I'm so sorry if you were expecting a real update- you probably won't be getting one of those until my final exams are over- but here's a little something for you to look at until then! To all of you who've been requesting Ravenna's backstory, I hope this is a good start (There will definitely be more because I'm just as interested in exploring her past as you are!)

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Somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean was an island. "Island" is a misleading term- it was little more than a rock covered in sand and a few scattered shrubs and trees, really. Somewhere on that island was an old, black wheelchair that could use more than a few repairs. And in that wheelchair, her slight frame barely visible against the dark backdrop, was a girl. It was dark, but the moon still cast enough light for the girl to see the single white dandelion in her lap. Drawing in all the air that would fit in her tiny lungs, the girl blew, watching as the seeds drifted away on a cool night breeze and landed in the sand all around her.

It was hardly a hospitable place for young plants to grow. In the morning, the island's inhabitants would come rushing down from their barracks, some to work and others to train. They would run laps around the sandy field, trampling the seedlings to death before they even had the chance to sprout. The ones that made it past this initial shock would find the slippery sand devoid of nutrients and all but impossible to take root in.

Yet, some of the dandelions would survive to flower the next spring. They always did. And then, one of the younger, kinder Jacker recruits would gather them up in a bunch and drop them into her lap, starting the cycle all over again. The dandelions were like her... trapped in a place where they could never belong but still, somehow, managing to survive. She liked to think of herself that way... it made her life seem more heroic, more like a valiant struggle against the cruelty of circumstance than just one of the universe's many unfortunate accidents.

No, she wasn't an accident. Accidents didn't have names, but she did. Ravenna. She hadn't the slightest idea who had brought her into existence and given her that darkly beautiful name, and no one at the Jacker base cared enough to address her by anything other than "hey you" or "girl," but the knowledge that the name belonged to her itself was enough. It sounded old and powerful... like the name of a tribal war goddess or an ancient queen. Perhaps, it was a clue as to what her parents- whoever they were- had expected her to be...

Some expectations they had... Ravenna chuckled at her own unspoken dark humor as she looked down at her bony thighs with their wrinkled skin and atrophied muscles underneath. Her many years of solitude as a fixture of the Jacker base- always present, but never accounted for- had allowed her imagination to run wild. In her head, she was the Jackers' best assassin- a stealthy operative who could slip in and out of an Order of Chance banquet before anyone registered her presence. On some days, she was part of a covert diving mission that searched for Order secrets at the bottom of the ocean. On others, she was jumping out of helicopters and shooting through car windows. But although she allowed herself to imagine, she never let herself forget that that's exactly what it all was. Imagination.

And that was all it would ever be.

If she allowed herself to get her hopes up, even for a moment, she was only preparing herself for future disappointment. There was only one way to live the kind of life that she led, and that was by being becoming completely numb. That way, nothing that anyone said or did- including herself- could ever hurt her. And that was a kind of strength, too. A kind that Ravenna, despite her physical condition, could attain.

It was at that moment that the dandelion stem, still laden with a sizable number of feathery white seeds, rolled down her leg and landed softly in the sand below her. Ravenna sighed. She would have to wait until morning before she could ask someone to retrieve it for her, and even then she was likely to be met with jeers, scorn, or... worse. Despite her best efforts, she felt the slightest hint of apprehension at this idea.

"Numb." She whispered the word softly to herself, and soon, she felt nothing at all.

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"When I'm older, I'm gonna snag a few grand from Dad's vault, pack my bags, and head to the mainland forever. Start my own life. Do my own thing, you feel?" Calia Eadley gently nudged the Eagle's shoulder with her own, jolting him out of a wandering daydream. "Mm," he nodded mechanically, pretending like he had been listening to what she said. He had gotten quite good at that lately. 

They were sitting cross-legged on the roof of the barracks the Eagle called home. Calia had snuck out of her own home- the only building on the island that could fairly be called a house- in order to see him so late at night, although the Eagle was fairly certain that the sneaking itself hadn't been too difficult. Her older brother Camden was probably out by the sea tormenting some unfortunate new recruits while her father, Joe Eadley, or Redface Joe as he was more commonly known, was always far too busy with his responsibilities as the current leader of the Jackers and patriarch of the infamous Eadley line to ever notice what either of his children were up to.

"Would you come with me? Get out of this dump?" Calia asked. This question snapped the Eagle out of his thoughts, bringing a rush of anger to his face. Their relationship had been feeling more and more apathetic lately- he didn't derive the same pleasure he once had from his time with Calia- but this was the first time he had been downright mad at her. He could've pinned her to the roof and choked her half to death just to teach her a lesson, but he was all too wary of her status. She was an Eadley, and that meant one thing: hands off, or you'll be shot in your sleep.

Come with you?? He wanted to scream. This "dump" is my home, and its inhabitants are my family! We, the Jackers, are destined for greatness, and you dare treat this place with such blatant disrespect. There will come a day when people venerate this island as the birthplace of one of history's greatest movements, and all you can think about is "getting away..."

Instead, he chose to express his feelings in a more reasonable manner. "Calia," he cleared his throat, composing himself. "You're an Eadley. An heir to one of the most powerful crime families in Europe. And you're going to give that all up... for what? Freedom? Freedom's not worth half as much as they say. The freedom to make a choice is the freedom to make a stupid one, you feel?" he imitated the ending of her sentence with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. Hopefully, not enough for her to pick up on it. Calia had never been particularly bright anyway.

