If George had a camera on him, he’d have taken a picture of their faces. The sheer look of indignation from Liv, the confused shock on Charlotte’s, the disbelief on Donovan’s… He’d seen a wide variety of expressions during his long tenure as the Beta’s warden, but the ones he gets from meetings like these strike as his favorite.

  Charlotte was the first to snap out of the confused daze, her mouth working in silent words– her racing mind trying to form a coherent sentence– but drawing nothing but blanks. She does, eventually, grasp a set of words, pushing it out before she can reconsider.

  “If I may, and I mean no disrespect,” She starts, her hands remaining ramrod to her side, “but does that not seem a bit… Pedantic?”

  George can't help but let out a chuckle, his hand coming up to cover his bottom lip as rasping cackles peter from his lips. Most of the nepo’s would either shut their mouth and let his words stream out their ears, or they’d yell like fussy children. Never did they give a genuine criticism– a misguided criticism, but one born from a respect for him. He found himself elevating the Arcille’s just a bit more in the back of his mind, even if she looked terrified out of her mind. That was to be expected, though. Authority was terrifying in of itself, let alone one proven through combat.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” He says, the ear splitting smile finally worming its way onto his face, shining in the morning sun. “It’s an important distinction, though. Tell me, what do you know about Synth?”

  Charlotte blinks, looking around before pointing a question finger to herself, her eyebrows raising a touch. George nods, encouraging her to speak. Slowly, she lets her hand fall to the side, her throat clearing.

  “Synth Energy is the energy that allows Synth Weapons to function. If I recall correctly, Synth Waves are formed of Synth Energy. That’s why Synth Weapons are so effective against demons. Everything living has a bit of Synth energy, though wielders are able to draw it out most effectively– the truly powerful being able to utilize their own as Synth Aura’s, expanding their weapons effective range.”

  “Very good.” George says, his arms crossing, his head turning poignantly to Anthony. “Anyone got anything else to add?”

  The silence that follows is expected, the wind’s howls billowing past them.

  George nods once more, finally removing the sunglasses perched high on his face. He looks to them all, the hopeful future of the Hellfire Initiative. If they wanted to reach the top, they would have to see just how far up the mountain went.

  “Well, most of that was right. You got some good fundamentals.” George says, a cigar flicking from his pocket. He lights it quickly, the smoke swept away by the wind. “You read Chartreuse's work, didn’t you?”

  Charlotte blinks, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. Slowly, she nods. “I-Indeed. I wished to learn everything I could before I got here, and his work is the basis of Synth Theory.”

  “Figures.” George mutters, rubbing the back of his head. “The old coots everywhere; though, the final point about Synth Aura’s is false. Your Synth Aura is tied to you and you alone; although, the imprint your weapon leaves on your body through its ability makes it easier to use it as such. It’s simpler, but not the only route. Alema’s a good example of that.”

  Liv nods, her mind wandering back to her fight with Faraji. Those glares were effective, no doubt about it. That wasn't his weapon though. Thinking back more... That suit wasn't his weapon either, was it? Her eyebrows furrow as she wracks her brain trying to recall what his weapon could be. She comes up empty.

  “You can think of your own Synth Energy like a note.” He explains. “A note denotes a noise, though a noise alone is not a song. With a Synth Weapon, that noise is compounded into an instrument. With an instrument, you can make a damn good song, though an instrument alone can’t outdo a symphony without a hell of a lot of skill. When paired with more people, it changes from a single instrument to a full blown band. When you got too many instruments, though, it tends to get too loud to hear."

  “Harmony.” Anthony cuts in, his hands buried in his pockets.

  George shoots him a knowing look, a small smirk spreading across his face. He nods his head, his arms folding across his chest. “That’s the name; though, it's called a Synth Symphony when more than two are present. That’s the crux of this entire lesson. Harmony.”

  "Which is why you only have teams of four." Anthony adds. "Four is efficient with the most amount of Harmony with the least amount of man power."

  "Aren't you bein' helpful for someone who didn't wanna help." George smirks. Anthony snorts, turning his head away as George takes in the reactions from the rest of the team.

