Chapter 131 - The Web Across the Sky Part 1

(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)

Valoran City Park was busier than usual. Everyone had apparently decided the long, scenic walk to the mall was worth it—the warm air carrying birdsong, food-cart smells, and the kind of lazy hum that made the afternoon feel almost slow.

Except for Kai'Sa's voice.

"You don't even know what it's for!"

Kai'Sa never shouted. Not in the years Akali had known her. Especially not in public. That made it harder to ignore—and harder not to shout back.

"I don't care what it's for! No petition is worth burning out over!"

"It's worth it to me! And I'm not burnt out! I'm just tired!"

"Tired is forgetting homework," Akali snapped, "not sleeping through class!"

"Look, I don't need a babysitter."

"You're right," she shot back, tone sharpening. "You need someone who won't let you lie to yourself. You're pulling double shifts at the shelter on top of everything else!"

"Dad needs the help," they both said at the same time.

And then Kai'Sa's voice softened. "Well... it's true."

Akali's frustration burned hotter. Kai'Sa's selflessness had always been a thing she admired—until it started to look like self-destruction.

"There's always someone else to help."

"Oh, so now it's wrong to help people?"

"That's not what I meant!" Her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you sacrifice yourself for everyone else!"

"I thought you of all people would—" Kai'Sa stopped herself, jaw tightening. "You know what? Never mind."

Her lower lip trembled. "I need to be alone right now."

Akali knew she shouldn't leave. She wanted Kai'Sa to trust her—to believe she'd stick around when things got rough. But pride was louder than sense.

She walked away.

By the time she was halfway to the mall, guilt had settled like a stone in her chest.

This is all my fault.

Kai'Sa had always been there. When things at home got bad, when Akali was one bad decision away from wrecking her own life, Kai'Sa was there. They'd walked these same streets together, looking for trouble and stopping it when they could. She used to call them a crime-fighting duo.

Sure, maybe it was just Kai'Sa keeping her from going too far off the rails—but she'd still been there.

And I just left her.

"I'm the worst."

"The worst? Seems a little dramatic."

Akali's head snapped toward the voice. She hadn't even noticed she'd spoken out loud—hadn't noticed anyone near her, for that matter.

He stood beside the flower kiosk she'd been walking toward, bouquet in one hand.

And he didn't look like he belonged here.

Black shirt, sleeves casually rolled to the forearms. Dark jeans. Hair that looked like it had taken no effort at all, but somehow landed perfectly. There was something unshakably composed about him—like the world could be on fire and he'd still stand there with that same unreadable calm.

She blinked. "...Sorry. Talking to myself."

"That much I figured," he said, mouth tugging into something between a smirk and a smile. "Sounds like you've had one of those afternoons."

"You could say that." She turned toward the kiosk display, pretending to study the rows of flowers.

"Friend trouble?" he asked, not nosy—just... curious.

She crossed her arms. "Something like that."

He didn't push. Just shifted the bouquet in his hand and leaned slightly on the kiosk counter.

It was that quiet patience—like he was content to let her fill the silence—that got her talking. She left names out, but she admitted enough: a fight with someone important, a stupid mix of pride and frustration, and now the sick feeling in her stomach that she'd made it worse.

When she finished, he studied her for a moment, then reached past her toward the display. His hand came back with a small bouquet of pink-and-blue forget-me-nots and a pair of matching charm bracelets—delicate, with tiny flowers that mirrored the bouquet.

"These say more than an apology you're still overthinking," he said, holding them out. "Sometimes it's easier to show you care first. Words come later."

Akali frowned, caught between suspicion and intrigue. "...That's weirdly specific."

"Occupational hazard," he replied, like that explained everything. "Besides—if you're going to fight with someone, at least let it end with flowers. Cheaper than therapy."

A short, unwilling laugh escaped her. "You're, like... disturbingly good at this."

"Don't worry," he said with mock gravity. "I charge extra for unsolicited life advice."

She smirked despite herself, taking the bouquet and tucking the bracelets into her pocket. The air between them felt lighter now, though curiosity still needled at her.

Finally, she blurted, "Alright, that's it. You're too good at this. Give me your number—you're my designated wise guy now."

One eyebrow arched. "You always collect strangers like this, or am I special?"

"Special," she said flatly.

He chuckled, pulling out his phone. "Careful. Once you've got my number, there's no unsubscribing."

She took it, typed in her info, and handed it back. "Guess I'll risk it."

He glanced at the screen, then slipped the phone away. "Good luck with your friend."

"Thanks... uh—"

"Peter."

"Akali."

"See you around, Akali."

They parted, and she walked away feeling... not fixed, but lighter. His advice lingered in her head like an echo, grounding her in a way she didn't expect.

Peter watched her go before turning back to the kiosk. His own bouquet was still waiting—different flowers, meant for someone else.

Five minutes until his date with Neeko.

Plenty of time.

"Are you going to pay for what your friend just took?"

Peter blinked. The stall's owner—a tiny, white-haired woman with sharp eyes that could cut glass—was staring at him like she'd caught him red-handed.

"My... friend?" he asked slowly.

"The one with the blue hair and bad mood," the woman said, pointing at Akali's retreating figure. "She walked off with the flowers and bracelets like this was a charity."

Peter glanced in the direction Akali had gone, then back at the kiosk. "...Huh."

The realization hit in slow motion. "Wow. Guess I was just... going with the flow."

The woman folded her arms. "The flow doesn't pay rent."

He smirked despite himself, reaching for his wallet. "Fair enough. Put it on my tab."

"You don't have a tab."

"Then I'm starting one," Peter said, handing over the cash. "Consider it a good cause. That was a friendship emergency."

The old woman shook her head, muttering something about "charming thieves and the fools who enable them," but took the money anyway.

Peter collected his own bouquet at last, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. Yeah... worth it.

Akali walked without really watching where she was going, the flowers cradled loosely in her arms, the bracelets warm against her palm. The knot in her chest had loosened—not gone, but lighter, like someone had untangled it just enough for her to breathe again.

It wasn't just the gifts. It was what he'd said. The way his words fit the situation perfectly, like he'd been there when the fight happened... but without making her feel exposed. Just understood.

She didn't know what came over her when she'd asked for his number. It wasn't something she did. Ever. Not even with Kai'Sa, and that girl had literally saved her from getting her face smashed in by five kids the first time they met.

But with him—Peter—there hadn't been hesitation. It just felt right. Natural. Like they were already part of the same story, even though she'd only just met him.

And maybe she didn't need to understand why. His advice was too good to ignore, and something told her she might need more of it someday. Besides... it wasn't every day you ran into someone who could talk you down from your own stubborn spiral and hand you the perfect apology in the same breath.

Yeah... interesting was one word for him.

Neeko's POV

The street smelled like bread today. Freshly baked, buttery — the kind that made your stomach growl even if you'd just eaten. Neeko bounced on the balls of her feet by the fountain in the center of the square, scanning every passing face. People bustled through the mid-morning light: office workers with coffee cups, tourists snapping photos, a little kid chasing pigeons in clumsy hops.

But none of them were Peter.

Towa, perched lazily on her shoulder, gave a long, squeaky yawn and adjusted its spot. The small frog's round, damp eyes blinked slowly before it muttered in Vastayan, "You're impatient."

"Neeko is excited," she corrected, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. "Big difference."

Towa's only reply was another slow blink, as if unconvinced.

Her gaze flicked down the street — and there he was. Tall, dressed in black, hands in his pockets, that unhurried walk that somehow made the whole crowd look rushed in comparison. She spotted him long before his face was clear, and her heart skipped in a way she didn't bother hiding.

"Peter!" she called, waving both arms overhead without a care for the curious looks from strangers.

He noticed her instantly. A faint smile curved his lips as he approached at that same calm pace, the kind that said he wasn't in a hurry because the moment was already his.

Neeko didn't wait for him to close the gap. She ran forward and threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug, nearly making Towa lose its grip. The frog croaked in complaint but held on.

Peter's arms came around her in return, warm and steady. "Morning," he said quietly.

"Two days since we last saw each other," she grinned, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. "But it feels like a hundred."

"Thought you were busy yesterday," he teased lightly.

"Busy, yes," she nodded, "but still thinking of Peter." And before he could say another word, she kissed him — quick, light, but confident.

