- Ireland
A fearso winter storm wracked the continent from coast to coast, but the inside of one particular building was brimming with warmth.
In the middle of an abandoned factory, a roaring fla over twenty feet tall brought light and comfort to the shivering masses inside.
Crystal Creed stared at her husband from a distance with a fond smile.
For a brief mont, their eyes t, and Morgan, alight in fla, waved back at her like the loveable dope he was.
She had co to develop a new respect for him in light of the past few months.
Their charitable efforts had taken them all over the world. In that ti, she had gotten the opportunity to watch her husband beco a symbol of light for many people instead of just herself.
It was a blessing that made her fall in love with him all over again.
Morgan and his family were operating differently from the Saints.
They flew in cargo planes with a unit of twenty different Arican soldiers who helped distribute dical supplies, repair shelters, organize rations...
With their help, the Creed family got to be more efficient. They were also working with local authorities to rebuild.
"Excuse , miss..."
Crystal was pulled from her thoughts by the voice of a young boy.
"Do you perhaps have any cough dicine for my sister...?"
Smiling sweetly, Crystal leaned down so that she was at eye level with the child. She pointed across the room to where Emilia was busy with her own task.
"Do you see that pretty lady over there..? If you go ask her, I’m sure she’ll help you get whatever you need. Is there an adult here with you...?"
The boy’s eyes beca misty and he shook his head. Emilia feels her heart tighten.
"Okay... co with then." She holds out her hand for the boy to take and begins leading him towards her wife.
All she can think of is how small his hand feels in hers and just how long he must have been on his own.
He cannot possibly be more than seven years old. Emilia silently wonders if he even rembers what the faces of his parents look like, and if he did, then for how much longer?
It was an unfortunate reality to consider for many of the young children she ca across.
"Who do we have here?"
Emilia stopped what she was doing when she noticed the young boy standing beside her wife. Only then did Crystal realize she didn’t know the child’s na.
"This..."
The boy pointed at himself. "Cilian." He said in a small voice.
"Well, it’s very nice to et you, Cilian. What can I do for you?"
As the boy told Emilia what he needed and pointed out his sister among the crowd, Crystal watched the two with an unknown fondness in her eyes.
She turned her gaze to Morgan again and found him playing the role of jester for the refugees. His brilliant flas were woven into the shapes of fantastic animals and daring fireworks.
For a mont, Crystal was completely at peace.
But that mont proved to be a fleeting endeavor.
A loud bang drew everyone’s attention toward the doors and wrested cries of panic from the mouths of the refugees inside.
"Alright, alright, everyone, settle down! We all co in peace!"
Morgan imdiately stepped out of his flas. His usual suit jacket and shirt had been replaced by a simple t-shirt and cargo pants. The soles of his boots left behind flaming indents in the floor.
"What is the aning of this? You’re scaring all of these people!"
A group of n in military uniforms ca into the room, brandishing guns and on high alert.
The man who appeared to be the leader was the most relaxed of all. He carried himself regally with his arms behind his back and his gaze even.
"Sorry for the theatrics. My n have simply beco a bit overzealous, is all."
The man swept his gaze over everyone inside and shook his head.
"A most unfortunate sight.... so many poor, sad souls ravaged by a war they didn’t ask for... it breaks my heart."
Morgan furrowed his brow suspiciously.
The man suddenly held out his hand for him to shake.
"I must applaud you. You have co very far to help a people that is not your own. It is inspirational."
Morgan tentatively shook the strange man’s hand.
"I would hardly say they are not my own... My mother was from Galway."
The man seed to have a hard ti hiding his surprise. "...I see. Well, it pains even more to say this to a fellow Irishman, but I’m afraid your services are no longer required from today. The army will be taking over this shelter and any others."
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t believe so. We have permission from your governnt to be here."
"Old governnt, I’m afraid... You know how things are, changing all the ti."
Morgan feels his more fiery nature threatening to rear its head. He doesn’t let it.
Coups were happening all the ti all over the world.
People were so used to feeling taken advantage of by the systems of their governnts that the mont they beca bulletproof, they were more than willing to rush headfirst into change.
But there’s always a bigger fish sowhere.
Morgan was fond of the pri minister. To know that he had probably been killed only made him want to lash out even more.
But Morgan was trying his best to adhere to the rule of law, even if the rest of the world wasn’t.
He looked around at all of the people he and his team had helped. So had co in thin as bones, but were now beginning to see a return of fat on their faces.
And then he saw the expression on the faces of his wives. It beca clear that they wanted to leave even less than he did.
That was likely when everything beca solidified for Morgan.
He swallowed his anger and released the man’s hand.
"Sir, isn’t there any way we can..."
That was the mont Morgan saw it. A tattoo of a hand holding the sun on the man’s wrist.
His entire face tightened.
"Oh, and when you leave, it would be marvelous if you could leave behind your- Hey!"
Morgan grabbed the man by his wrist and ripped away his sleeve.
When the tattoo was revealed, and Norgan realized he wasn’t mistaken, he tightened his grip until the man’s bones groaned under the pressure.
"...I’m only going to ask you this once. What happened to the Pri Minister?"
His adversary smiled at him through clenched teeth. When he spoke again, it was in perfect English.
"Open fire!"
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