  The reactions across the team vary. Anthony, already seemingly aware, is unsurprised. Charlotte was wide eyed, her head low to look at the grass beneath her. Donovan and Liv wore the most similar expressions, though Donovan’s was more confused compared to Liv’s look of complete perplexion.

  George gauges their countenance, dissatisfaction reigning on his own.

  “Alright, let me give you an example.” He says, his arms spreading out. “What would happen if I were to clap my hands right now.”

  “It’d make a noise.” Liv pipes up, one of two not completely frozen into silence.

  “Correct.” George says, his hands slapping together. A sharp clap sounds out as expected. “Pretty loud, right?’

  Nods all around.

  “Imagine if all of you clapped with me.” He says. “That’d be a whole hell of a lot louder, but only if we all did it at the exact same time.” Suddenly, his usual grin begins to stretch farther into a face splitting smile. “Coordination means you know when to clap the one time, though you aren’t gonna have a shred of a clue what to do if it isn’t enough. Teamwork is knowing exactly when the person next to you is gonna clap at all times and planning accordingly on the spot.”

  “That was a really roundabout way of saying we aren’t that good a team yet.” Anthony points out.

  “It never hurts to have more info, especially them.” George explains, gesturing to Anthony’s teammates. It seems, for most, the realization has clicked… Most.

  “So…” Liv questions, her head turned to the sky, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Synth is a… Clap… And we gotta clap to get better harmony?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “...Something like that.” George says, preluded by a sharp intake of oxygen shooting into his nose. “I’m sure you’ll understand in a bit. Just let it digest.”

  “U-uhm.” Charlotte pipes up, her voice minuscule compared to the whipping wind. “What do you recommend we do to shore up our weakness?”

  “God no…” Anthony murmurs, his hands coming to cover his face as George breaks out into a manic fit of cackles. Charlotte gives each an equally concerned gaze, though George earns the bulk of her attention due to her principles.

  “I’m glad you asked, kiddo!” He eventually spits out, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Well… You need to be a better team, obviously. The best way I’ve found to do that is…” He continues, his hand reaching to his pocket.

  The pause stretches on, his digits pawing around for some secret treasure. Donovan scratches the back of his head, his voice ringing through the expanse of the field.

  “Is…?”

  “It’s-.” Anthony starts, cut off as George raises the treasure in the air.

  “Is dancing!” He calls, brandishing the small item gold. It’s small, grey in color with a single knob in the center, a screen hovering just above it. There’s a hole at the top, though it’s only the size of a pencil eraser at most. It appeared to be mostly speaker, miniscule holes bedazzling its surface.

  “Holy shit,” Donovan mutters, his eyes widening to the eyes of saucers. His gaze is locked on the small device in George’s hand, struck into a momentary awe. “That’s a whole music player…”

  “Damn right it is!” George says, tossing it from hand to hand. “I was a kiddo when the Phenomenon happened. Wasn’t much of a techy, but I gotta download as much music as I wanted. This bad boy is older than you are!”

  “Geezer.” Anthony murmurs under his breath. Not quiet enough, clearly, as George shoots him a look.

  “Looks like we got a volunteer!” George calls, vanishing from view. Anthony feels a hand rest on his shoulder, pushing him forward. Anthony stumbles, corralled by George’s muscular figure. “Give me a hand if you’ve slow danced before!”

  Charlotte’s hand raises, Donovan making an in-between gesture with his hand.

  “Ehhh… Kind of? I’ve seen it, but I haven’t done it myself.”

  Liv, unsurprisingly, doesn’t raise her hand, her eyes darting between the four around her. Was she supposed to know? Her mother had danced occasionally, not like there was a lot else to do, but she wouldn’t describe anything her mother did as “slow”.

  “Alright. Two odd men out, then.” George says. “Charlotte, you’re with Donovan. Anthony, you’re with Liv.”

  “II am not dancing.” Anthony retorts, a frown deep set on his lips.

  “That’s so mean, Anthony!” Donovan calls, a smile spreading across his lips. “You don’t wanna dance with Liv?”

  “I didn’t-.”

  “Ya don’t wanna dance with me?” Liv questions, her pointer turned on herself.

  “Again, didn’t-.”

  He stops as a hand claps him on the back, his ire turning toward the smiling old geezer at his side.