It made his smirk tilt a little more. "This for me?" she asked, glancing down at the bouquet he was holding.

Her eyes widened, instantly brightening. "Flowers?"

"For you," he said simply, handing them over. The colors popped against the paper wrapping, their scent fresh and sweet.

Neeko hugged them to her chest as though they were treasure. "Perfect," she murmured, turning toward Towa. "See? He's nice."

The frog gave an approving croak — no small thing, considering it had taken Lux and Ahri's magical mediums five years to even tolerate Peter. Towa had liked him in one.

Peter caught the look in her eyes and said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted knowingly.

Without hesitation, Neeko slipped her free hand into his. "Come. First stop is close. And no peeking ahead."

He let her lead, his long stride matching hers without resistance. The square faded behind them, the cobblestones giving way to a narrow street lined with hanging plants swaying gently in the morning light.

Somewhere above, pigeons cooed, and the smell of bread was slowly replaced by the sweetness of sugar and fruit.

Today, she decided, was going to be perfect.

The street narrowed until it spilled them into a little side square most people wouldn't notice if they weren't looking. To Neeko, though, it was a treasure map's "X." Strings of mismatched paper lanterns hung between the walls, casting soft splashes of pastel light over a single wooden stall parked at the center. The sign read: Paint Your Own Pastry.

Peter slowed, giving her a sidelong look. "Pastry. Painting."

"Yes!" Neeko said, the bouquet in one arm, his hand still in her other. "It is like art... but edible. Neeko wins twice."

They stepped up to the stall where a smiling, flour-dusted baker handed them two blank sugar cookies shaped like stars, a small palette of colored frosting, and a handful of candy beads.

Peter examined the tools like someone had just handed him alien technology. "You know I don't usually—"

"Shhh," she cut in, pushing the palette into his hands. "Rules: must make it pretty, must not copy Neeko's design, and must not eat before Neeko says go."

He smirked. "You've thought this through."

"Neeko always plans for maximum fun." She immediately started piping frosting with the intense focus of a battlefield strategist, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth.

Peter, meanwhile, went about it slowly, deliberately, as though the cookie might explode if handled wrong. His lines were clean, almost too clean, and it drove her a little crazy.

"Peter is cheating," she accused, eyeing the symmetrical design forming under his hand.

"It's called having steady hands."

"Neeko calls it suspicious."

When they finally presented their masterpieces to each other, hers was a chaotic rainbow explosion of frosting and glittering beads, like a carnival had crashed into a sugar cloud. His was... perfect. A midnight-blue star with intricate silver lines like constellations.

She stared. "Neeko changes mind. Peter is not suspicious... Peter is dangerous."

He chuckled low. "Dangerous because I can decorate cookies?"

"Yes," she said gravely, before biting into hers without warning. "Mmm. Winner is Neeko."

"Pretty sure you disqualified yourself," he said, but took a bite of his own anyway.

They wandered back out into the sunlight, the taste of sugar lingering. Neeko swung their joined hands as if they'd been like this forever. Peter didn't pull away.

"Ready for date plan number two?" she asked, grinning up at him.

"Should I be worried?"

"Always."

Her second stop was louder. They rounded a corner into a courtyard lined with small stalls, each stacked high with colorful plush animals, rubber balls, and little trinkets. The air was filled with the sound of wooden clacks, ringing bells, and the occasional cheer of a winner.

Peter eyed the setup. "Carnival games."

"Yes. And Neeko will win Towa a prize."

The frog on her shoulder croaked in approval.

She led him to a stand where rows of bottles sat waiting for rings to land on them. The vendor handed Neeko a set of bright red rings, and she tossed the first one with the confident flourish of a champion.

It missed. By a lot.

Peter's mouth twitched.

"No laughing," she warned.

"I didn't say anything."

Her second throw ricocheted off the rim of a bottle and bounced clear off the table. Towa gave what could only be described as a disapproving sigh.

Peter bent down to pick up the stray ring, spinning it idly on one finger before tossing it underhand. It landed squarely on the bottle neck.

Neeko's jaw dropped. "Cheating again!"

"That's called aim," he said, deadpan.

The vendor, amused, handed over a small, stuffed green frog. Neeko immediately pressed it into Towa's little arms. The magical medium blinked at it like it wasn't sure if it was being mocked or rewarded.

"See? Neeko promised," she said with satisfaction.

As they stepped away, Peter glanced sidelong at her. "So what's next?"

She grinned mischievously. "Secret. But Peter will like it."

Neeko led him through the winding streets like she had the whole city stored in her head. Every so often, she'd glance back just to see if he was smiling — and he was, though his was the quiet kind, the kind that didn't fight for attention but still pulled at her in ways she couldn't quite explain.

Her third stop was tucked behind an ivy-covered gate that looked like it belonged to someone's private garden. Inside was a little courtyard café with tables shaped like giant leaves and soft music floating in the air. It wasn't the coffee she wanted, though — it was the wall of little terrariums stacked like books on a shelf.

"Pick one," she told him, gesturing to the display.

Peter's brow quirked. "A jar of plants?"

"Not just plants — tiny worlds. Neeko calls them 'pocket jungles.'"

The owner, an older woman with soil-stained gloves, offered them small tools and trays of moss, pebbles, and miniature figurines. Neeko dove in instantly, her fingers moving like she was building a home for someone who might move in tomorrow. Peter worked slower, but every movement was deliberate — adding a winding stone path, adjusting the tiny ferns so they caught the light.

At one point, she looked over and caught him slipping a small, bright-red mushroom figurine into hers without saying anything.

"You're cheating again," she teased.

"Call it... contributing."

When they finished, she cradled hers like it was a pet, and Peter carried his in one hand with the bouquet still in the other. Before they left, he quietly paid for both. She almost protested, but the small, matter-of-fact way he did it made her heart feel warm in her chest.

The sun had started to dip by the time they reached her last stop: a wide, grassy hill just outside the busier streets, the kind of place where the noise of the city turned into distant hums. From here, you could see the rooftops stretch toward the horizon, the sky shifting into the deep oranges and pinks of early evening.

She dropped onto the grass without hesitation, patting the spot beside her. "Neeko's final plan: watch the sky change."

Peter sat, his long legs folding easily, bouquet resting between them. The air was cooler now, and she leaned into his side without asking, head resting on his shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn't awkward — it was the kind of quiet that made her want to sink into it, like wrapping herself in a blanket she never wanted to take off. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the subtle warmth of his arm when he shifted so it rested lightly behind her back.

"Peter," she said softly.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

He glanced down at her, a faint question in his eyes.

"For saving Neeko," she explained. "From Zoe... and the corrupted Star Guardians. Xayah, Rakan... even Dark Riku and Aqua, hiding in the shadows." Her voice lowered, eyes locked on the horizon. "You fought them all... and it cost an entire dimension. But still... you won. You carried Neeko away like a princess, even when you were hurt, holding her so close while your wounds healed. Neeko remembers every moment."

His gaze didn't waver, but his silence told her he was listening.

"You stayed for a whole month after," she continued, "helping Neeko untangle the mess in her head. For years, Zoe made Neeko survive... but never live. Neeko hated Ahri and Sarah for not coming sooner. Every day, Neeko's anger burned." Her grip on the grass tightened slightly. "But... you stayed. You talked. You made Neeko feel safe enough to let it go. When you brought Ahri and Sarah back into Neeko's life..." She smiled faintly, eyes softening. "Neeko was happy. Really happy."

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his profile against the fading sky. "And the little details? Reserving a whole restaurant just for us... so we could laugh without anyone watching? It made Neeko feel like she could breathe again. You gave her back the freedom to enjoy the team she used to belong to."

For a moment, her chest felt tight — not from pain, but from something she didn't want to name out loud.

Peter's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before turning back to the sunset. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "people just need someone who won't walk away."

Her smile grew, small but real. "Still... it makes Neeko glad she asked to live with you."

"That was pretty bold," he said, and there was the faintest thread of amusement in his voice.

She tilted her head against his shoulder. "Neeko doesn't know why she did. Just... it felt right. With you."

He didn't answer immediately, but his hand brushed lightly against hers in the grass, fingers grazing just enough for her to notice. Subtle — like him.

