Zion did not leave quietly. The anger and disillusionment in his eyes had carved wounds deep into Kael and Nyra's hearts that would not heal quickly. They stood in the frozen darkness of the Arctic, watching until his figure disappeared into the endless white, taking with him not just the Master Key, but the hope of a family they had spent ten years building.
The journey back to the village was a silent agony. Every creak of the damaged vessel, every howl of the wind, reminded them of the boy who should have been sitting beside them.
When they finally returned home, their small house felt different. Emptier. The silence was heavier, pressing down on them like a physical weight.
"Kael... look," Nyra whispered, sitting by the door of Zion's room. In her hands, she held a small wooden aircraft, a toy Zion had loved when he was seven. "We gave him this on his birthday. I still remember how he smiled."
Kael sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. They had never married, never found the time for ceremony or celebration. The war, AETHER's threats, the desperate work of building a new world—it had all consumed them. Their love had grown quietly, patiently, in the spaces between survival.
And it had grown around Zion.
They had shared the responsibilities of parenthood without ever discussing it. They had taken turns sitting by his bedside when he was sick. They had celebrated his first successful invention together, their pride mingling in the air like a shared secret. Zion had been the center of their universe, the child neither of them had borne but both had raised with every ounce of love they possessed.
"We made a mistake, Nyra," Kael said, his voice breaking. "We thought hiding the truth would protect him. But all we did was push him away."
Nyra leaned her head against his chest and let the tears come. "I feel like a part of me is gone, Kael. I didn't give birth to him, but he's my son. He'll always be my son."
That night, for the first time in ten years, they held each other not as soldiers or leaders, but as two broken people sharing a grief too heavy to carry alone. Their love was strong, but Zion's absence created a pressure that threatened to crack even that foundation. Every creak of the house sounded like his footsteps. Every whisper of the wind sounded like his voice.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the frozen wilderness, Zion walked alone. The blue light of the Master Key illuminated his harsh, determined face. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. All that mattered was the fire burning in his chest—the need for revenge against a world that had betrayed him, against AETHER's legacy that had stolen his parents, against the lies that had shaped his entire life.
What he didn't know was that Arthur was watching. Waiting. Every step Zion took was being tracked, every moment of his grief and rage was being observed.
The hunter had become the hunted.
And in the empty cradle of their home, Kael and Nyra held each other, praying that the son they had raised would find his way back before it was too late. 🥺