The orange brightened.
Not all at once.
Not violently.
It spread beneath Allium's skin like a memory reasserting itself—slow, deliberate, inevitable. Neon threads traced familiar paths along his arms, his ribs, his throat, pulsing in time with something far older than the room that held him.
Like a coal remembering heat.
Rose didn't move.
She barely breathed.
Weaver straightened from the chair, the quiet of the room tightening around him as the glow deepened, steadier now, no longer testing—committing.
Allium's eyelids fluttered.
Once.
As if the body itself was asking permission.
Then his eyes opened.
Weaver was on his feet before the chair had fully scraped back.
"Allium…?" His voice came out low, careful. "Allium—are you okay?"
Allium's chest rose.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
He sat up abruptly, gasping, air tearing into his lungs like he'd been dragged out of deep water. The bed creaked under the sudden motion, monitors chirping in startled protest as Weaver caught him without thinking, one arm around his shoulders, the other braced behind him to keep him upright.
"Relax," Weaver said immediately, grounding the moment before it could fracture. "You're safe."
Allium stared at him.
Not unfocused.
Not weak.
Just… startled. As if his mind had arrived a half-step behind his power.
He swallowed hard.
"Wait," he said, voice rough from disuse. "We're at HQ? How long have I been asleep?"
Weaver didn't let go right away.
"A week," he said. "You collapsed. I tried to carry you back the whole way, but Jax and Cassidy had to take over halfway."
Allium nodded once, absorbing the information without visible reaction. Then, with the same smooth efficiency that had defined him for years, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
No hesitation.
No instability.
He rolled his shoulders, stretched one arm across his chest, then the other—movements precise, ritualized, like he was checking off a list only he could see. He threw a short, controlled punch into empty air, bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, then closed his eyes.
The room seemed to shrink around him.
Senses flared outward.
Every fiber of muscle answered Solara's call, heat coiling tight and ready. His blood moved like Virel's rivers—steady, relentless. His nerves crackled with Nexon's quiet fury, pathways firing faster, cleaner, sharper than before.
He opened his eyes.
Turned to Weaver.
There was no relief there.
No anger.
Just familiarity.
"Okay," Allium said evenly. "What's the mission?"
Rose's gaze flicked to Weaver.
Her expression said everything she didn't.
Weaver shook his head.
"No."
Allium frowned, bringing his hands together, fingers interlacing as if to brace against something unexpected.
"What?"
"No," Weaver repeated, firmer this time. "No mission today."
Allium's posture sharpened, voice flattening into something colder, operational.
"Varos is still alive. Khelos is out there—probably watching us. I'm operational. I'm ready to end this."
Weaver held his ground.
"I know," he said. "And all of that will still be true tomorrow."
Allium's jaw tightened.
"We don't have a location," Weaver continued. "Which means there is no mission right now."
For a brief moment, something like hope flickered in Allium's eyes—thin, unguarded.
Then it shuttered.
"I'm powered by the suns," he said. "My senses are stronger. I can track them down."
Weaver looked at him then, really looked—grief and resolve woven tight behind his eyes.
"You do actually have a mission," he said.
Allium straightened immediately, disappointment already set aside, readiness taking its place. Rose tensed.
But Weaver didn't finish the thought the way Allium expected.
"Your mission," Weaver said quietly, "is to live."
The word landed wrong.
Allium blinked.
"Live?"
Weaver nodded.
Rose let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, a small smile breaking through her exhaustion.
"We're going out," Weaver added after a moment. "There are settlements in Solara that could use a legend's arrival."
Allium hesitated—just a fraction.
Then nodded.
"…Sounds good."
The door slid open before anything else could be said.
Nina stepped in and froze.
Her eyes locked onto Allium, standing, glowing faintly orange, very much not where she'd left him.
"…Okay," she said slowly. "I step out to get pain medication and you're vertical? You should not be out of bed."
Allium glanced at her, suddenly more nervous than he'd been facing gods.
"Oh—uh. I'm okay. I promise."
Nina's eyes narrowed.
"You've been here a week," she said. "And you've been in my beds more times than I care to count. I'll be the one who decides if you're fine."
The contrast was almost absurd—a sun-powered being chastened by a human doctor.
Allium nodded immediately.
Rose couldn't help it. She laughed, soft and surprised.
Allium turned toward her, eyes softening.
"Rose," he said quietly. "You're okay…"
She nodded, smiling back.
"I am," she said. "You seem… better."
Not just standing.
Aligned.
"Would you like to join us," Allium asked gently, "to live?"
Rose opened her mouth to answer.
Nina cut in without slowing.
"First, you're getting evaluated. Second, Rose needs rest. Nobody is going anywhere until I say so."
Allium dipped his head.
"I apologize," he said. "…I'm just ready to—live."
Nina studied him for a long moment, then sighed.
"This won't take long. Be patient." She turned to Rose, handing her painkillers and a cup of water. "Every six hours. Cassidy watches her."
Weaver blinked.
"Cassidy?"
Nina smirked.
"Cassidy."
As Allium sat back down—because he was told to—
and Rose swallowed the pills,
and the room settled into something like peace,
Weaver stood there, watching them both.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure whether the mission to live had been given to Allium—
—or to all of them.