The city lights began to flicker awake in the distance, and the sky deepened into violet. Neeko decided then that her "four plans" had worked perfectly — not because each stop was perfect on its own, but because somewhere between the sugar cookies, the frog prize, the pocket jungles, and this quiet hill... she'd started thinking of him as hers.

The hill's glow was still fading from her eyes when she suddenly sat up, fingers tightening around Peter's hand. "One more thing," she said, her voice bouncing with the kind of certainty that didn't invite debate.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I thought we finished your four plans."

"This is extra plan. Bonus plan." She grinned as if the phrase alone made it official. "Come, come."

He let her pull him to his feet. "And where's this bonus plan taking us?"

"You'll see," she replied, already tugging him toward a narrow side path that wound between a row of old brick shops. The smell of fresh grass and rain-damp soil drifted in as the buildings gave way to a low stone archway carved with flowers. Beyond it, the city noise melted into a softer world.

The park opened before them like a painted canvas — winding trails lined with blooms of every color, small bridges arching over koi ponds, and willow trees dipping their branches into the water. Evening light poured gold through the leaves, making the petals almost glow.

Peter slowed, taking it in, and Neeko caught the faint softening in his eyes.

"This place..." she said, her voice dropping into something more reverent. "It is good for Vastaya. Flowers speak if you know how to listen. Not with words, but with little heartbeats."

He glanced at her, curious. "You can actually feel them?"

She nodded, kneeling beside a patch of violet blossoms and brushing her fingers along the stems. "They say, 'It is warm, we are happy.'" Then she looked up at him, smiling wide. "See? Good news."

He crouched beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers. "I believe you," he said simply.

They wandered deeper, Neeko pulling him toward her favorite spots — a pond where fat orange koi came to the surface when she tapped the water, a hidden bench wrapped in climbing roses, a tiny stone lantern half-hidden under ivy. Every so often, Peter reached out — steadying her when she hopped from one stepping stone to another, brushing a stray leaf from her hair, or shifting the bouquet in his hands so it wouldn't get crushed between them.

When they crossed a wooden bridge, she leaned against the railing and watched the ripples in the pond below. "Peter..." she started, her tone softer now. "Neeko thought for a long time that flowers and people were the same. That if you gave them enough light, enough water, they would bloom." She tilted her head toward him. "But Zoe showed Neeko... some people like to cut flowers instead. Keep them pretty for a little while... then let them die."

His hand tightened slightly on the railing, but he didn't interrupt.

"Neeko was cut once. Many times. And she thought maybe that was just how life worked. Until..." Her gaze locked on his. "...you."

He didn't look away.

"You didn't put Neeko in a vase. You planted her again." She nudged his arm with her shoulder, a small smile flickering. "And now she grows back."

For a moment, the only sound was the koi breaking the water's surface. Then Peter shifted, leaning his forearms on the railing beside her. "Guess I'm better at gardening than I thought," he murmured.

Neeko laughed — the kind that made her eyes close and her head tip back — before looping her arm through his. "Come. Still more flowers before the moon comes."

They walked until the sky deepened into a soft indigo, fireflies beginning to drift between the blossoms. By the time they reached the park's edge, Neeko was barefoot, her shoes dangling from one hand, bouquet in the other. She stopped just before the gate, turned, and pressed the flowers back into Peter's hands.

"For you," she said.

He arched a brow. "I bought these for you."

"Now Neeko gives them back. Circle complete." She grinned, stepping closer. "When Neeko looks at them later... she will remember you holding them. And it will make her smile."

Peter said nothing — but the way his hand closed gently over hers told her enough.

Third-Person POV

By the time they reached Peter's street, the city had already settled into the calm of late evening. The breeze was cool, carrying the faint scent of grass from the small park down the road. Neeko walked beside him with her shoes dangling in one hand, her free arm brushing his now and then.

Peter's house came into view, porch light glowing softly against the dim sky. The warm amber spilling from the living room window hinted at life inside.

Before they could reach the door, it swung open. Lux stood there, blonde hair catching the light, wearing the kind of smile that made the doorway itself feel like a welcome.

"You're back!" she said, stepping aside. She greeted Peter with familiar affection before turning warmly toward Neeko. "And welcome home to you, too."

Neeko's tail swayed as she stepped inside without hesitation. "Neeko had many plans for Peter today—four main ones, one bonus plan. All completed!"

From the couch, Jinx popped her head over the backrest, red braids bouncing. "Four plans? You were busy. Spill it—what kind of chaos did you two get into?"

"No chaos!" Neeko declared, then grinned. "Maybe a little chaos. But fun chaos."

Lux arched a brow, amused, while Peter quietly shut the door behind him. The smell of something savory drifted from the kitchen, confirming his suspicion—Lux had been cooking.

"So?" Jinx pressed.

Neeko perched herself on the arm of the couch, recounting the day with boundless energy. "First—bakery. Best cookies. Then arcade. Won big frog for Towa. Then tiny jungle shop—Peter carried heavy plants for Neeko. He is very good at carrying. Last—hill. Sky-watching. Neeko gave him flowers."

Peter lifted the bouquet slightly as proof.

Jinx's smirk widened. "You gave him flowers?"

"Circle complete," Neeko said simply.

Lux chuckled, turning toward the kitchen. "Well, you two have perfect timing—dinner's just ready. We can talk more while we eat."

Peter was half-ready to decline after all the food Neeko had insisted he try today, but Neeko saved him the trouble. "Neeko is too full—can she eat later?"

"Of course," Lux said, already moving to make space for her plate in the fridge.

Jinx came around the couch and nudged Peter toward the table. "Come on, hero. Food waits for no one."

They sat while Lux brought out dinner—a hearty homemade meal that filled the room with warmth. Both Peter and Jinx thanked her, and she brushed it off with a soft smile before joining them.

As they ate, Jinx dove into a conversation about the upcoming Battlefield 6 open beta, the two of them swapping small jabs about who would dominate in multiplayer. Lux interjected between bites, talking about grocery restocks and errands in the kind of matter-of-fact tone that drew a teasing remark from Jinx about her "wife energy."

Their laughter faded into an easy rhythm. By the time Peter stood to take his plate to the sink, Neeko had finished showering and padded into the room in soft pajamas, heading straight for the sofa to flick on the TV. Jinx joined her soon after cleaning her own plate.

Peter stayed behind to help Lux wash up. They worked side by side, plates passing smoothly between them, until Lux broke the comfortable silence.

"Five years," she murmured. "Hard to believe it's been that long since all of this started. It wasn't easy—not with the others, or Ahri's team—but I'm glad... I'm glad they all finally accepted you."

Peter dried a plate, offering a small nod. "Wasn't simple." Especially when half of them only accepted me because I made them, he thought, but kept that truth to himself.

Her voice dipped. "I just wish we could say the same for Ezreal... No one's heard from him in two years. I'm starting to think—"

"We'll find him," Peter said gently, masking his indifference with a tone of reassurance. "He can't be gone forever."

She believed him instantly. She always did. That obsessive trust was etched deep now.

Lux smiled faintly, leaning in to hug him. He returned it without hesitation.

When the dishes were put away, they headed for the living room. Neeko and Jinx were already curled up on the sofa, the TV paused on the opening credits of The Fragrant Flower Blooms with Dignity.

"It's a romance," Jinx explained with mock seriousness. "Don't judge me."

Peter sat down, and before he knew it, all three women were close—Neeko on his right, Lux on his left, Jinx stretching across the armrest so she could lean in too. The warmth of their closeness settled over him as the anime began to play.

Lux's POV

The opening theme played softly, filling the quiet between us. Neeko was curled up in the corner of the couch, Jinx sprawled out like she owned the place, and Peter... he looked more at ease than I'd seen him in years.

It wasn't just comfort—it was something heavier. Like a weight he'd been carrying finally shifted, even if only for tonight. I remembered the first time we met, how the air itself seemed to tense around him, like every magical medium in the room had to decide between fight or flight. Back then, I kept my guard up, convinced that letting him too close could change things in ways I wasn't ready for.

And yet, here we were, close enough that I could catch the subtle rhythm of his breathing when he laughed under his breath.

Neeko's smile kept drawing my eyes. She was brighter now, lighter in a way I hadn't seen in years, the shadows that once clung to her loosened. Maybe Peter had something to do with that.

