Chapter Text
When Wren Corbin began doing photography as a hobby in high school, he had no idea it would lead him to date the country's most notorious villain. It began on an ordinary day. At sunrise, his older sister, Mavis, woke him up as she rattled around in the kitchen. He groaned and rolled over.
"Wren, make her stop!" Callum, the youngest of the three, whinned. They were both laying on the couch, having not gone to their rooms the night before.
It had been a rather late night for the three. They had gone to visit their family on the other side of the city and didn't get back until very late. That never stopped Mavis from being up bright and early to berate their ears with the noise of pans. The only thing that made up for it was that she was a good cook.
Her footsteps were quiet as she snuck up on the two and ripped the blankets from them. "Rise time, sunshines!" she said with a wide smirk. She smelled strongly of citrus and sweets. "Wren, you've got a missed call."
"Great," he groaned, sitting up lazily. "From who?" Mavis shrugged and walked back to the kitchen. Wren mumbled a few curses to himself before using the back of the couch to pull himself to his feet.
The floor was bitterly cold. The rising sun peaked through the curtains, casting a bright shape on the wall that blinded Wren as he walked by. The east facing apartment had been Mavis's idea, and he had strongly opposed it, but he wasn't home often, so eventually, she won.
He padded into the kitchen and picked up his phone, seeing a missed call from an unknown number. He stifled a yawn, and he tapped in the password and called the number. He barely registered when someone picked up on the other side.
Hello? Is this Mr. Corbin?
"Yup. Who is this? What do you want?" He replied, resting his head on the nearby wall and closing his eyes. The smell of muffins hung sweetly in the air.
My name is Pitch. I work with the Tidemaster hero organization. We would like to meet with you about some of the recent photos you have taken.
Wren blinked slowly and didn't respond for a moment. Why would a hero organization need a few photos? "Why?"
That is classified. We can tell you more if you agree to meet with us.
"That's suspicious as fuck. When and where?"
Pitch took a few moments to respond. As they waited, Mavis gave a confused look to her brother. You live in the downtown sector. Are you per chance near the harbor?
"Yup."
Our main office is there. Be there at noon today.
Pitch ended the call abruptly. Wren set a reminder for later to make sure he didn't forget. It was a rather sketchy call and could possibly be a kidnapping attempt. If someone was that dedicated to trying to kidnap him, he felt it right to give them a chance. Maybe they could make life interesting for a day or so.
"A hero organization," he said casually, setting the phone down to grab a plate. "They want to meet me."
"Why?" Callum asked as if it was the most unbelievable thing he had heard in years. Wren shot a glare at him for the tone. He grinned in response.
Mavis rolled her eyes and turned the burner off. "He's right, though. What did they want?" Wren shrugged, the call being a blur.
"They wanna meet at noon." The two looked at him with wide, concerned eyes. It may have been a relatively suspicious phone call, but heroes were known for staying out of the spotlight. Lady Luck was normally kind to the Corbin's. Why should now be any different?
The two didn't try to argue, having learned long ago that it was impossible to change their brother's mind. Wren let out a wide yawn, and he walked around searching for his camera. It sat neatly under the couch where he had been sleeping.
Quietly and quickly, Wren gathered the things he needed. He changed out of the clothes of the previous night to one's that covered much more of his body. He had multiple tattoos trailing up both arms that were quickly covered. They were nothing scandalous, but heroes were finicky about those things.
Mavis watched Wren from the kitchen as he laced his boots. She looked worried but did not say anything. "I'll be back later. If I'm not, don't worry. I'll live," he told her, slinging the bag full of gear over his shoulder. "See ya."
From the apartment, it was about a twenty minute walk to the harbor. Not many people were on the street as most were at work or school. It was one of the big perks of getting to pick your own hours.
Heroes weren't the only thing Wren photographed. He did a wedding here and there, graduates often at the end of the school year, and the few odd family photos here and there. It kept money coming when heroes were slow.
The ocean roared over the sounds of the city. Some days, he would stop to take a photo of it, but there had been some storms recently making the waters murky and full of sargassum. It did not make for a good photo. He continued his stroll, looking for something eye-catching to take a photo of before noon bared its ugly teeth.
He passed by the metal shop, but there weren't any spectacular pieces to capture. Many ships were docking, but they all looked similar with nothing special. Taking photos was starting to get boring. There was nothing interesting to capture. There was still an hour to go until the meeting.
