Callum didn't stop running until the sounds of the city faded behind him, replaced by the quiet hum of the rebel hideout. He ducked through a hidden entrance in the back of an abandoned warehouse, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Inside, the other rebels gathered around him, their faces a mixture of relief and apprehension.
"You're okay!" Leila exclaimed, rushing to his side. Her sharp eyes scanned him for injuries. "What happened? Did they follow you?"
"No," Callum said, his voice hoarse. He slumped into a chair, his mind racing. "But I saw him."
"Who?" Leila asked.
"Swift Angel," Callum replied, his tone heavy. "He found me."
The room fell silent. Everyone knew Swift Angel's reputation—his strength, his determination, and his willingness to do whatever it took to achieve his vision.
"He let me go," Callum said, almost to himself.
Leila frowned, her arms crossed. "Why would he do that?"
Callum looked up at her, his expression conflicted. "He thinks he's right. He thinks we're just kids playing a dangerous game, and that we don't stand a chance."
One of the younger rebels, a boy barely out of his teens, spoke up. "Maybe he's not wrong. They've got powers, weapons. What do we have?"
Callum's eyes flashed with defiance. "We have the people. And we have something they don't—something they can't take from us."
"What's that?" Leila asked, her voice sceptical.
"Hope," Callum said, standing. "They might have wings and shadows and whatever else, but they can't understand what it's like to fight for freedom. For choice. For the right to decide our own future."
Callum turned to face the group, his voice growing stronger with each word.
"They think they're saving us," he said. "But they're just building another cage, one where they hold the keys. They'll make the rules, and they'll call it peace. But it's not peace—it's control."
The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement, the rebels nodding as his words took hold.
"We're not just fighting for Manchester," Callum continued. "We're fighting for everyone who doesn't want to live under their boot. We're fighting for the freedom to make our own mistakes, to choose our own path."
Leila stepped forward, her scepticism replaced by a fierce determination. "What's the plan?"
Callum smiled, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "We hit them where it hurts. We're showing them that no matter how strong they are, they can't crush the spirit of the people."
The rebels spent the next several hours planning their next move. They decided on a series of coordinated strikes designed to disrupt The Vanguard's operations and turn public opinion further against them.
Leila outlined the specifics. "We'll start with their communications hub. Cut off their ability to coordinate, and they'll be scrambling. Then we target their supply lines again, but this time we make it public. Let the people see us giving back what they've taken."
Callum nodded. "And we spread the word. More leaflets, more graffiti, more speeches. We remind people that they have a choice. That they don't have to accept Vanguard's rules."
Their first target was a small Vanguard outpost on the outskirts of the city, used as a relay station for communications between Manchester and Birmingham.
Under the cover of darkness, the rebels moved in. Callum led the charge, his adrenaline surging as he slipped past the guards with Leila at his side.
Using homemade explosives and precision strikes, they disabled the outpost's equipment, leaving the building in ruins. By the time The Vanguard arrived, the rebels were long gone, leaving behind only a message scrawled in bright red paint:
"We are still here."
The success of the operation spread quickly through Manchester. The people, once hesitant and fearful, began to speak of the rebels with admiration.
In the slums, children whispered tales of Callum, the boy who stood against the golden-winged leader. Merchants shared food with the rebels, and neighbours watched the streets for Vanguard patrols.
Callum stood in the heart of the slums one evening, watching as the people rallied around his cause. He felt the weight of his confrontation with Angel still pressing on him, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a burden.
It felt like a purpose.
Back at The Vanguard's base, Swift Angel stared at the latest reports with a grim expression.
"They're gaining ground," Fantasia said, her tone laced with frustration. "The people are starting to side with them."
"They're emboldened," Shadowleaf added. "Your decision to let that boy go—it's coming back to bite us."
Angel's jaw tightened, his wings twitching slightly. "It's not over yet. We'll remind them why we're here."
Dark Ant leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "We'd better move fast. Because if we don't, this rebellion won't just be a spark. It'll be a wildfire."