My phone buzzed once. Reflexively, I checked it—still nothing from Ezreal. I told myself I wouldn't let it bother me, but the truth was it always did. Two years was a long time to feel this far away from someone.

When I looked up, Jinx was already watching me, eyebrow raised, smirk in place—the silent I see you thinking too hard clear in her expression. I managed a small smile back and fixed my eyes on the screen.

Easier that way.

Peter's POV

The sound of their laughter was easy to listen to—almost enough to pull me out of my head. Almost.

The magical mediums don't bristle around me anymore. Back then, Lux's and Ahri's teams used to have mixed feelings about me. Can't blame them. I was... not in the right state of mind, still am. Took them years to trust me. Towa, though? One year. That little frog hopped right into my life without hesitation. Neeko was the same—no fear, just trust.

I'd kept myself busy. Too busy. Patch a reality fracture, stop a Voidling surge, patch another fracture, save someone else's world—rinse, repeat. The symbiote didn't like the quiet, but I've kept it under control. Had to. Last thing I need is another repeat of what happened in Lux's apartment two years ago, when I came back from saving Neeko and Soraka and Janna wouldn't even look at me. I snapped then. Badly.

Saving Neeko... that took me a month. Not because it was hard, but because I stalled. I let her believe I was the only thing between her and Zoe's claws—because I was. Now she can't imagine life without me, and in her mind, I'll always be the one who pulled her out of that Darkenstine cage.

It's been quiet since I killed Dark Riku and Dark Aqua. Too quiet. No Darks. No tremors. No fractures. Silence doesn't mean safety—it means they're planning.

And then there's Ezreal. Gone two weeks after Neeko came back. I doubt he just wandered off. Either dead, or turned. My money's on turned.

I want another Dark. Just one. The patience in me is wearing thin, the symbiote whispering to move first. But I'm still in control. Still.

Neeko laughed at something Jinx said, and I forced the thoughts aside. She deserved this peace. They all did.

Dinner had passed, Neeko tried to help with dishes, Lux shooed her away, and Jinx stayed behind to help—no snark, for once. I sank into the couch with Neeko on one side, Lux curling up on the other. Jinx eventually sprawled across the armrest.

Neeko picked some over-the-top anime—giant eyes, impossible hair, fight scenes that ignored physics. She curled up against me with that frog plush from earlier, head brushing my shoulder.

No one talked much. Just the quiet kind of peace I don't trust, but I let it happen anyway. If the storm's coming—and I know it is—I'll deal with it when it hits.

The next day...

Morning came in soft, rinsed light and the slow, domestic sounds of a house that had finally remembered how to breathe.

Neeko was up first.

Barefoot and buoyant, she padded into the kitchen wearing an oversized shirt with little moons down the hem and a smile like she'd been born in it. Towa blinked from the counter, squat and dappled, the green of its skin darkening as it tracked a dust mote drifting through the beam of sun slicing the room. The frog's throat bobbed once. Twice.

"Breakfast time," Neeko announced, like the sun needed the reminder. She popped open a little tin labeled in pink marker—BUG TREATS—and tapped a few glossy pellets into a dish shaped like a lily pad. "Towa gets two. Maybe three. But if Towa eats four, Towa turns into balloon and floats away. Very embarrassing."

Towa gave a patient, amphibian stare, then flicked out a tongue and neatly inhaled two pellets in the time it took Neeko to finish her sentence.

"Kuro, Shiro!" Neeko called, sing-song. "Come, come! Eating makes mornings nicer."

From the living room came the soft rolling plop of two small bodies. The black one—Kuro—arrived first, skidding to a stop against the kitchen threshold like a bowling ball that had misjudged the lane. The white one—Shiro—drifted behind, expression blank as ever, a gentle, uncanny watchfulness hovering around it.

Neeko produced a second tin—this one glittering with stickers and labeled STRICTLY NOT EXPLOSIVE SNACKS—and set down a shallow tray of colored star-puffs. Kuro practically vibrated. Shiro stared for a long, unsettling beat and then nibbled with prim, precise bites, as if it had resolved that the puffs were beneath it but permissible.

"There," Neeko said, pleased by the symmetry of three satisfied magical mediums in a row. She cupped Towa and gave it the gentlest squeeze, like someone hugging a very patient plush. "You be good. We have patrol later maybe, so you save energy for hopping."

Behind her, a cabinet door opened and closed, and the world filled with the simple perfume of batter and butter.

Lux was already at the stove—hair up, sleeves pushed past her elbows, the domestic queen of a territory mapped in measuring cups and tiny bowls. She tipped a ladle and a circle of batter spread into a perfect pale sun on the griddle. Sizzle, steam, and the faintest crinkle of concentration at the corner of her eyes.

"You're early," Lux said without looking up. "Stole my thunder."

"Neeko always rises with the birds," Neeko replied, then paused. "Okay, that is a lie. Neeko rises with smells of waffles."

"I'll accept that." Lux slid a golden disk onto a growing stack, then reached for the next ladle. "Plenty for everyone. Peter's going to pretend he's not hungry and then demolish half the plate. Jinx will say she hates mornings and then eat exactly as much as Peter does out of principle."

Neeko beamed. "We are predictable in the cutest ways."

Lux's phone buzzed where it lived face-down by the salt. She nudged the burner from medium to low and swiped it up, thumb unlocking without thinking.

Ahri:

Patrol today? Voidling activity's been weirdly... muted. Would rather be ahead of it. You in?

Lux's mouth tightened, not with displeasure—more like a muscle remembering soreness. Peter's words from a few nights ago folded through her head: It's been quiet. Too quiet.

She tapped out a reply.

Lux:

We'll join. Give us the morning—making breakfast. Noon?

Ahri:

Perfect. Ping me when you're out the door. I'll send coordinates.

Lux set the phone down and stared at the small, tiny fog forming at the edge of the griddle where a drop of batter had missed. It hissed out of existence.

"I asked Peter a few days ago," she said, voice low enough that it didn't compete with the sizzle. "What 'quiet' feels like to him. He said 'like the half-second before glass breaks.'"

Neeko's eyes softened. "Then we eat waffles very fast. Catch glass before it falls."

Lux huffed a laugh despite herself. "You would."

She plated two more, dusted the top with powdered sugar—because why not—and leaned against the counter long enough to breathe. She was good in kitchens because kitchens asked for practical magic: measure, heat, wait, flip, feed. There was comfort in work that ended in full plates and happy noises.

"Table?" she asked.

"Table," Neeko echoed, already flitting toward the drawers. She set four plates, four forks, a small bowl for fruit, and another for syrup packets they never used but kept anyway because Jinx liked to stack them into sticky castles. She added napkins, then considered, then added extra napkins because Jinx.

Kuro rolled around a chair leg like a cat pretending it wasn't affectionate. Shiro hovered near the centerpiece—a small glass vase with yesterday's clover stems—and contemplated existence in the somber way it did.

Lux set the first wave of waffles in the middle. A second platoon marched from the stovetop to the table, then a third. The stack became a monument.

Neeko admired it with hands on hips. "This tower is taller than Kuro."

Kuro puffed in offense. Shiro's blankness deepened, which was somehow also offense. Towa blinked.

"Should I wake them?" Neeko asked, tiptoeing toward the hallway. "Neeko can use megaphone voice."

"Please don't," Lux said quickly, then smiled. "I'll get them."

The hallway was quiet in the way of late mornings—thick with the lazy gravity of sleep. Lux passed the bathroom—steam-fogged mirror from her earlier shower—and the guest room no one used, and came to the door with the chipped paint where Jinx had once pinned a neon sticker that read ABSOLUTELY DO NOT ENTER (unless you're bringing food).

Lux knocked twice, gently. "Jinx?"

A beat. Then a muffled groan that could've been a demon losing a fistfight with a pillow.

"Jinx, waffles."

Another beat. A yes-shaped sound.

Lux eased the door open. Jinx was a tangle of red braids and blanket, one bare foot kicked out into open air like a flag of surrender. She cracked one eye in Lux's direction and immediately squeezed it shut against the light.

"Morning," Lux said softly. "Up. Food's ready."

"Can food come here," Jinx mumbled into her pillow, "and also crawl into my mouth."

