Scene 1 — Javi POV
"We found another one!"
The shout tore through the smoke like it mattered.
Boots crunched closer. Flashlights cut pale tunnels through drifting ash. A radio crackled—too calm, too practiced.
"Medic—over here! He's alive!"
Hands grabbed my arms.
Firm. Efficient.
Not gentle. Not cruel.
The way you grab someone when you've already counted too many bodies and don't want to add another.
I tried to speak. My mouth filled with metal.
Blood.
My lungs burned like I'd swallowed fire instead of breathing it. Every inhale scraped. Every exhale hurt worse.
I looked down.
My hands were wrapped again—new bandages, already ruined. Blackened. Split. The cloth had lasted maybe minutes after the last spell.
Fire didn't care about bandages.
Fire didn't care about pain.
Fire only cared that I kept feeding it.
I'd used it like a dagger.
Not wide blasts. Not anything clean.
Short, stabbing bursts. Close enough to feel skin blister. Close enough to smell hair burn.
Whatever moved. Whatever reached.
Whatever tried to take me again.
"Easy," someone said. Their voice was muffled behind a mask. "You're safe now. You're safe—"
Safe.
My mind almost laughed.
Safe didn't exist where I'd been.
Safe was something people said so they didn't have to admit they were afraid too.
My knees buckled. The rescuer kept me upright like I was something hung on a hook.
I forced my head up anyway.
Stand, Javi. Can't let go now.
Footsteps echoed nearby—heavier than the others. Slower.
Not rushed.
I expected another medic.
Another stretcher.
Instead, I came face to face with a plastic box mask.
X and O eyes stared back at me—painted black and white, empty and wrong. Dark skin showed beneath a half-robe, tattoos running clean and deliberate down the right side of his body like something carved into him rather than inked.
He tilted his head, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble.
"Another fire brat?" he said, sounding almost disappointed. "When will I get a water-type student? I want to create moons too."
My stomach dropped.
Every instinct I had screamed run.
I tried.
My feet didn't move.
Not because I was tired.
Because the world… stopped.
I blinked and the ash in the air hung in place like someone had pinned it to the sky. A medic's gloved hand was frozen mid-reach, fingers curved like he'd been about to grab my shoulder. A flashlight beam stayed locked in the smoke, unmoving—an unshaking bar of light that should've been trembling with breath and panic.
The radio on a man's chest kept its red indicator lit, but the static didn't shift.
I turned my head slowly.
Everyone was caught in the same half-moment—mouths open mid-shout, boots lifted mid-step, a stretcher suspended at a slant like gravity had forgotten its job.
Only me and him were moving.
My heart slammed once, twice—too loud in the sudden silence.
He watched my eyes dart around and hummed like he enjoyed the realization.
"Smart," he said. "Most don't notice at first."
My hands shook. My mind tried to bargain.
This wasn't a cult grunt.
This wasn't even a cult leader.
This was something the world itself had to make room for.
Heat gathered in my palms. I pulled it inward, tight, forcing it into shape—something sharp. Something that could pretend it mattered.
A flame dagger formed in my grip, ugly and unstable, burning my skin just to exist.
He didn't flinch.
I stepped back—
And the air resisted me like thick syrup.
His hand lifted.
I reacted anyway.
Fire surged up my arm and I swung.
He caught my wrist like I was a kid reaching for a knife.
"Good instincts," he said, peering at the blade like it was a rough draft.
"Horrible execution."
My free hand rose on instinct and I started whispering the words I'd heard the rescue teams say—words that sounded stupid until you needed them.
Traveler.
Survivor.
Keep moving.
I didn't even know if I was saying it right. I just needed something that wasn't fear.
I screamed and unleashed everything.
A pillar of fire exploded between us, point-blank, hot enough to warp the air and bleach the ground white.
For half a second, I believed.
Then his hands closed around it.
The fire vanished.
Not extinguished.
Consumed.
Black flames crawled over his fingers afterward, slow and satisfied, like they were savoring the taste.
"You're more unruly than Ras," he said calmly. "I'll just have to beat that out of you."
He stepped closer, and the frozen world didn't even get the mercy of shaking.
"Come on," he said. "You're my student now."
My throat tried to form a scream.
Nothing came out.
He tapped my forehead with one finger.
"Welcome to the lineage of Suns, boy."
The silence cracked.
Not like glass—
like the world finally remembered it was supposed to move.