  “It’s ok if you don’t wanna dance with Liv, kiddo. You can dance with Donovan.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t mind dancing with Liv.” Charlotte says, her eyes turning to Liv. Liv looks back, her head tilting to the side questioningly. Charlotte just gives a small smile, her nervous energy from before still present.

  Anthony continues to glare at George for a minute, the older man never breaking the strenuous eye contact. After a moment, Anthony grunts, shrugging his shoulder away from George’s grasp.

  “Fine, I’ll do the dance.” Anthony mutters, trekking the distance between Liv and himself.

  “Looks like you’re still with me then.” Donovan quips, his elbow clinking against Charlotte’s armor. “Ready to take me for a spin ‘cross the dance floor?”

  “You may be too heavy.” Charlotte jokes, a smile spreading across her face.

  “You’ve carried me before.”

  “And– alas– a horrid arm ache followed.” Charlotte bemoans, rolling her shoulder in faux pain. "I fear my arm still hasn't recovered."

  Anthony stops just before Liv, his gaze locked on her as their fellow teammates bicker. Through his bangs, she could see his face knitting up, his hands paralyzed in front of him, frozen like a doll set in place. She furrows her brows, her hands finding their way to their hips.

  “Are ya gonna tell me how I’m ‘sposed to do this?”

  “Huh?” Anthony questions, his mind catching up with reality. “Oh, uh… Sorry, just a bit rusty. Can’t really recall all the steps.”

  “I reckon ya can cobble somethin’ together.” Liv says. "Called muscle memory, ain't it?"

  “Don't have a lot of muscle to remember it with." Anthony bemoans, his frozen hands finding their way to hers. He grasps them, placing one of hers on his shoulder, the other remaining locked in his, his free hand snaking to the top of her back. Music begins to stream through the air, a soft melody played by pianos and violins. Choppy as it may be, it’s still beautiful in its simple execution.

  “Alright… So we just gotta step, step, step back, and step.” Anthony murmurs, his clammy hands sliding in her gauntleted grip. “Rinse and repeat, and we’ll be good.”

  Liv nods, her eyes locked on the floor. All she had to do was step in tune with him. That shouldn’t be too hard-.

  CRASHHH…

  Liv lies in a heap on the floor, Anthony a few steps away, laid flat on his face. Liv groans, pushing herself up. George looks down at them, an expression between shock, amusement, and disappointment plastered on his face.

  “Well,” he starts, “you lasted a second. Would you believe me if I said that wasn’t the worst I’ve seen?”

  “No.” Anthony murmurs, already back on his own two legs.

  “You’d be right.” George confirms. “You’re both worse than I worried…”

  “We were just warmin’ up!” Liv exclaims. She reaches over to Anthony, her hands locking in his; though, her eyes never left her elder teacher. “Just watch! We’re gonna knock yer socks-!”

  CRASH.

  George looks down at their prone forms, temporarily gobsmacked into silence. He nods carefully, an impressed frown on his face. “Well that was a stark improvement. You got a single step.”

  Liv growls in frustration, her fist indenting against the grass floor as she stands once more. The subsequent attempts go just as poorly, the two strewn about like filthy clothes in a hoarders room. Charlotte and Donovan had fared better, though stepped on feet were commonplace in their tango. Liv stands once more, her energy not yet depleted. From the way Anthony was laid out, his chest heaving for any dregs of oxygen he could force into his burning lungs, he was nearing his physical limit.

  “I dunno what I’m doin’ wrong.” Liv mutters, her arms crossing, a confused yet frustrated look knitted on her face.

  “It’s really simple.” He says. “Not only are you not coordinated, but you have no idea what he’s gonna do next. You’re just tugging each other along with no real rhyme or reason.”

  Liv hums, her eyebrows twitching, her mind lost in thought. So, while fighting, she had to keep track of not only herself: but she had to keep track of her enemy, her team, what they were doing, and how she related to that. Why couldn’t she just fight by herself again? She supposes that the Phenomenon town would’ve been harder, sure, but she had confidence she could’ve done it alone if she was taught the ropes. She keeps those thoughts to herself as her and her team walks back to the Initiative.