"I can bring you a plate," Lux said, amused. "But Peter might eat it all before I'm given the chance."

That got the other eye. "Ugh... How annoying."

"You can be annoyed all you want after waffles."

Jinx made the monumental decision to live. She rolled to the edge, sat up with the kind of groggy dignity that only people who looked good in chaos could manage, and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. A moment later she was on her feet, zombie-shuffling past Lux toward the hall. Lux ruffled one braid as she passed. "Toothbrush first."

"Bossy." But Jinx turned toward the bathroom anyway.

That left one.

Lux closed Jinx's door quietly and crossed the hall. The master bedroom was dimmer—curtains only half-open, a square of light cut across the floor like a stage the morning had not yet fully claimed. Peter lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other tangled under a sheet. In sleep, the hard lines left his face. If she didn't know better, she might've believed he was ordinary.

She did not knock.

She slipped into the room, the weight of the house changing just a fraction around her. She'd learned his tells—how the symbiote could flare if surprised, how his body could tense in ways you didn't see until it was too late. But mornings were safer. In mornings, his guard took longer to climb.

Lux kneeled on the mattress beside him and leaned forward, hair falling to curtain her face into his shadow. "Peter," she whispered. "It's waffle o'clock."

He made a low sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so asleep. The arm over his eyes shifted. "Five more minutes."

"Mm. That's not how this works." Lux slid one palm to his chest, warm through the thin shirt he'd slept in, and tapped gently. "Up."

His mouth quirked. "Bribery?"

"Waffles. Syrup. Neeko already feeding the zoo."

"Tempting."

Lux considered the clock—10:03—and then chose the most efficient route. She swung one leg over and settled on his hips, palms braced on either side of his head in a posture that was half pin, half invitation. The sheet rustled. Peter's breath hitched, then evened out again, a sleepy smile pressing through.

"Unfair," he said, voice sand-papered.

"I'm leveraging known weaknesses," Lux replied, matter-of-fact. She leaned down, brushed her mouth along his jaw—once, twice—and felt his hand come up, slow and inevitable, to rest at her waist. "Waffles," she murmured against his cheek. "Then... whatever we want."

"Mmm," he said, and his fingers flexed at her waist. "That order seems backwards."

She laughed into his skin, a muffled, private sound, and caught his mouth with hers—slow, teasing, just enough to drag him the last few inches from sleep to waking. He kissed back the way he did everything else when he let himself: entirely present, even in the edges of it.

The door banged somewhere down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jinx swearing at a toothbrush. Lux broke the kiss on a breath and rested her forehead to his for a heartbeat, the quiet stretching thin and sweet.

Then Peter's stomach growled, low and traitorous.

Lux's smile bloomed wicked. "There it is."

"I was winning," he complained mildly.

"You were sleeping."

He groaned and rolled, taking her with him in a tangle that ended with Lux laughing and the sheet surrendering any attempt at dignity. He propped on an elbow and studied her for a second—sleep still smudged at the corners of his eyes, mischief awake there anyway.

"Waffles," he conceded.

"Victory," she said, and pecked him once, quick, triumphant. "Come on."

He sat up, stretching until his spine popped, and scrubbed a hand over his face. The symbiote obliged the morning with its own grumpy efficiency—his shirt smoothing, fabric darkening at the collar like ink taking a breath. Lux slid off the bed, feet finding the cool floorboards, and waited by the doorway while he pulled himself fully upright.

They met Jinx in the hall—now marginally more human, hair damp from a quick splash at the sink, eyes half-open but sparkling with that feral light that meant she was awake enough to be trouble.

"Did you two have fun not waking up when I didn't wake up," Jinx asked, deadpan.

"Immensely," Lux said.

Peter ruffled Jinx's hair as they passed. She tolerated it for exactly half a second before swatting his hand away with mock irritation, the kind of bluff meant to hide a real smile.

Back in the kitchen, warmth and the scent of sugar wrapped around them. Neeko was making a final pass over the table, straightening forks so they lined perfectly with placemats. Kuro and Shiro had finished their snacks and were now rolling each other lazily across the floor like it was some ancient ritual. Towa had taken up position on the back of a chair, watching the stack of waffles like a squat green sentry.

"Good morning!" Neeko beamed, instantly brighter at the sight of two more sleepy faces. "Lux made tower. Jinx will attack tower?"

Jinx dropped into her chair with theatrical gravity. "Bring me my destiny."

Lux set the syrup and fruit within reach. Peter brushed past her to swipe a berry from the bowl; she swatted his wrist without looking, then bumped shoulders with him in a quiet, familiar greeting.

"Alright," Lux said, glancing toward the oven clock. "Sit. We'll talk plans after you've got food in front of you."

Peter smirked faintly but took a seat beside Neeko, who was already pushing her plate a fraction closer to him without a word. He just shook his head, amused.

The waffle tower waited between them, steam curling lazily upward. For now, the morning still belonged to the four of them — unhurried, warm, and entirely their own.

Peter reached for the serving tongs, but before he could pull a waffle free, Neeko was already sliding one onto his plate—topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a perfectly placed berry.

"First bite is Peter's," she said with mock solemnity, as if it were some ancient Vastayan law.

"Pretty sure that's not a thing," he replied, but he let her spear a small piece with her fork and hold it out to him anyway. She leaned forward expectantly, eyes bright.

Peter leaned in and took the bite straight from the fork. "Mm. Not bad."

"Not bad?" Neeko gasped, hand to her chest. "These are perfect. Lux is best waffle maker in all of Runeterra."

Lux's lips curved faintly as she poured herself coffee. "I'll take the compliment. Even if it's mostly sugar and butter doing the work."

Jinx reached for the syrup and drowned her plate with it until the waffles looked like they were swimming. "Yeah, yeah—Lux the domestic goddess, we get it. Can we talk about how I was dragged out of bed like a prisoner of war?"

"No one dragged you," Lux countered, sipping her coffee. "You shuffled like a zombie all on your own."

"Which, by the way," Jinx said, pointing a syrup-dripping fork at her, "makes me the victim here. Calling me a heavy sleeper is slander. I'm efficiently unconscious."

"That's one way to spin it," Lux said dryly.

Peter chuckled into his coffee. "Efficiently unconscious? That's a new one."

"You're laughing with me, right?" Jinx asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Sure," Peter said, tone far too neutral to be convincing.

Neeko giggled and rested her chin in her palm, watching the exchange like it was prime entertainment. "Peter sleeps more than Jinx," she announced.

"Lies," Peter said immediately.

"Truth," Neeko shot back, popping a bite of waffle into her mouth. "Neeko counted last week."

Lux arched a brow. "You counted?"

"Mm-hm. Scientific research." Neeko stabbed another piece of waffle, turned to Peter, and offered it up without even looking away from Lux. He accepted it automatically, and she smiled, satisfied.

The rhythm of the table settled in—plates filling, forks clinking, the easy crossfire of conversation that only happens in a house where everyone knows the shape of each other's habits.

Lux set down her coffee. "By the way—Ahri texted this morning. She wants a patrol today. Said voidling activity's been quieter than usual and she'd rather be ahead of it."

Peter looked up from his plate. "Quieter?"

She nodded. "I told her we'd meet them at noon. Gives us a few hours to eat and get ready."

Jinx groaned like the word 'patrol' physically pained her. "So I got woken up for waffles and work? I feel betrayed."

"You're not betrayed," Lux said sweetly. "You're fed."

"That's a hostile reframe," Jinx muttered.

Peter smirked. "You'll live."

Neeko leaned toward him, her shoulder pressing against his. "Peter wants patrol, yes?"

He shrugged, but the answer was in his eyes. "Feels like it's time."

Lux noticed the tone and glanced at him briefly—reading it for that familiar undercurrent of readiness, maybe even restlessness. But she didn't press, just went back to her plate.

Neeko, still clearly in her own little orbit of affection, reached over and smeared a dab of whipped cream on his nose. "For luck," she declared.

Peter wiped it off with his thumb and flicked it back at her. She squeaked, giggling as it landed harmlessly on her cheek.

"Children," Lux said under her breath, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

"Functional adults," Peter corrected, stealing another bite from Neeko's plate before she could block him.

"See?" Jinx said, gesturing with her fork. "Predatory behavior. You're all looking at me like I'm the problem when he's the plate thief."