Sound rushed back in all at once.
Radios shrieked. Boots slammed. Somebody yelled my location again like saying it louder would keep me here.
A medic's hands snapped forward—
and closed on nothing.
The space where my body had been was suddenly empty, like I'd been erased from the frame.
"Where—where'd he go?!"
Flashlights whipped around, beams shaking as they searched the smoke for something that couldn't be searched for.
"He was right here! He was in my hands!"
"Unknown survivor—repeat, unknown survivor—last seen at the north pile—he just vanished!"
The rescue team surged, panicking, tripping over rubble, shouting over each other like chaos could reverse what had happened.
And somewhere far above them—
the one with the X and O eyes carried me away like I weighed nothing at all.
Scene 2 — Tenebris POV
A scream ripped through the site below.
"Where'd he go?!"
Flashlights swung wild, carving frantic white arcs through the smoke. Medics stumbled over rubble, hands still out like they couldn't accept the empty space between their fingers.
"He was right here—he was literally in my hands!"
"Check the perimeter! Now!"
Radios cracked over each other.
"Unknown survivor—repeat, unknown survivor—last seen at the north pile—he just vanished!"
No name.
Just another body that refused to stay found.
I watched from the rooftop with the boy slung over my shoulder like a coat, his heat still leaking through the air even unconscious. His hands were a ruined mess of willpower and pain, bandages charred down to the skin.
Fire brat.
Promising.
"I could've sworn I saw flames being thrown from here," I said mildly—almost mocking the way mortals narrated their own disasters. "Look for any survivors."
Below, they obeyed the idea of order. They always did. Lines, protocols, search grids.
As if speed mattered when the wrong kind of being had already decided to take.
Gaia appeared beside me like a thought deciding to become real.
No footsteps. No warning. Just presence.
Her gaze pinned the boy first, then me.
"Did you really need to steal another student?" she asked.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. "Why? So you can claim more champions?"
Her lips curved.
"You already stuck one by my nephew," I continued before she could enjoy herself too much. "Good talent as well. I would've taken him—but you already laid your claim."
She didn't deny it. That alone was an answer.
"Even my patron gods can't influence him," I added, the words coming out like an insult I was tired of repeating. "Either he's truly that stupid… or that immune to divine messages."
Gaia's grin widened in that way beings like her used when something amused them on more than one layer.
"Yes, my dear Star That Fell," she said, savoring the name like it was a private joke. "He's truly that dumb."
I didn't look at her.
"But those are always our favorites to mold into warriors and heroes," she continued, and I heard the bait in the softness of her voice.
Heroes.
My jaw tightened.
"Find me a hero who lives long enough to lose that title," I said. "Then we'll talk about which heroes and anti-heroes actually earn the mark."
Gaia held out an empty wine gourd like it was a peace offering.
I stared at it.
I could feel the smile she refused to show fully—already convinced I would indulge her.
I turned away instead, shifting the boy's weight on my shoulder.
"No," I said flatly. "I'm not pulling out another bottle."
Her laugh was quiet, pleased, and too familiar.
Scene 3 — Alexis POV
"You know," a voice said behind me, "striking a target doesn't create enlightenment."
My arrow hit the bullseye anyway.
Dead center.
Again.
It should've felt good.
It didn't.
I nocked another arrow hard enough my fingers stung, drew back, released—
Bullseye.
My jaw clenched until it hurt.
"Then what exactly am I doing wrong!" I snapped, spinning around like the anger could keep me from shaking.
He stood there like he'd been there the whole time.
Black combat uniform. A tattered cloak hanging off his shoulders like an afterthought. Hood low. Hair that looked… dyed.
My mind reached for a name before my mouth did.
Tam Johns.
Crow's uncle.
That silhouette.
That presence.
"Agni?" I asked, voice cracking on the name.
He nodded once, like that was enough.
"Thinking," he said.
I stared.
He stepped closer, eyes calm in a way that made me feel like my panic was embarrassing.
"Stop thinking."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to explain how I'd tried everything. How the others were moving forward and I was stuck being the only one in my friend group without something watching over me.
Even Amber had gotten a patron and started outpacing me like I was standing still.
"I'll take any advice possible," I forced out, hating that my eyes were burning. "Even Amber is outpacing me after she got a patron god."
Agni didn't mock me. That made it worse.
He held out his hand.
For my bow.
