2025-08-01 09:30:20Mira didn’t move for a long time.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the sleeping boy and the man beside him. The only sound was the low hum of the generator outside and the steady breath of a child who finally, finally, had no reason to be afraid.
Ares didn’t speak either. He leaned back against the wall, knees bent, one hand resting protectively near Elijah’s shoulder, the other slack on his thigh. Every now and then, his eyes flickered open - checking, listening - but the tension he used to wear like armor had softened into something else.
Stillness.
Not weakness. Not surrender.
Just the absence of running.
Mira eventually pushed herself up, bones stiff, and moved to sit beside Ares. He shifted slightly, making room, careful not to wake the boy.
They didn’t touch - not yet. But their shoulders were close enough to share warmth.
“You should sleep too,” she murmured.
“I will,” Ares said. “Just... not yet.”
She nodded.
A long breath passed between them. Mira looked down at Elijah, then at Ares.
“Do you believe it now?” she asked softly.
Ares blinked. “Believe what?”
“That you deserve this.”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked. His gaze stayed forward.
“I’m trying,” he said finally.
Mira didn’t push. She just leaned her head lightly against his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. He let it happen.
And when he exhaled, it sounded like something old - something heavy - being set down.
…
The next morning broke with pale light creeping through the frosted window panes. Ares was already awake, shrugging on his jacket when Mira stirred.
“Where are you going?” she asked, brushing her hair back.
“Reyes radioed in from the northern quarter,” Ares said. “They’ve got structural cracks in one of the shelters. I told him I’d come take a look.”
Mira sat up. “You’re doing inspections now?”
He gave a half-smile. “Can’t just punch problems anymore. Figured I’d better learn the rest of it.”
She reached for his hand before he left, squeezing it once.
“Be safe,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head - gentle, instinctive - and left before either of them could overthink it.
…
Reyes met him two blocks from the shelter, holding a blueprint in one hand and a crooked mug of what might’ve been coffee in the other.
“You look different,” Reyes said by way of greeting.
“I slept,” Ares replied.
“Hell must be freezing.”
The shelter was smaller than Ares expected - built from salvaged scaffolding and repurposed crates, with tarps stretched across steel beams like makeshift skin. But the real problem wasn’t cosmetic. The frost from last week’s storm had caused a fracture along the east wall, and with snowmelt on the way, there was risk of collapse.
“We’ve already evacuated the families,” Reyes explained. “No injuries. Just lost blankets and a few pots.”
Ares crouched by the base of the wall, fingers brushing the cracked cement. His mind ticked through pressure lines, weight distribution, fallback plans. Not the chaos of war. Just the logic of keeping people alive.
“We’ll need to reroute load-bearing to the south beam,” he said. “Then reinforce with I-bars. We can use that salvaged steel from Sector Six.”
Reyes raised an eyebrow. “You been moonlighting as an engineer?”
“No,” Ares replied, standing. “But I used to build trenches. Same principles. Just... for different kinds of survival.”
Reyes chuckled. “I’ll rally the crew.”
They worked through midday. Ares didn’t bark orders - he lifted, measured, hauled metal with the rest of them. Sweat soaked into the collar of his coat despite the cold. His hands blistered slightly, but he didn’t stop. Not because of pride. Because it mattered.
At some point, one of the teenagers helping him - a wiry kid with buzzed hair and eyes too old for his face - offered him a bottle of water.
“You’re him, right?” the boy asked. “The God of War?”
Ares straightened. “I was. Now I’m just trying to be useful.”
The kid nodded, as if that answer was better than what he expected. “Cool,” he said, and handed over the bottle.
They kept working.
…
That evening, Ares returned to the Assembly Hall for the regional debrief. The city felt colder than usual - maybe the wind had shifted- but the streets were alive. Vendors shouted over steaming pots. Music echoed from rooftops. Children raced after dogs too fast to catch.