"You've stolen my fries every time we've gone out," Peter said.

"That's fries," Jinx countered. "This is breakfast. Totally different jurisdiction."

The banter looped around itself, light and unhurried, the kind of morning where no one was in a rush to end it. Even the magical mediums seemed to reflect the mood—Kuro and Shiro rolling slower now, their strange little game winding down, while Towa gave a deep, slow blink from its perch like a contented overseer.

By the time plates were half-cleared, the conversation had softened into easier beats—small asides about last night's anime, Neeko insisting on explaining a romantic subplot in great detail, Jinx pretending not to care but still asking, "So wait, do they get together or not?"

Lux topped off her coffee and leaned back in her chair. "Alright. Eat what you can now, save the rest for later. We'll suit up in an hour."

Peter nodded, absently spearing the last bite from Neeko's plate before she could. She gasped like it was a personal betrayal, then laughed and leaned into him again.

The plates clinked, the last bits of syrup were wiped up, and the hum of the house carried them toward the next part of the day—out of the kitchen, out of the warmth, and into whatever the quiet had been holding back.

Breakfast ended with the last clink of forks and a comfortable lull in conversation. The kind of silence that wasn't awkward—just the residue of full plates and satisfied stomachs.

Neeko was the first to break it, sliding her chair back with a soft scrape. "Time for magic clothes," she declared, bouncing to her feet.

Lux pushed away from the table, already brushing crumbs from her hands. "Alright, let's get ready. Ahri's expecting us by noon."

Jinx groaned, leaning back in her chair like gravity had just doubled. "Ugh. Can't we do the hero thing in pajamas?"

"No," Lux said flatly, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth.

In the living room, the air shifted—the subtle anticipation that always came before their change. Neeko spun in place, eyes closing as her laughter blended into the magic's hum. The stardust gathered first at her feet, spiraling upward in streaks of green and pink light that danced along her skin. In a heartbeat, her casual clothes dissolved into gleaming Star Guardian armor: white and gold with jade-green trim, the skirt flaring in short, sharp petals, and her long tail curling in a ribbon of cosmic glow. The star-shaped gem at her chest pulsed once, sending faint ripples through the room.

Lux followed with practiced precision. She stood still at first, then raised a hand, and the transformation answered—pink light flooding around her like a sunrise breaking too fast. Her uniform reformed piece by piece: the white bodice edged in gold, a lilac skirt layered over crisp white panels, the gold-star clasp at her collar catching the light. Her staff shimmered into existence beside her, the twin white wings on its head curling slightly as if in greeting.

Jinx, of course, did it differently. She flung her hands wide and let the burst happen all at once—an explosion of violet and crimson light that twisted into her short, jagged skirt and cropped sailor top. Metallic winged boots snapped into place over her legs, and her twin ponytails whipped upward, catching the last streaks of starlight. Her weapons—impossibly big and equally unnecessary for the moment—hovered for a beat before vanishing into wherever she kept them when not firing.

Peter stood off to the side, watching their display with something between fondness and mild exasperation. "You three always make me feel underdressed."

"Then fix it," Jinx said, smirking.

His answer was the soft, unsettling whisper of the symbiote unfurling from beneath his skin. Black tendrils crawled outward, wrapping his arms, chest, and legs in sleek, liquid armor. The matte finish caught no light, but the faint, living movement along its surface betrayed it wasn't still. The mask didn't form—he rarely wore it around them unless necessary—but the collar rose high, and the suit sealed with a quiet shiver that faded as quickly as it appeared.

The contrast was striking—three glowing Star Guardians in pastel brilliance, and one dark figure between them like a shadow walking alongside the light.

Peter glanced at each of them in turn. "Everyone ready?"

Neeko's tail flicked once, bright with energy. "Ready like a shooting star!"

Lux twirled her staff once, the motion neat and deliberate. "Ready."

Jinx cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders. "As I'll ever be."

Peter gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on Lux for a fraction longer before looking toward the door. "Alright, then. Let's move."

Lux's phone buzzed before they stepped outside. She flicked it open.

Ahri:

Update — Voidling surge in Valoran City Park. Heavy concentration near the central fountain. Bring your A-game.

Lux frowned lightly and tucked the phone away. "Change of plan—we're heading straight to the park. Looks like the Voidlings didn't feel like waiting."

"That's my kind of enemy," Jinx said with a grin.

Peter stepped past them, pulling the front door open. "Then let's not keep them company any longer than we have to."

Outside, the midday sun caught on their uniforms, sending small bursts of light across the brick-lined street.

Lux rose first—staff in hand, wings of magic unfurling at her back. The lift was graceful, steady, like she was pulled upward by the light itself.

Neeko followed, springing into the air with an acrobat's twist before her own magic caught her. She hovered easily, her tail curling into a comet's arc behind her.

Jinx launched herself upward in a less elegant burst, spinning once midair before catching her balance. "Still better than the elevator," she muttered.

Peter didn't fly. He stepped off the curb and fired a web line toward the nearest rooftop, the symbiote reinforcing the pull as he swung upward. The motion was smooth, practiced—years of muscle memory threading each swing between the Guardians' flight paths.

From above, they made an odd formation: three streaks of pastel light and one black line arcing through the air, moving in sync despite their different styles.

Lux led from above, glancing down between swings to keep Peter within her peripheral. "We'll cut across the river, then head straight for the park."

"Copy that," Peter called back, flipping over a streetlight and landing in a low swing that propelled him forward.

Neeko drifted closer to Jinx, calling, "Bet you I get there first!"

"In your dreams, lizard-girl," Jinx shot back, immediately accelerating.

Lux sighed but didn't slow, letting them burn off the edge of their energy.

A few minutes out, Lux's phone buzzed again. She read the text mid-flight, her expression sharpening.

Ahri:

Fountain's swarming. Watch for ground tremors—something big's moving under.

The skyline fell away into the green bowl of Valoran City Park, and the fight was already there waiting—sour-black shapes swarming the fountain like flies pulled to a wound.

"Heavy numbers, possible burrower," Lux called as she and Neeko arrowed downward, Jinx a comet of teal heat just behind.

"Got it," Peter answered, cutting his swing, planting on a rooftop, and slingshotting himself low across the treeline. Webline—release—another line—he skimmed the park's wrought-iron fence and snapped into a crouch on the perimeter rail, eyes taking everything in at once.

Ahri's team had the center. Ahri herself spun through a ring of leaping Voidlings, tails aflame, hurling an orb that carved a clean crescent out of the mass. Syndra's spheres detonated on either side of her like miniature eclipses, telekinetic force hammering a path open only for more bodies to flood in. Miss Fortune braced on the fountain lip and fanned the crowd with overlapping, rose-gold bullet storms; every third shot bloomed into a starry burst that turned a cluster to paste. Soraka hovered where the fighting was thickest, staff raised, dropping starfalls of pale light that soothed the burns as fast as they were dealt; when Voidlings lunged, a violet sigil hissed to life beneath their claws and stunned them into stillness.

"On me!" Peter snapped, already moving. Lux, Jinx, and Neeko broke formation and dove toward the fountain like a second sunflare.

From the far side of the park, three more streaks answered—Poppy at point, Lulu corkscrewing in a zigzag of purple-green, Janna trailing with wings of windlight spilling behind her. They'd come from the old apartment, late but perfectly timed, and they hit the edges of the melee as if they'd been there all along.

"Lux! We're here!" Poppy shouted—then landed. Her hammer struck the turf with a sound like a bell punched by a mountain; the shockwave flipped a dozen Voidlings end-over-end. Lulu's staff chimed through an untranslatable incantation, and a cone of chittering beasts shrank mid-leap into squeaking, harmless critters that skidded across the grass. Janna's gale rose in a smooth column, scooping the rest and stacking them in the air for easy target practice.

"Two teams converge center," Peter barked, already vaulting a bench and web-yanking a Voidling out of Ahri's blind spot. "Poppy, lock middle with me—hammer anything that gets cute. Lux, Janna: layer shields, keep Soraka alive. Neeko, Lulu: disrupt, scatter, keep them off the shooters. Jinx, Fortune—overlap fire, don't waste volleys. Ahri, Syndra: break their big blobs. Soraka: float, triage. Move!"

