2025-07-30 18:09:28“No,” he said. “But it’s beginning.”
Elijah didn’t say anything. He just looked out across the river, toward the jagged skyline of Lin City - blackened, bent, but still standing. His small hand clutched Ares’ fingers tighter, not out of fear, but to make sure his father was real.
The city was quiet.
Not peaceful - just... quiet. The kind of silence that came after screaming. After bullets stopped flying. After people stopped dying. The kind that wasn’t earned but left behind, like a breath held too long.
Ares crouched down beside Elijah and looked him in the eye.
“You’ll hear people say it’s over,” he murmured. “But truth is, son... endings are easy. What comes next, that’s the hard part.”
Elijah nodded slowly, as if he understood more than a child should.
Ares ruffled his hair gently, then stood. “Come on. Let’s head back before the soup gets cold.”
...
The walk back was slow. Not because of Elijah’s pace, but because people stopped Ares every few steps.
Not to thank him.
Just to look at him.
A woman with a torn scarf and soot on her face touched his arm like she was afraid he’d disappear. A boy pressed a folded drawing into his hand - crude lines of a figure standing tall with a sword made of fire. An old man nodded once and kept moving, a quiet gesture of respect that said more than words ever could.
Ares said little.
The weight of being seen - truly seen - settled heavier than his combat gear ever had.
Back at the barracks-turned-shelter, Kara was handing out ration packs. She spotted them from across the courtyard, lifted a hand in greeting, then pointed toward a steaming pot.
“Last batch,” she called. “Eat before Monk finds it.”
Ares smirked faintly and guided Elijah inside. The walls still smelled like gun oil and antiseptic, but now there were blankets draped over bunks, laughter echoing down halls, kids chasing each other between cots.
He sat with Elijah at a low table, wooden spoon in hand, but didn’t eat right away.
His eyes were on the room.
On the faces.
On the way people leaned on each other - not out of weakness, but survival. The kind of survival that didn’t wear medals. Just scars.
Mira entered moments later. Her hair was tied back, her coat stained at the hem, and her eyes… they were the same.
Stormy. Steady. And locked on him.
She didn’t sit down right away. Just stood near the doorway, watching.
“You look like a man who hasn’t slept in three days,” she said.
Ares met her gaze. “That’s generous.”
“Then I won’t ask how many nights it’s really been.”
He looked down at his soup, then back up at her. “They’re expecting someone to step in.”
“Who?” she asked, sitting beside him now. Her voice was gentle, but she already knew the answer.
He shook his head slowly. “Not a ruler. Not a face on a poster. Just someone who doesn’t flinch when the room goes silent.”
“They’re looking at you.”
“I know.”
She didn’t push him. Just reached over, took Elijah’s bowl, and helped him break up the bread crusts floating inside.
The silence between them wasn’t cold. It was heavy with understanding. Shared years. Missed chances. Ghosts they’d both stopped trying to outrun.
Finally, Mira spoke again.
“You don’t have to be their everything, Ares. You just have to be here.”
Ares stared at her.
It wasn’t a plea.
It wasn’t pressure.
It was permission.
...
Later that night, Reyes found him outside the shelter, leaning against the remnants of a streetlamp.
“Monk says we’ve got three councils ready to assemble - one for the central districts, one for east-sector recovery, and one for supply chain oversight. They’ll meet in seventy-two hours.”
Ares didn’t look up. “Good. Keep it local. Rot doesn’t spread if it never centralizes.”
Reyes lit a cigarette. The glow flickered between his fingers.
“You know what they’re asking, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They want you to speak. To lead.”
“I already did. At the tower.”
“That wasn’t leadership. That was a warning.”
Ares turned then, eyes sharp. “Good. Warnings matter.”
Reyes exhaled smoke through his nose. “They want structure. You gave them fire. Don’t confuse the two.”
Ares didn’t respond.
Because he wasn’t sure he disagreed.
Reyes dropped the cigarette to the ground and ground it out with his heel.
“I’m with you, Ares. Always have been. But if you keep standing in the ashes pretending you’re not part of what rises next, someone else will step in.”
Ares looked up at the sky. Stars peeked through holes in the smoke.
“I’m not afraid of someone taking my place,” he murmured.
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Ares took a long breath.
“Becoming what I swore to destroy.”
...
At dawn, Ares walked the western edge of the city - alone.
The streets here were quieter. Rubble stacked neatly against alleys. Blood long scrubbed from walls. Hand-painted signs marked where bakeries had reopened, where aid stations were posted, where people could find each other again.
He passed a small courtyard where a girl played violin - broken notes, uneven timing, but determined.
He stopped to listen.
Not because the music was beautiful.
But because she hadn’t given up.
Ares lowered his head.
That was what rebuilding looked like. Not grand declarations or iron rule. Just... showing up. Every damn day.
He walked back to the main zone. As he crossed a broken bridge now shored up with steel beams, he found Hawk waiting at the end.
“You look like hell,” Hawk said.
Ares smirked. “You look like a man who’s slept too well.”
They walked in silence for a moment before Hawk added, “Monk’s asking if you’ll endorse the interim charter. No thrones. No titles. Just a guiding hand.”
“I don’t want statues,” Ares said.
“You’ll get graffiti,” Hawk replied. “Better compromise.”
Ares stopped.
Not because he was unsure.
But because he was ready.
“Tell Monk I’ll sign it. One condition.”
“Which is?”
“I step away after six months. No reelection. No legacy.”
Hawk’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And after that?”
Ares looked out at the city.
“I learn how to be a father.”
Hawk clapped him on the shoulder, harder than necessary. “About damn time.”
...
That evening, as the city buzzed with small lights and slow hope, Ares sat on the steps outside the Resistance Hall with Elijah asleep against his chest.
