“I promise.”Ares said it quietly, as Elijah stirred faintly in his arms - eyes fluttering but not waking. The boy’s cheek rested against his father’s chest, and for a moment, Ares didn’t think about legacy, or structure, or the fractured city at his back.Just the warmth of his son’s breath.Just the weight of that promise.He looked out toward the distant skyline, jagged silhouettes under a bruised sky. Somewhere, fires still burned - controlled ones now. Cleanup teams. Volunteers. Survivors who refused to wait for someone else to fix what had been broken.Mira sat beside him, one hand resting gently on his knee. She hadn’t spoken since he whispered those words. But she didn’t need to. Her silence was a thread between them - a shared truth that stretched across too many years and too much pain.When Elijah shifted again, Ares lowered him carefully, wrapping the blanket tighter before rising to his feet. Mira followed, brushing dirt from her coat.“You heading inside?” she asked.Ares

The Assembly Hall was quiet the next morning.Not silent - there were distant boots on tile, quiet murmurs of volunteers laying cables and pinning up maps -but the kind of quiet that came after storms. The kind you earned. Ares stood near the north-facing window, watching as the mist lifted off the shattered rooftops of Lin City.Behind him, Elijah tugged at his sleeve.“Is this where they argue?” he asked.Ares smirked. “Sometimes. Mostly, they try to listen.”Elijah nodded solemnly, like that was harder.The boy wore a scarf too big for him and boots slightly too worn. His hair still stuck up in wild tufts from sleep, and he held The Little Prince under one arm like it was a secret weapon. Ares rested a steady hand on his son’s back as they stepped inside.Some of the council members were already seated. Kara gave a quick wave. The woman from the South End was bouncing her baby with one hand and flipping through ration figures with the other. Hawk stood by the coffee dispenser, pour

Ares didn’t move.He sat by Elijah’s bedside long after the boy had turned back into sleep, his small hands tucked beneath his cheek, his breaths soft and untroubled. The notebook lay closed beside them - those sketches still etched into Ares’ mind.That last drawing... the three of them standing beneath a sun not yet drawn. No smoke. No sirens. No shadows clawing at the edge of their peace. Just presence.Ares leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his head buried in his hands. His back ached from old wounds. His fingers were calloused from war. But none of that compared to the pressure behind his ribs now - the unfamiliar weight of not having to fight.Outside, the windowpane rattled gently in the breeze. There was no storm tonight. No cries. No coded transmissions. Just wind brushing across the roof and the distant clatter of tools as the early workers began their shifts.Mira’s door was still ajar across the hall, warm light spilling through the gap. He could have gone to her

The steel slab still stood at the western ridgeline when Ares returned at midday. The sun was higher now, carving the message deeper into the scorched metal with every flicker of heat. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t have to. The words were burned behind his eyes.We are not your past. We are your consequence.He stood there a moment longer, wind tugging at the collar of his coat, the dry scent of dust and burnt wire rising from the earth. Reyes approached from behind, silent, until the crunch of his boots gave him away.“They’re not just warning us,” he said. “They’re staging something. Making a show of memory.”Ares nodded slowly. “And calling it justice.”Reyes looked out toward the hills. “You think it’s just Vale?”“No.” Ares didn’t blink. “I think it’s what Vale left behind. A creed. A code. A wound still bleeding after all this time.”Reyes crossed his arms. “I’ve buried too many men to be haunted by ghosts.”Ares looked at him. “Then start digging again. Because this war... it didn

The ash wasn’t thick. Not yet.But Ares knew that scent - how it clung to the air just before a field was scorched, how it tasted like a memory you couldn’t wash out of your mouth. Lin City had known that taste before. It remembered.And now, the wind carried it again.He stood at the northern watchtower as the sun lifted past the horizon, a dull orange behind layers of smoke-streaked clouds. The wind was steady. The sound beneath it wasn’t thunder, not yet, but a pattern - measured, deliberate, human.Marching.He didn’t speak. Just watched.Mira joined him without a word, a steaming cup of water in her hand, her other clutching a rough shawl around her shoulders. She stood beside him, not asking what he saw. She already knew.“How many?” she asked quietly.“Hard to say.” He paused. “But it’s not a raid. It’s a procession.”Mira frowned. “A parade?”“No,” Ares said, voice low. “A ritual.”She followed his gaze, the direction of the wind. “Magnus?”He nodded. “It’s him.”Mira looked d