The town of Whitedail was once a peaceful place, where thousands raised their children and watched hope bloom with each new generation. Then, in an instant, everything changed. An invisible blast tore silently through the town—and the town alone. No buildings crumbled. No fires raged. Not a single soul suffered a scratch.
And yet, nothing would ever be the same again.
Only two young boys' lives changed forever.
Oxzy Raith, age 31, had spent his adult life devoted to the town and its people, earning his place as the local hero. Standing six feet tall, he worked at a small pet store on the north side of town, though he rarely showed up anymore, his responsibilities as protector often pulling him elsewhere. During his time there, he had taken in a stray cat and an injured rat, and the two unlikely companions now shared his modest apartment, somehow coexisting peacefully despite every expectation to the contrary. His mother, a single woman who raised him alone and sacrificed everything for his sake, had died years earlier in a house fire, leaving him shattered in ways he still struggled to articulate. Grief had nearly swallowed him whole in those early days, and some nights it still crept back, uninvited. Yet he pressed on, carrying her voice with him always, her gentle insistence that he use his gifts to help others, never to harm them.
For Oxzy, though, the word "gift" felt like a cruel joke. What others called a blessing, he experienced as a curse, a burden he carried in silence.
Pierce Imber, age 29, stood as the town's most feared villain, a young man whose extraordinary power had been shaped by a childhood steeped in violence and loss. His parents, cold and exploitative, had never offered him love, only use, treating him as a tool until he grew strong enough to take control of his own life, even if that control came through brutality. More often than not, it did. Towering at six foot three, Pierce never bothered with honest work; instead, he took whatever he wanted, stealing and destroying without hesitation or remorse. He had burned down his own childhood home, and he killed without so much as a flicker of guilt crossing his face. Having wielded his powers since he was a boy, he seemed immune to the toll such abilities usually demanded, untouched by weakness or consequence. Over time, he had become more than disliked; he had become a figure of genuine terror, a name spoken with equal parts hatred and fear throughout the town.
For Pierce, none of that mattered beside the intoxicating truth of his power. He reveled in being feared.
The town Whitedail wasn't as popular and hated as it is today. The town had a downfall during the hero and villains growing up days. Oxzy was only 21 at the time, debating if he should go to college or not.
Pierce was 19 at the time. He was having relationship problems with Rosamee. The only girl he had ever dated and the first real heartbreak to have. He wasn't in the area at the time, even if he was presumed to be the one to cause the disaster. Only it was just an excuse from the townspeople, someone to blame the huge number of deaths from.
The true culprit, the true meaning all behind the deaths. No one would care to believe it.
It wouldn't be the same. Nothing has been the same since. No one could get over it. How could they? Their loved ones died, and everyone changed their view on the hero.
Someone they saw as incapable and unwilling. Even the villain's look has changed. He was more feared, and they now saw him as more capable. More willing than the hero.
It was almost true. The hero was burned, bruised, hurt, and he couldn't save everyone.
He did try.
He tried his best, yet it wasn't enough. Lives were still lost; not everyone survived.
Afterward, the disaster reshaped not only the townspeople's lives but the hero's as well. He lost his family in the aftermath. Blame fell on him, and suspicion colored every glance thrown his way. Still, nothing could stop him from protecting everyone, in whatever way he could.
Even if they hated him for it.