The Fight For Our Lives

Chapter One: Henry O'Connor

Times Square, New York City January, 29 6:00pm. Snowflakes fall in tight clumps that instantly melt on clothes and asphalt. The only place where the snow doesn't melt is in every gutter. That dark gray slush that will soak you through and freeze you all at once.

The fading light of the setting sun is completely eclipsed by enormous buildings that cover every nook and cranny of the city. Hours earlier incandescent neon lights sprang to light and covered the city in a glow in every color imaginable.

Now, city life is in full swing and the lights in Times Square are at full brightness. No city in the world comes close the magnificence of just this one spot. There is no stillness, but there is a... calm. There is nothing but movement: Every part of Times Square is moving. Thousands of cars can be seen at any angle and as they zoom past you, then just turn into a bright red light. Then everything comes to a screeching halt as hundred of brakes stop at the same moment. Every person, from weathered cab drivers to back-packed tourists, looks on Times Square awestruck. And the awe isn't seen from dropped jaws or raised eyebrows. It's the light. It's the same light of Times Square, and it isn't just some twinkles that reflect off their eyes. It's the light from this incredible city that soaks into every person and this same light that shines from the inside of every man woman and child. The light of billboards and people and street lamps and the light of the fading sun reflected over and over between the skyscrapers all being absorbed and then released through the eyes of every person. The stop light turns green and the roars of taxi cabs and yells and car horns and a thousand people shoot off into the distance and a new thousand comes and you can still see the face of every new person. But the people in the cars are nothing in comparison to the people walking In Times Square.

Hundreds of thousands of people moving at every pace but mostly fast. Everyone has a place to be and every place has people in it. This magical place where Broadway and 7th Avenue cross for a moment and then separate never to be joined again. Tourists and inhabitants alike walk around but their pace is what sets them apart. Tourists have this beautiful look of naivety on their faces as they move at a slow crawl so that they can take in all the glowing lights and tall buildings and people in costumes. The inhabitants of New York have a similar but different look on their faces as they move at a fast walk, half run pace. They have this look of love for the city, true love, that even the most hardened cab driver can't hide. It's a love for a place where they and their parents and their parent's parents have found a place to call home. It is a city built by immigrants for immigrants. A city for the lost and the homeless to make their home. Where dreams come true and where you can find the love of your life whether that be a person or the city. If you ever have a chance to travel the U.S. or the world go to New York there's no place better.

In this wonderful place of light and movement one man stands and looks out on that sea of people. He stands tall and slim at 6'3". His olive green eyes have a constant look of mischief and excitement that spread to his wide constant smirk. His jet black hair that goes to his shoulders is held back by a sky blue worn cloth strap with his families insignia sewn into the center. This headband has been passed down from father to son for time beyond memory and is what distinguishes him as the leader of his family. His family started the Guild of the Dragon Fingers nearly 3,000 years ago and as the wearer of the Obsidian Dragon Ring, he leads all 2 million of the dragon fingers. The ring is a mass of solid dark obsidian with a ruby set in the mouth like fire breath, emeralds as the eyes and pink opal as the tail. He wears it on his right hand's index finger where it fits perfectly on him. Opposed to other rings the Obsidian Dragon Ring is silent against other materials no matter how hard you hit them. Unlike the headband, the Obsidian Dragon Ring wasn't given to him by his father. The ring is given to the most accomplished thief in the guild. The man who now wears this ring is named henry O'Connor and he is quite possibly the greatest thief ever born.