It wasn't a request. It never sounded like one when he was in the thick of it.

The chaos snapped into order.

Lux slid into the pocket to Soraka's right, Radiant Staff sweeping—a translucent, pink-gold barrier snapped over the healer just as a Voidling slammed into it and burst like a gnat against a windshield. A second flick of her wrist and a Light Binding speared two more together; they writhed on the leash of pure illumination while Jinx's rocket skated in and erased both with a glitter-laced pop.

"Left flank!" Jinx crowed, swiveling. She heeled back into her stance, Kuro morphing into her minigun with a delighted, unhinged grin across the receiver. The barrels spun; a river of bright rounds tore a trench through the swarm. "C'mon, c'mon, line up for me—yes!"

Neeko slid beneath a lunging Voidling, tail flicking as she scissored her staff up and smacked the thing into two others. Tangle-Barbs uncoiled from her strike in a ring of neon vines; wherever they touched, Voidlings froze, snarling, caught like flies in candy-glass. "Neeko says stop!" She hopped once, planted—starry sigils spiraled under her feet—Pop Blossom detonated in a shock of teal and pink, launching half the frozen pack skyward in a confetti arc that Lulu promptly turned into squeaking squirrels mid-trajectory.

"Apologies!" Lulu sang over the din, eyes huge with mischief as Shiro blurred into a wand at the end of her staff. "You look better small." Polymorph sparks rained; a Voidling the size of a small car shrank to a button-nose critter that immediately hit Janna's gale and pinwheeled away, offended.

"Center push!" Peter called. He took the brunt, a blur of black-red as the symbiote flexed under impact. A Voidling vaulted; his spider sense flared—he rolled under it, webbed two more to the fountain base, spring-kicked off the stone cherub, and landed on the lip beside Miss Fortune. "Two o'clock, fifty meters—feel like painting the lawn?"

Sarah flashed a grin and holstered her pistols in one practiced motion. "Always." She spread her stance, crossed her wrists, and let the power build—Bullet Time roared to life, a fan of rose-gold starlight scything the field. Peter web-whipped a writhing pack into her cone; they hit the barrage like bait into a blender.

"Nice hands," she said.

"Don't tell Jinx," he said, already gone.

Poppy barreled past with the momentum of a meteor, hammer cocked. A Voidling bigger than the rest reared up—she met it with a Heroic Charge that drove it through a park bench and into a tree trunk hard enough to shiver leaves thirty feet up. The creature clawed up again; Poppy calmly lifted the hammer head and dropped it like a gavel. The thing didn't get a second vote.

"Keep them pinned," Peter called, webbing a perimeter triangle across a sunken flowerbed to trip the next wave as it rushed. "Ahri—now!"

Ahri twirled, tails splaying, and flung her orb in a tight, blazing arc; it traced the triangle Peter had made, picked up the webbing's gleam, and returned to her hand humming with stolen energy. She snapped it forward—Fox-Fire exploded in chasing bursts that hunted anything still standing and tagged it with a star. "Charmed," she breathed, a wry edge on the word, and even Voidlings jerked sluggishly in the wake of her will.

Syndra raised a hand and the world lurched. Three of her dark spheres whirled around her like moons, then streaked forward in parallel tracks and hit a knot of Voidlings so hard the turf rippled. She lifted a chunk of broken fountain with a flick of thought and spiked it into another formation, the impact ringing like cracked bells. "Cluster tight, and I remove them," she said, voice cool as altitude.

"Lux, flare right!" Peter shouted, landing just ahead of a burrow opening. The ground bulged—he planted a palm, symbiote driving a blade through soil, and split the tunnel like a zipper. A burrower ripped into daylight, jaws opening—Lux's Prismatic Barrier skimmed Peter's shoulder, expanded, and snapped around him in a bright halo exactly as the creature's teeth hit. Light shrieked; the thing recoiled, blind. He webbed its mouth shut and yanked, dragging it through a line of caltrop-web that tangled its limbs.

"Thank you!" Lux called, already pivoting into a Final Spark. The beam carved a clean meter-wide groove, shearing the burrower in half and cauterizing the wound in the lawn.

"Anytime!" he shot back.

On the fountain rim, Soraka lifted her staff and a raft of starlight opened overhead. Gentle beams poured down, closing gashes and knitting burns, the air cooling where the light touched skin. A Voidling vaulted at her—Janna was there first, shield blooming, wind snapping it backward. "With me," Janna said, calm as a held breath; she twisted her staff, and a Howling Gale coiled into being at her feet before tearing down the central path like a freight train of air, flipping anything on it end over end. "Clear!"

"Clear!" Poppy echoed, leaping into the wake and bringing the hammer down in a two-handed arc that cratered another cluster.

Jinx—now fully awake in every manic sense—bounded onto the back of a toppled statue, Kuro shifting into Fishbones with a purr of metal. "Make a hole, make a hole, make a hole—" They did. She obliged, loosing a rocket that bloomed into a starburst that tore the hole into a doorway.

Neeko slid through it first, laughter bright. "Thank you, shooter-girl!" Her staff sketched a spiral; Tangle-Barbs chased it, ravelling legs. She flickered—and where Neeko had been, a perfect illusion of Peter darted forward, taunting, drawing three Voidlings off their line. They crashed into a bench trying to catch a mirage. The real Peter zipped past the mess, webbed the trio together, and whipped them into Miss Fortune's follow-up spread.

"Compliments to the decoy," he said.

"Neeko copies only the handsome," she sang.

The first wave began to buckle. What had been rabid press became staggered pockets; what had been a ringed siege thinned to scattered skirmishes. Under Peter's calls, the Guardians flowed—no more tripping or overlapping casts, no more wasted bursts. Lux's binds fed Jinx's volleys; Lulu's whimsy on Poppy turned the yordle into a pinball with a rocket strapped to it; Janna's gusts set up Ahri's three-hit dashes; Soraka's Equinox silenced the burrower just long enough for Syndra to punt it fifty feet into Miss Fortune's gleeful line of sight.

"Last cluster—north path!" Peter flung himself up a lamppost, perched, and sighted the writhing ball next to the playground. "Jinx, Fortune, on my mark. Lux, bind their edges. Lulu, neuter anything that slips. Neeko—Pop Blossom when they clump."

"On it!" Lux's binding shot like a thrown ribbon and stitched three stragglers together at the knees. Lulu squeaked an apology and turned a fourth into a squealing, tiny ram that immediately tried to headbutt Poppy's boot and bounced off, stunned and offended at the universe. Poppy couldn't help giggling as she punted it gently into Janna's wind.

"Mark!" Peter web-yanked two Voidlings into the center of their own pack. Jinx and Sarah opened fire, angles crossed; the overlapping cones mulched everything between. Neeko slid in on the recoil and let her Pop Blossom go. The shockwave rose like a flower opening, glittering edges catching the last bodies and tossing them skyward into the fading haze.

They fell as ash that never quite touched the grass.

Silence happened in a series of clicks: gun barrels cooling, the last breath of Janna's gale vanishing into leaves, the soft hiss of Soraka's final heal sealing a scrape on Neeko's knee that Neeko absolutely had not noticed. Somewhere, Kuro and Shiro, now back in their squishy forms, rolled lazily together and bumped like satisfied bowling balls.

Peter stayed on the lamppost a heartbeat longer than he needed to, listening. The park sounded like a park again—water in the fountain's cracked bowl, a dog barking two streets over, the wind moving through the sycamores. No skittering under the soil. No hiss in the shrubs. No scent of fresh tunnels cutting the earth.

"Wave one clear," he said at last, jumping down. He shook ash off his gloves, glanced around, counting faces. "Anyone bleeding out or holding it in because they don't want to lose cool points?"

Jinx raised a hand. "Emotionally? Constantly. Physically? I'm pristine."

"Good," he said dryly. He gave Soraka a quick nod; she returned it, a soft relief in her eyes that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with all of them still standing.

Ahri lowered her orb, tails settling. Her eyes flicked past Peter for a heartbeat—searching, the way they always did now when the teams gathered, for a blonde boy who hadn't answered a text in two years. The search found no one and moved on. "Nice calls," she said, and meant it.

He shrugged as if it were nothing. "You make it easy when you actually listen."

