The city was no longer theirs - it was his.Ares stood at the center of Lin City’s great square, where the statue of Victor Wu had once towered like a tyrant’s shadow. Now the bronze figure lay shattered, its head toppled beside broken stone. The people filled the square shoulder to shoulder, eyes lifted, breaths caught, waiting for him.The morning light struck his shoulders, and though he was only one man, he carried himself like an army. His coat was still torn from battle, blood stains dark against the fabric. He had not washed, had not slept more than an hour. Yet he did not bow beneath exhaustion. He had been forged in deserts and fire. This was nothing compared to Fallujah… compared to the nights he’d buried brothers beneath foreign soil.Reyes lifted his arm. “Lin City!” his voice thundered. “The God of War stands with you!”A roar rose from the crowd, raw and hungry. Men shouted his name. Women lifted children onto their shoulders. The chants shook windows, rattled the broken

To her, he was still the husband who once promised her peace. And that promise already felt like something broken beyond repair...Mira didn’t look at him straight away. She stayed by the bed, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the blanket covering Elijah. The boy’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the kind of rhythm Ares longed for inside himself but couldn’t find.The silence stretched. It wasn’t the soft silence of comfort - it was the heavy, airless kind.“Mira,” Ares said finally. His voice came out low, rough, almost unsteady. “I never meant - ”“Don’t,” she cut in quickly. Not loud. Just sharp.He stopped. The old Ares - the general, the commander - would’ve pressed forward, barked his reasoning until the other side folded. But this wasn’t a battlefield. This was his wife. And she looked like someone who had no fight left in her.Behind her, Elijah shifted, mumbling something half-dreamed. Mira leaned close, brushing the boy’s hair from his face. That simple act cut A

Not to the fragile hope that still clung to them.The thought tightened around Ares’s chest like a vice. His hands shook, not from fear but from being torn in two. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to fight, to end the noise thundering outside. Yet his heart anchored him here - inside this room where Mira’s silence cut sharper than any blade.The next explosion ended the debate. It was closer, heavy enough to rattle the glass panes. Elijah stirred, whining softly, his small fingers clutching tighter at Mira’s wrist. She hushed him quickly, rocking him without looking at Ares.A knock thundered at the door, not polite but demanding. Three hard blows. Then a voice - rough, commanding. “Open up! By order of the Council!”Mira’s head snapped toward the door, eyes wide. Ares’s grip on the knife tightened until his knuckles bleached white.Another blow landed, splintering the frame. “We know he’s inside! Surrender Ares Vassilis, or the whole block burns!”Mira’s face went pale. She ro

Ares woke with the taste of iron still in his mouth, the kind of taste that clings after a bad dream. Dawn bled through the blinds in thin lines. He sat up slow, joints complaining like old hinges, and found Mira already awake at the table, cup in hand, staring into nothing.Elijah slept on, jaw slack, fingers curled around a toy truck. Seeing him like that - so small, absurdly whole - pulled something raw in Ares. He wanted to put on a softer face and pretend he could be the man dream-people believed in. Instead he stood and walked to the sink, splashed water on his face until it stung, then slid into the jacket with the holes in the elbow. Practical armor.“Wu’s louder,” Mira said without looking up.“Yeah.” Ares shrugged. “He’s got cameras and money. He thinks the city will swallow whatever he says if it’s said with polish.”Mira let out a short, useless laugh. “People want neat stories. They don’t like the mess in between.”Ares looked at Elijah, then at Mira. “Then we make the me

The streets were quieter now, but the silence wasn’t peace. It was anticipation, like a storm gathering over the city’s bones. Ares walked with Mira close at his side, Elijah tucked into her arms. His boots scuffed wet asphalt, leaving marks that would vanish by morning but felt permanent to him.“Do you think they’ll come back?” Mira’s voice was low, tired, carrying the weight of uncertainty she rarely let show.“They will,” Ares said, flat, voice hard. “They always do when they think they can fight alone. And they’ll be sloppy.”Her eyes flicked to him, wary. “And if we’re wrong?”Ares didn’t answer immediately. His mind ran over positions, weak points, escape routes, and the predictable arrogance of Wu’s forces. “We won’t be,” he said finally. “We’ve tested them. They’re nervous. That’s all we need to know.”Elijah stirred, yawning against her chest. Ares’s hand brushed the boy’s head. “Time to rest,” he murmured. “Even storms sleep sometimes.”...Inside the safehouse, the fighter