"Oh, I get it..." Calia smiled softly, tucking a strand of perfectly curled blond hair behind her ear. "You're one of Dad's best- he says so all the time. You want to be a bigshot Jacker, don't you? Work with my brother when he's in charge of this place." There was a time when the Eagle's heart would've fluttered at this sight- when he thought she was the most beautiful thing in this world- but now, he noticed the repetition in her flirtatious gestures. He saw how mechanical, how superficial, how boring she was.

I don't want to work with your idiotic brother, I want to overthrow him! "Yes, I would like that," the Eagle responded calmly, keeping his internal thoughts to himself. He was only one boy, and the Eadleys had nothing short of a private army. Although he allowed himself to imagine, he never let himself forget that that's exactly what it all was. Imagination.

And that was all it would ever be.

"I understand," Calia sighed. "But anyway, what do we know about what the future will look like? I guess we'll just take things as they come," she gave a small shrug that the Eagle presumed was intended to be cute before squeezing his hand.

"Dad'll want me home before dawn. Bye E. Love you," she muttered her last words so softly that they faded out into the distance as she climbed down the side of the roof, using pipes and windowsills as footholds. The Eagle watched her disappear over the edge of the roof before turning the other way, staring at the huge oak tree that stood between the barracks and the rocky shore. Walking to the edge of the roof, he dropped to one knee before jolting up into a sprint, running toward the tree. In one clean sweep, he pulled his hunting knife from his belt and gripped it with both hands, jumping off the roof with a savage yell. He swung his arms downward with a powerful stroke, embedding the knife in the trunk of the tree. He smiled, noticing the many scratches on the tree where he'd failed to accomplish this earlier before he dug into the bark with his fingertips, beginning a swift climb to the ground.

When he was younger, he had refused to climb onto the roof from the back side for fear that he would lose his balance and tumble onto the unforgiving rocks below. But he didn't let it stay that way for long. When he sensed fear in himself, he set out to squash it, and he hoped that if he did that for long enough, the fears would cease to appear at all. 

So far, it seemed to be working. 

Every time Camden Eadley or one of the other higher-ups announced an impossible new assignment from which no one was guaranteed to return alive, he was always the first to volunteer, throwing himself into danger like it was a warm hot tub in the dead of winter. He liked to think that at this point, he had become a bit of a folk hero among the lower echelons of Jacker recruits. They would crowd around the shore as his boat returned from missions, cheering at the sight of him, alive and well with a briefcase full of cash, weapons, or Order secrets. 

Most of the younger Jackers were here because they had no choice, driven from abusive households or wartorn nations with nothing but the clothes on their backs, but anyone could tell that wasn't the case with the Eagle. Being a Jacker was a part of his soul. He still remembered his first Jack at the tender age of eight, the rush of power that captured his young imagination as he put his thoughts into someone else's brain and his commands into their muscles. 

Walking slowly around the barracks, his bare feet digging into the cool sand, the Eagle smiled to himself. His plan was going perfectly. To him, the other Jackers were examples of humanity's wasted potential- people who could've done great things with their lives if they had only been born in a different time or place- and he made sure to let them know that on a regular basis. You're not useless, only unlucky, he said, and they listened, hungrily devouring every rare word of encouragement they could get. Redface Joe earned their fear by beating them down, but the Eagle earned their respect by building them up. The Eadleys may have had the privileged few, but the Eagle had the desperate many. And all of human history spoke to the fact that eventually, no matter how long or bloody the struggle, the latter always won. 

And then, just when he was ready to finally retire to the barracks for the night after a long introspective stroll, he saw a silhouette faintly outlined against the night sky. 

Who could possibly be out in the yard this late? 

His curiosity got the better of him and despite knowing all too well that an excess of inquisitiveness could get you into trouble around the Eadleys, he began to make his way toward the person. As he grew closer, he noticed that it was a girl who looked to be around his age if not a little younger. She sat in a wheelchair, staring forlornly at the picked dandelion at her feet.

It didn't take the Eagle long to realize who she was. She was always around- at meals, at speeches, at trainings, she was everywhere. Yet, no one ever paid her any mind. She was omnipresent, but invisible. In some ways, the Eagle envied her position. It was remarkably easy to learn everything there was to know about people when you posed absolutely no threat to them. 

She turned her head, noticing the Eagle's presence, and met his eyes with the most intense glare he had ever seen. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to cover his face even though he knew there was no way she could see it through his homemade leather mask. 

"Hello, Ravenna," he said softly. 

"You know my name." She sounded neither surprised nor pleased at this fact- she was merely stating it, like one would describe the weather. 

"There isn't much on this island I don't know," the Eagle smiled proudly.

"I could say the same," Ravenna nodded. "But there is one thing I don't know. Your name. How... and why... do you keep that secret so well." 

The Eagle hadn't been expecting her to ask this question so directly. Even so, he knew he didn't have to give her an answer. She had no power over him- as far as he was concerned, she was nobody. Yet, he wasn't the kind of person to leave any loose ends untied. Don't make enemies... no matter how insignificant they may seem to be. 

Noticing that Ravenna was still looking at the dandelion, the Eagle reached down to pick up it up, placing it in her palm. "Keep watching like you do and maybe someday, you'll figure that one out."