I handed it over without realizing I'd moved, like his gesture was an iron law.
He raised it.
Drew.
The trainer bow—built for me—should've resisted him. The string was high quality, heavier than it looked.
He pulled it like it was nothing.
A bright orange flame took shape between his fingers.
Not wild.
Not messy.
A perfect arrow—every detail mirroring the shape of my own.
"The issue with experiencing enlightenment early," he said, "is the misguided belief you can piece together the gaps in what you know and don't know."
He released.
The flaming arrow destroyed the first target.
Then it kept going—threading through the range like it had eyes—striking bullseye after bullseye without slowing.
It finally curved back toward us.
My body flinched on instinct.
The arrow dissolved a breath before reaching my face, falling apart into harmless sparks.
Agni held the bow out to me again.
"The key is inside you," he said. "An arrow made from your will is stronger than any material ever created."
I swallowed.
He continued, voice steady.
"Physical objects fight for their life to break the laws of reality. Your generation doesn't fight reality the same way. You weaponize astral use with curiosity."
His gaze cut into me.
"Ask yourself 'how to do it' rather than 'can I do it.'"
I took the bow back like it was suddenly heavier.
Agni stepped behind me, placing a hand at my elbow.
"Moon's out," he said quietly. "Use your inner light affinity to command astral energy to form. Focus on moonlight—still within your domain."
My eyes flicked up toward the sky.
"Don't look at it," he corrected immediately. "Stay focused on the target."
I pulled the string back.
My shoulders shook.
Then—like a breath becoming solid—an arrow took shape.
Not orange.
Not fire.
A silver line of moonlight, thin and clean, lighter than any arrow I'd ever held.
My heart jumped.
My wrist twitched, wanting to check it, to see it—
"Don't worry about the arrow," Agni murmured. "Just believe it'll land where you direct it to go."
I exhaled.
Released.
The silver arrow struck the bullseye.
Perfect.
Then sank into the tree behind it like it belonged there.
The tension in my chest melted so fast I almost stumbled.
I turned, already smiling, already ready to say thank you—
And the range was empty.
No footsteps leaving.
No cloak fading.
Just me. The targets. The moon.
A voice landed in my mind—soft, clean, and older than the sky.
I see the ban has been lifted.
My breath caught.
The words didn't feel like a compliment.
They felt like a door unlocking.
Would you like to be the partner of the Death Maiden?
I didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.
Afraid that waiting would make it vanish.
"Yes!" I said out loud, voice too loud in the quiet. "I accept!"
The moonlight on the target didn't fade.
It lingered—like something was watching through it.
And for the first time in days—
I felt like I could breathe.
Scene 4 — Crystal POV
"This is Tam."
His voice was flat.
The kind of flat you got after too many missions and not enough sleep.
Nicole stood beside me, fist clenched hard enough her knuckles went pale. I could feel the pressure of her restraint like a storm behind glass.
I kept my gaze on the phone like it was a lifeline.
"I won't hold you, Tam," I said, keeping my tone controlled. "Nicole and I had a couple questions for you."
In the background, there was rustling.
A distant shout.
Then an explosion—sharp enough to make Nicole flinch even through the speaker.
"You can start," Tam said. "I just finished up with this cult in Africa."
My throat tried to lock.
I forced the words out anyway.
"When's the last time you've been home?"
A pause.
Long enough to be suspicious.
Then: "Three years. About that. Since I started going undercover in Africa."
I didn't look at Nicole. I could feel her ready to erupt.
"And have you dyed your hair recently?" I asked.
Silence.
Then a low exhale.
"What kind of question is that," Tam said. "No. I've never dyed my hair. I don't even have gray hair yet."
That was enough.
My hand tightened around the phone until the casing creaked.
"That's all we needed to know," I said, voice too calm to be natural. "We'll see you at your mom's for Christmas. She told us to pass on the message that she won't accept a no from any of us."
I ended the call before he could ask why.
Nicole surged forward, anger cracking at the edges—
I raised my hand and let my energy settle over the office like a lid, sealing the outburst where it belonged.
The silence afterward was worse than noise.
My nerves were screaming.
Because the math was simple.
Tam Johns hadn't been home.
Tam Johns wasn't here.
And yet Alexis had just watched someone wearing his silhouette like it fit.
I stared at the dead screen of my phone like it might confess.
Someone had stepped onto our board wearing a familiar face.
And that meant the rules were already changing.