Mira joined him quietly, wrapping a blanket over Elijah’s legs.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I’m going to try.”
She didn’t smile.
But her hand found his.
And she didn’t let go.
...
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WHERE DUST SETTLES
“No,” he said. “But it’s beginning.”Elijah didn’t say anything. He just looked out across the river, toward the jagged skyline of Lin City - blackened, bent, but still standing. His small hand clutched Ares’ fingers tighter, not out of fear, but to make sure his father was real.The city was quiet.Not peaceful - just... quiet. The kind of silence that came after screaming. After bullets stopped flying. After people stopped dying. The kind that wasn’t earned but left behind, like a breath held too long.Ares crouched down beside Elijah and looked him in the eye.“You’ll hear people say it’s over,” he murmured. “But truth is, son... endings are easy. What comes next, that’s the hard part.”Elijah nodded slowly, as if he understood more than a child should.Ares ruffled his hair gently, then stood. “Come on. Let’s head back before the soup gets cold.”...The walk back was slow. Not because of Elijah’s pace, but because people stopped Ares every few steps.Not to thank him.Just to loo
FIRE IN THE BLOOD
The rain returned just before dawn.Ares stood alone at the old training field behind the Eastern Barracks. Not the sleek combat simulators they used now - this was dirt and grit, sandbags and rusted goalposts, where men once learned to bleed before they learned to lead. He held a wooden training sword in one hand, the other flexing and clenching like he could still feel the weight of Wu’s final blow in his wrist.Across from him stood Hawk, stripped to the waist, scarred and silent, watching.The silence between them wasn’t hostile. It was history.“You sure about this?” Hawk finally asked, voice rough.Ares nodded once. “I need to feel it. Not just the win. The weight of it. Otherwise... I carry it like a ghost.”Hawk didn’t question that. He simply stepped forward, raising his own dull-edged blade.The first clash was clean - a simple strike-and-parry. Then another. Then Ares stepped into the second blow, letting it scrape past his ribs as he turned and drove his shoulder into Hawk
FATHERS AND FLAMES
Ares didn’t sleep that night.While Mira and Elijah rested in the med-bunker, wrapped in peace they had long been denied, he sat outside beneath the concrete awning, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the city slowly rebirthing itself. Lin City, for the first time in years, was quiet -not because it was dead, but because it had finally exhaled.His hands were still bloodstained, knuckles split. The fight with Victor Wu had been short, brutal - and necessary. But the victory hadn’t cleansed him. Not really.“You look like a man still waiting for the war to start,” said a voice behind him.Ares didn’t turn. “I’m waiting for the part where it’s actually over.”Reyes stepped into the light, carrying two cups of bitter soldier’s coffee. He handed one over. “You’ve done enough, brother.”“No,” Ares said. “Not yet.”Reyes sat beside him, grimacing as he lowered himself to the cold step. “You’re still thinking about Fallujah.”“Always,” Ares said softly. “Wu showed the footage for a reason. He th
PEACE ISN’T QUIET
“We’re going home.”Ares whispered it like a vow, pressing his lips to Elijah’s hair. The boy clung to him tighter, as if some part of him knew those words weren’t just comfort - they were a promise built on blood.Mira stood at his side, silent, her hand finding Ares’ without needing to search. The candles flickered across the plaza as families mourned, survivors whispered names onto the memorial wall, and city dust settled like ash after a storm.But beneath it all, Ares felt it.The quiet wasn’t peace.It was a warning....Back in the apartment - what was left of it - the old living room still smelled like soot and rust. Elijah was asleep on a makeshift mattress near the heater. Mira moved through the space like someone reclaiming old territory, her hands brushing across cracked walls, broken frames, and bullet-pocked memories.Ares stood near the window, staring out at the city that still looked half-drowned in smoke.“Everything feels... paused,” Mira said behind him.“It’s beca
AFTER THE FALL
Elijah's arms were thin but strong around his father’s neck, as though in the days of sleep his boy had found new purpose - not just survival, but belonging. Ares held him close, his forehead resting gently against the boy’s temple, inhaling the scent of clean linen and warmth.“I missed you,” Elijah whispered.Ares’ voice caught before it could form. He didn’t trust it - too much gravel, too much memory, too much grief packed into syllables. So he simply nodded, hand brushing through his son’s hair.Mira stood nearby, unmoving - arms folded, but not in coldness. She was holding herself together. Her eyes shimmered, not with sadness, but with the fragile tension of a woman who had waited too long to hope.The silence lingered like a sacred thing.Then Elijah spoke again, smaller this time. “Is it really over?”Ares pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “The war is.”“But the world...?”Ares smiled faintly, brushing a hand along Elijah’s cheek. “The world’s broken, son. But
THE TOWER OF TRUTH
Ares walked through the bleeding edge of the city, where frost kissed shattered glass and the bones of rebellion had not yet been buried. The Oracle Tower loomed ahead - not shining, not proud. Just tall. Empty of soul, but filled with power.The wind howled as if warning him away.He didn’t stop.Every memory pressed in as he neared the gates: the nights in Fallujah when he’d dragged broken brothers through fire, the betrayal that had carved a hole in his chest when Mira married another, the moment he held his son for the first time and realized what kind of man he had to become.Now it all came here - not to win a war, but to end one.Reyes’s voice came through the earpiece. “You’re approaching blind. No active jammers. He wants you seen.”“I know,” Ares muttered. “He’s baiting me.”“Careful. There’s pride... and then there’s suicide.”Ares looked up at the Tower’s blinking apex. “This isn’t pride.”A silent pause. Then Reyes replied, “I believe you. Make it count.”The main doors w