He started to consider showing up early but couldn't finish the thought. A block down the road, yelling echoed as smoke filled the air. Finally, Wren thought, something interesting.
He pushed against the crowd to get closer to the event. By the sounds and overall taste of magic in the air, it was clear this was a fight. He smiled wildly as he ran into the nearest building. The place was deserted. The elevator was broken, so he bolted for the stairs. He could smell the smoke in the air. As he ran, he pulled a small case from his pocket and retreived the items needed to pick the lock to the roof.
The lock clicked open and allowed him full access. Distant screaming echoed up to where he stood. He reached the railing and was ripping his bag open to get the camera out. He looked through the lens and zoomed in on the fight.
The hero was nobody special, just one of the new heroes serving under Tidemaster; however, the villain caught his eye. The villain was quite well known for his work with many different villain groups. He was called Boreas. He had long pointed ears, a near permanent cocky grin, and brown hair that got messier every time he was seen. The rest of the villain was always well put together. He wore black slacks and a white vest with a snow blue tie.
It came as no surprise that Boreas was winning the fight by a landslide. The area around them was covered in a layer of frost, making the world momentarily forget it was barely fall. Tiny shards from his magic hung in the air like sparkling snowflakes. He looked godly.
Quickly, Wren's attention shifted from the new hero and to being entirely on Boreas. Heroes were so unphotogenic, but this man could stand there and look like he was made to be documented in history. The immense zoom on the camera helped to capture photos that appeared to be taken from a few feet away. He didn't seem to be doing anything other than terrorizing the hero.
From the far side, Tidemaster arrived. A well-built man, he commanded water to his every beck and call. And ice was water. Boreas realized this and quickly began putting distance between himself and the hero. As soon as it began, the fight was over as Boreas fled, dissolving into a pile of snow.
News reporters were already on the scene, all running up to talk to Tidemaster. He dodged questions and tried to escape the anchors' grasp. As he left, he looked up to the roofs, right at Wren. It was as if he knew the photographer was there... He probably did. Wren didn't care.
He took his time returning to the ground floor. Some people had filtered back to the lobby by the time he reached it. People were too frazzled to question him as he left. At least the fight burned some of his time and gave him some good shots.
As he exited the building, he received the notification for a text. The person from before had sent him an address to go to. He looked it up on a map and made way towards it.
From the outside, the building looked like a run-down warehouse. As he approached it, Pitch messaged again, instructing him to knock five times with a break between three and four. He walked up to the door and did as told, standing back in case this was some kind of trap.
A person in heavy armor opened the door with only their hands exposed. "Follow me." They did not wait for an answer and turned heal. Wren glanced around before stepping in and following.
Inside, it was completely bare but immaculately clean. A single spiral staircase going down was in the middle of the room. He was led to it. Before following, he glanced back to keep an escape route in mind.
Below the floor was a giant operations office. Everyone had some kind of screen with surveillance. There were around fifty people all watching these screens, with each having at least five. They typed with amazing speed while keeping eyes on the screens.
As he stepped off of the staircase, only one worker looked at him and stood. "Welcome, Mr. Corbin." The voice was familiar. The person in front of his was short and in the same suit uniform as everyone else with a mask and other fabrics covering their face to shield their identity. They were Pitch. "Mr. Tidemaster is right this way. He will be the one you will be speaking with today."
This news surprised Wren. The hero had to be quite the busy man, so what could he possibly want with someone like Wren?
Pitch guided him through the maze of high walled cubicles. They walked confidently without ever guessing where they were going. After a few minutes of walking, they stopped in front of a door that laid flush with the wall. There was a small plaque above the handle that read: Tidemaster.
Pitch stood to the left of the door and stared expectantly. Slow and uncertainly, Wren reached for the handle. When Pitch didn't protest, he pushed on the door. It didn't immediately open. The handle moved. It wasn't locked, but the door wouldn't open.
Pitch simply stood to the side, watching as Wren shoved his weight against the door. It only moved about an inch. Fucking animas, he muttered under his breath. The majority of the city had powers, even if they were simple. Wren was not in that majority. "Can you open this thing?"
"I do not have permission."
Wren blessed her with a few sharp curses as he kicked the door. The only thing he successfully achieved was a sore foot. Eventually, he ran out of curses to yelp at the door. Nobody spared so much as a glance as he yelled at the door. He did see Pitch wince once when he spouted some of the more colorful words he knew.
