. 

Hazily, I looked over at Nico and Omisha only to find the two of them suffering the same fate as I was. I couldn't move. I felt like there was lightning coursing through my body and I was unable to move to grab my sister. 

"Tormenta...relámpago...Storm.... lightning..." I whispered, closing my heavy eyes and wishing that the pain would go away quickly. I wasn't supposed to be weak. I was supposed to be the protector. 

The hero. 

The last thing I saw was my brother leaning forward painstakingly and my sister fainting unto my side. At least I could protect her from falling unto the floor. The world was engulfed into a black storm, the sound of thunder ringing in my ears.