"Four Guardians: Legacy of the Fallen" [Original Apply Fic]

Prologue: The Last Goodbye

In the quiet early morning hours, the older neighborhood of Corktown in Detroit lies still, its streets empty and waiting. The first hints of sunlight break the night's hold, casting long shadows across the aging brick and weathered concrete. This serene yet somber atmosphere envelops the neighborhood, offering a moment of peace before the city awakens to the rhythm of another day. Corktown, with its rich history and resilient spirit, stands as a testament to Detroit's enduring strength, even as it faces the challenges of time and change. It's here, amidst the silence and the slowly brightening sky, that the day begins, holding the promise of new opportunities and the weight of old struggles.

In the creeping light of dawn, Corktown stretches out like a slumbering beast, its streets empty and peaceful, save for the lone figure of Lionel Harper. He wanders these sidewalks with the ease of a ghost, his steps silent against the concrete, a routine as ingrained in him as the lines etched upon his face. The early risers, those souls either too burdened by life's demands or too enchanted by its quiet beginnings, meet Lionel with nods and smiles. Each exchange, though fleeting, is heavy with the unspoken language of years spent living shoulder to shoulder in this patchwork community.

Lionel, with his effortless grace and that smile that seems to hold back the weight of the world is a fixture here. As much a part of Corktown as the aging facades and the whispers of history that cling to the air like fog. His greetings, dispensed with a nod or a word, are the currency of respect, paid in full by every shop owner, every jogger, every early bird catching the worm of another day.

But beneath the familiarity, there's a tension, a thrumming undercurrent. It's in the way Lionel's eyes, sharp and discerning, scan the horizon as if expecting the calm to crack, revealing the chaos that churns just beneath the surface. His walks are a ritual, yes, but also a vigil. He patrols the boundaries of his world, guarding against the unseen forces that threaten to unravel the tightly-knit community he holds dear.

Corktown, with its proud, weathered buildings and its cobblestone paths, bears the scars of time and change. Yet, in Lionel's steady gaze, in the assurance of his stride, there's a defiance, a refusal to succumb to the entropy that nibbles at the edges of all things. His morning rounds are a statement, a declaration that despite the inevitable decay, the spirit of the community remains resilient and unyielding.

And so, Lionel Harper walks, a sentinel in the creeping dawn, his presence a beacon of stability in the ever-shifting landscape of Detroit's oldest neighborhood. The day begins anew, and with it, the endless cycle of life in Corktown spins on, anchored by the steadfast heart of one man.

As Lionel Harper rounds a corner, the amber glow of the rising sun casting long shadows ahead of him, he spots a young man sitting on the stoop of a weathered brownstone. The young man, whom Lionel recognizes as someone new to the neighborhood, looks up from the worn-out backpack between his feet. His name is Tommy, a recent arrival to Corktown, with a mop of unruly dark hair and eyes wide with the sort of apprehension that speaks louder than words. Dressed in clothes that hang a bit too loose, betraying a recent and perhaps rapid change in his life, Tommy fidgets with the strap of his backpack, his gaze darting about as if looking for an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

Lionel, ever the guardian of his community's spirit, pauses his morning walk and approaches Tommy with a demeanor that disarms fear and invites trust. "First day?" he inquires, his voice imbued with a warmth that seems to pull at the tight threads of anxiety woven through Tommy's posture.

Tommy looks up, a mix of surprise and relief flickering across his face as he nods, "Yeah, first day at the factory down the street. I don't know anyone, and it's been a while since I... well since I had something steady." His voice trails off, the unspoken hardships of his past hanging in the air between them.