After too long, the door swung open. It was not by Wren's efforts but rather by Tidemaster being disrupted by his ruckus. Another reason Wren didn't enjoy animas was their size. He was not short by any means, quite tall, actually. But almost every anima he met was naturally bigger, stronger, and faster. Tidemaster was no exception.
Wren had taken photos of the hero before and knew he was big, but standing in front of him was different. The man looked like he could crush a head like a bug. And he would. Wren's nerves were subdued as a smile stretched across the hero's face. Wren scanned the man and realized that it seemed like genuine delight.
"Mr. Corbin! You've no idea how delighted I am to finally get to meet you." The hero extended his hand and looked at Wren expectantly. Cautiously, Wren took his hand. The shake was surprisingly gentle for a man with such immense strength. "Come in! Have a seat! We have much to discuss."
As comforting as the hero's excitement was, it worried Wren. He wasn't anybody special, so why did this hero know him? Why was he even here?
The office was pleasant, albeit minimalist in its design. In the center of the room stood a desk, adorned with an array of paperwork and illuminated by a solitary lamp. The walls were painted in a soothing shade of blue-gray, while the flooring was crafted from hickory. The room was furnished with only two chairs, positioned on opposite sides of the desk. Tidemaster went behind the desk and sat down, gesturing across the desk.
Wren cautiously took his bag off his shoulder and set it in his lap as he sat. The weight was comforting. "Please forgive me for the suddenness and mystery of this meeting. A hero can never be too careful about landing out details."
"It's fine." The hero looked like he expected Wren to say more, causing silence to befall the room. Silence didn't bother the civilian, but apparently, it did the hero.
Tidemaster sighed and pulled a file out of a nearby cabinet. It was quite full. He set it on the desk and started to flip through the papers. "Wren Corbin. Second eldest of six. Twenty-eight years old. Son of Gavin and Elena Corbin. Self-taught photographer. You sell your photos to newspapers to make money. I have the right person, yes?"
"Yeah. That's me. But I don't affiliate myself with my biological mother." Tidemaster picked up a pen and made a note on one of the papers. "And my life isn't a fucking book. Why do you have that?"
Tidemaster did not answer this question. Instead, he perched his head on his hands and studied Wren for a few moments. "I was under the impression you had a few piercings and tattoos. I don't see any."
"I cover them for interrogations." Tidemaster narrowed his eyes at their meeting being called an interrogation. "Now, let me repeate myself. The fuck do you want?"
The hero sighed and sat back in his chair. "Nothing gets past you, huh? You're the spitting image of your mother." He ignored the disgruntled noise Wren made. "I would like to see your camera. Those photos you take intrigue me."
"I will make you pay if you damage it," Wren threatened. There wasn't really any denying the hero, so he rummaged in his bag for the camera. The hero waited paitently as he turned it on. After a moment of consideration, Wren went past the photos of Boreas from that day so that he didn't have to deal with Tidemaster grilling him about them.
The hero took the camera and slowly flicked through shots. Wren waited paitently for a few minutes in silence. Occasionally, Tidemaster would glance up at him. His eyes were green and stared through Wren's soul as if you could see every misdeed that he'd ever done.
After eternity, he looked up, and they locked eyes. He sat quiet, simply holding the camera. "Where are they?"
"Excuse me?" He hadn't removed photos from the camera in an entire season. Whatever the hero wanted was on it.
"Boreas. You took a photo of him today. Where is it?" The hero's gaze was serious and stern. Wren took the camera back and went back to today's photos. So much for not getting lectured.
Tidemaster looked at the photo that Wren had stopped on and sat while analyzing it for a minute. Then he went to the next and repeated the process. It was slow and painfully quiet for Wren.
The photos were nice, but they didn't elicit such a reaction. They were just photos of a villain, something one could see every day. Boreas wasn't a secretive villain. A new photo of him surfaced every few days. But Tidemaster took incredible care in taking in every detail of the photos. He stopped on one for an especially long time before his eyes went wide.
Slowly, he set the camera down and pulled out another folder. This one contained pictures with very few words underneath. After reading a few, Wren realized that they were the brands of villain guilds. He stopped on one and heaved a sighed that sounded years in the coming.