Inside the hall, the council was already seated. Kara gave him a nod as he entered. Mira was speaking when he slipped in - reading off updates from the medics’ unit in the West Sector. She wore her fatigue jacket over a sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, voice steady, clear.
He stood near the back, just listening.
When she finished, she looked toward him - just briefly. But it was enough.
Later, after the meeting, he found her on the rooftop again.
“How’d the shelter go?” she asked.
“Stabilized. No casualties. Kid offered me water like I was a celebrity.”
She smiled. “You kind of are.”
“Don’t say that. I might vanish.”
She turned toward him, serious again. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“No,” he said, and meant it. “Not anymore.”
They stood in silence, the city humming beneath them.
“What now?” Mira asked finally.
Ares looked out over Lin City - at its scorched edges and slowly healing wounds.
“Now we plant things,” he said. “Foundations. Roots. Maybe even hope.”
She laughed - soft but real.
“You’re starting to sound poetic.”
He shrugged. “Don’t tell Reyes. He’ll revoke my hammer.”
She leaned into him. This time, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders without hesitation.
“You really think we can do it?” she asked. “Rebuild?”
“I think we already are,” he said.
She nodded, eyes searching the horizon. “Even if the war comes back?”
Ares didn’t look away from the city. “Then we fight. But we don’t stop building.”
Behind them, a child’s laugh echoed from the lower street. Somewhere, a trumpet played off-key but determined. Life didn’t wait for permission.
It simply returned.
…
Later that night, Ares sat by Elijah’s bedside, flipping through the boy’s latest sketches.
One page showed a tower - tall, crooked, but standing strong. Another had a crude drawing of the Assembly table, this time with nameplates and tiny flags. The last was a simple picture: Ares, Elijah, Mira. No weapons. Just hands held.
Elijah stirred in his sleep, murmured something about “paint for the sunrise.”
Ares smiled, closed the notebook gently, and set it aside.
Then he sat back, looking at the boy - really looking.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it.
This was peace.
Not the absence of danger.
But the presence of something stronger.
Home.
And maybe, just maybe... it was enough.
...
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ASH IN THE VEINS
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
THOSE WHO REMEMBER
Because now, they had something worth defending.And for Ares Kai - the man who once lived only to destroy - that made him more dangerous than ever.The rooftop wind brushed over him, sharp with the chill of dusk but filled with the scent of food cooking in shared courtyards and the murmur of distant laughter. It was the kind of night that made a man forget, if only for a moment, how much blood had stained his past.But forgetting wasn’t an option.Mira stood at his side in silence. Her hand had long since slipped from his, but her presence hadn’t. She leaned against the railing, watching the city breathe. Her eyes were calm, but her voice, when it came, held a quiet weight.“Do you think they’ll come here? The ones watching?”He didn’t answer right away.Then, “Not yet. But they’ve taken notice.”She tilted her head. “Of you?”“No,” he said. “Of us.”Mira glanced back at the glowing blocks of Lin City - at the rebuilt shelters, the lights flickering in the old Assembly Hall, the hum
THE WEIGHT OF STILLNESS
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
EMBERS AND ROOTS
Mira didn’t move for a long time.She sat cross-legged on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the sleeping boy and the man beside him. The only sound was the low hum of the generator outside and the steady breath of a child who finally, finally, had no reason to be afraid.Ares didn’t speak either. He leaned back against the wall, knees bent, one hand resting protectively near Elijah’s shoulder, the other slack on his thigh. Every now and then, his eyes flickered open - checking, listening - but the tension he used to wear like armor had softened into something else.Stillness.Not weakness. Not surrender.Just the absence of running.Mira eventually pushed herself up, bones stiff, and moved to sit beside Ares. He shifted slightly, making room, careful not to wake the boy.They didn’t touch - not yet. But their shoulders were close enough to share warmth.“You should sleep too,” she murmured.“I will,” Ares said. “Just... not yet.”She nodded.A long breath passed
THE PROMISE OF STAYING
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
THE WEIGHT OF PEACE
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, pou