The photo showed a navy blue brand on someone's arm. It was a very blurry photo, but from what Wren could see, it was of a pair of eyes with wings coming out the sides. Under it was one word: Elefthería.
"I must thank you, Mr. Corbin. This is an amazing discovery," Tidemaster said, handing back the camera. The photo he had stopped on wasn't the most flattering one he had. It showed the villain from behind, so most of him wasn't visible.
There was nothing special about it. "What's wrong with it?" Wren asked, analyzing the photo as the hero had. He didn't see anything.
"Nothing that you need to worry about. Although, I would like to talk to you about something else." Wren turned the camera off on the photo, deciding to study it later. "I would like access to your photos and if you will, your time."
This peaked the man's interest. He put the camera away and leaned back in his chair. "Elaborate."
A smile graced the hero's face, glad that the civilian was finally interested. "Well... you see, getting photos of these villains has been quite the challenge for a multitude of reasons. I've seen you at many attacks, always fearlessly doing what you must to get the shot. All I ask is that you continue that and allow my team and me access to the photos, and every once in a while, take the photos we need."
The whole thing was extremely strange. Surely somewhere inside that extensive file the hero had on him, he must have known that there was nothing special about Wren. Nothing peculiar. He was as normal as anyone could be. Although, it did piss Wren off that he mentioned his biological mother twice.
"So, I keep doing what I'm doing, but sometimes you tell me where to go?"
"Precisely."
"Why me?"
Tidemaster sat for a moment, seeming to not have expected the question. It was a simple question, yet the answer was handled delicately as if one wrong move could blow the place up.
"You are the first person I have come across that is unaffected by these villains' long-range spells. It prevents us from photographing them, recording, or anything on the sort. All they need to do is show up, and it corrupts all of our surveillance. But, these photos aren't corrupted. They remain in perfect condition."
"So it's because I'm your only option."
"To put it simply, yes," the hero admitted, looking slightly guilty. "We will pay you for your work, of course. But I'd perfer whatever you take for us, you do not give to others."
The room fell silent as Wren considered his options. A pay increase would be nice, but Mavis would kill him if he got himself into even more dangerous situations. Callum would worry, and his parents would never let him hear the end of it.
"Can I think about it?" This wasn't something he could decide for himself. His siblings deserved imput since they had to live with him.
Tidemaster's smile faltered for a moment. Despite this, he said, "Of course you can. I believe you have Pitch's number for when you have an answer?"
"Yup." Tidemaster stood as he replied, walking to the door. Wren glared at the door for its previous actions, causing the hero to let out a small chuckle as he opened it with ease.
The hero walked with him back to the top of the warehouse. There were a few people wandering around now, but they were all animas, so he thought nothing of them. As they walked out in utterly unbearable silence, Wren watched the animas out of the corner of his eye. They turned to follow after the hero. Well, hopefully, they were after Tidemaster. But Wren wasn't the hero there, and Tidemaster had to have seen them.
"Why are you leaving too?" Wren questioned, glancing around as they left the warehouse. There were more people behind them now. Surely Tidemaster was going to do something about them.
Right?
"I need to do some rounds. The villain guilds have been getting antsy lately. They are planning something big. I know it. And now that I know about Boreas, my fears are high." Tidemaster glanced around. He was good at acting like they weren't being followed. Wren found himself hoping he was pretending.
Tidemaster walked towards the water and looked out. Wren turned heal, wanting to get out of their as soon as he possibly could. There were nearly a dozen people surrounding them now.
"Wren."
"Yeah?" He didn't have time to worry about a snarky response as more and more showed up. He recognized a few. They were all anima, yes. But they were all villains. Wren didn't have time to stick around and find out what they wanted.
"You asked me earlier why I had so much detail in your files."
"Oh, I did. But I think we have bigger problems at the moment," Wren chuckled nervously. The closest anima were just a lunge away. The closest was someone Wren didn't recognize, but he watched confusion contort the woman's face.
Tidemaster truly had no clue they were there. "Like what?"
Wren wasn't given time to answer as the winds changed harshly, throwing him to the ground. Tidemaster reacted quickly, surrounding the two of them in a dome of water.
"Nice shot, Anemoi!" A man walked through the crowd, frost still in his hair from his previous fight. "Well, would you look at that! The little birdie and the fish. We got really lucky today."
"Boreas," Tidemaster said gruffly, staring at the icy man before him.
"Hey, Tides."