Syndra folded her arms, a faint smirk ghosting her mouth. "Don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Janna lifted her staff and let the last breeze settle the torn grass back into place. Poppy leaned on her hammer with a happy sigh; Lulu inspected her own handiwork with clinical pride and then clapped for herself, which made Jinx snort.

Lux came to stand at Peter's shoulder, breath even, cheeks pink from the run of power. "That felt... good," she said, surprised at herself. "Like we remembered how to be a team."

"For the first wave," Peter said, eyes tracking the tree line again, the set of his body already sliding from commander to hunter whether he wanted it to or not. He didn't hear burrowers. He didn't smell ozone. But something about the quiet pressed at his ribs.

Neeko bounced on her toes, still keyed up. "Then we win second wave too."

"Yeah," he said, but his gaze had already drifted to the far grass where the earth was just a shade too dark, like dirt that hadn't been dirt a minute ago. He filed it. The park lay clear for the moment, sunlight picking out the glitter left in the air by all their spells, kids on the far path peeking around a tree with that breathless look of people who would decide later whether the thing they'd seen had really happened.

"Hydrate," he said, breaking the spell, voice easy again as he switched gears in front of them. "Reset your cooldowns. Check your partners. We'll sweep the grounds, then—"

He didn't finish the sentence, because he didn't have to. For now the park was theirs: a brief, bright stillness between beats, the kind that made you think—if you were new to this—that maybe the worst was over.

The veterans knew better.

But they took the breathing room anyway.

The park didn't stay silent for long.

For a single heartbeat, the Guardians and Peter stood among the crumbled remains of the first wave, breaths syncing, shoulders relaxing. Victory seemed possible—easy, even. Then the fountain pulsed.

The light bent wrong.

It was subtle at first—like ripples in glass, like a mirage over hot asphalt—but Peter felt it immediately. A shiver ran through his symbiote, and his Spider-Sense screamed, not of danger, but of intrusion. Wrongness.

The air split.

Voidlings spilled out, but these weren't the same feral shadows from before. Their forms dripped dark-violet fire. Veins of jagged corruption streaked their bodies, crawling across limbs, swelling their movements with an unnatural weight.

Peter's jaw clenched. So. They finally make their move.

Lux's grip tightened on her staff. "New wave! Same formation!"

The Guardians rallied instantly, trained instinct snapping into place. Beams of light, orbs of power, bolts of energy tore forward—synchronized, overwhelming.

The corrupted Voidlings staggered under the storm. They hissed, black fire flaring as spells and bullets struck home.

And then—

They straightened. The wounds smoked, but sealed. Burn marks faded into slick shadow-skin.

"What?!" Lux gasped.

Ahri fired again, her orb slamming into a beast's chest, tearing up earth with the impact. The creature staggered, crouched low—then lunged again, barely slowed.

"Hey!" Jinx shouted over the chaos, spraying fire from Fishbones. "Where's the kaboom?! There's supposed to be a boom!"

The Voidling snarled back, leaping through the explosions.

The Guardians' attacks rained harder—Neeko's blossoms binding limbs, Syndra's spheres slamming like meteors, Janna's winds cutting through—but nothing broke.

Peter moved before panic could set in.

"Fall back!" His voice rang across the park, sharp and commanding. He hit the ground in a roll, webbing a corrupted Voidling by the arm. A hard yank, a blur of motion, and his symbiote-blade hissed into existence, carving it apart. The creature dissolved instantly, black ash vanishing before it touched grass.

The Guardians froze at the sight.

Lux's voice cut through the disbelief. "Peter—they're not dying. Why?"

He didn't sugarcoat while fighting. "Because you're hitting the shadow. I'm hitting the thing casting it."

He webbed another's legs, flung it into the fountain, then split it down the middle in one brutal swipe.

Ahri's eyes narrowed. She was sharp enough to press. "So what are they?"

Peter dodged a claw, slammed a fist wreathed in symbiote spikes into a chest, and tore it open. "Think... higher-dimensional. Like you're two-D drawings, throwing punches at the wall. I'm the only one hitting the real body."

Confusion rippled. Jinx groaned, reloading with unnecessary drama. "Ugh. Nerd words. Can't we just say 'harder to kill' and move on?"

Neeko just nodded, already weaving vines to trip another Voidling. "Spider-Peter deletes. Neeko distracts. Easy teamwork!"

And she was right. The fight tilted into a rhythm: Guardians striking, binding, dazzling; Peter finishing. The corrupted creatures needed both roles—stalling from them, destruction from him.

He cut one down after Ahri's foxfire forced it back. He tore through another when Janna's gales kept its claws from Lux's throat. Every swing of his symbiote cracked reality's seams for a heartbeat, unraveling the things that their magic couldn't touch.

But the Guardians weren't satisfied.

Lux, panting, braced her staff, eyes still locked on him. "So... we can't hurt them at all?"

"You can slow them. Blind them. Keep them off me," Peter said, crushing another's skull between symbiote talons. "But kill them? No. That's me."

Ahri flicked her tails, still dissecting him with that calculating stare even as she fought. "These are the same ones from five years ago, aren't they?"

He didn't answer. Not with words. Just webbed a Voidling's jaw shut and sliced it in two, ash scattering at his feet.

The wave pressed harder. Dozens now, pouring from the distortions near the fountain. Their screeches layered into a cacophony, shadow-fire staining the grass. The Guardians fought tooth and nail, frustration growing with every failed strike.

Lux's light flared, but dimmed uselessly across a hide. "Why—why does it feel like nothing?"

Peter knew. He always knew. Because they're not part of your story to beat. They're part of mine.

But he couldn't say that. Couldn't even risk the words.

Instead he ripped through three at once, blades flashing. "Because they're outside your weight class. Higher-dimensionals. You're boxers in a ring—they're standing outside, moving the ropes. Doesn't matter how hard you punch the air."

The explanation worked just enough. Lux's mouth pressed thin, understanding the surface. Jinx waved it off like background noise. Neeko stayed bright, unbothered, smiling like trust was enough.

And Ahri—Ahri filed it away, gaze sharp, as if she'd drag answers out of him later.

The Guardians adapted. They stopped trying to win, and started trying to set him up. Lulu polymorphed a corrupted Voidling into a squeaking squirrel long enough for Peter to spear it. Poppy's hammer launches bought him breathing room. Syndra's spheres corralled enemies into his range.

And Peter? He moved like a storm given skin.

Every cut was decisive. Every webline pulled with purpose. His symbiote hissed with hunger, but he kept it leashed, channeling it into precise executions. He wove between their lights like a black thread stitching death through brilliance.

Minutes stretched. Corpses piled—then vanished into nothing.

Finally, the last one fell, Peter's blade carving it from throat to stomach. The ash spiraled upward, sucked back toward the distortion that had birthed it.

For a moment, all anyone heard was panting—lungs heaving, magic fading, heartbeats thundering in ears. The fountain still flowed, innocent and clear, as if it hadn't just been ringed by corrupted nightmares.

Peter exhaled, scanning. His senses still buzzed—like static in his skull. Not done. Not even close.

Lux braced on her staff, catching her breath. "We... we slowed them. But only you could..." She trailed, shaken but steady.

Jinx flopped onto the rim of the fountain, gun across her lap. "Yeah, yeah, lesson learned. Next time, I'm just gonna yell 'hey Spider, kill it!' and save ammo."

Neeko, bright as ever, bounced over, grabbing Peter's wrist with sticky fingers. "Neeko likes new teamwork. Guardians sparkle, Spider shreds. Perfect combo!"

Peter let out the ghost of a laugh, low and tired.

Ahri said nothing. She only looked at him, tails curling, eyes deep with suspicion.

Peter ignored it. Turned his focus instead to the faint hum that hadn't stopped since the second wave arrived.

The park was too quiet.

Not in the relieved way a battlefield should be when the fighting stopped, but in that taut, unnatural way that hummed in the bones. Even with the corrupted Voidlings turned to ash and scattered, Peter's senses refused to settle.

The fountain gurgled like nothing had happened. The wind swayed branches, carrying the faint smell of burned ozone from Lux's light and Jinx's explosions. The Guardians regrouped near the center, shoulders heaving, magic still dripping off them in sparks and fading arcs.

But Peter knew. The fight hadn't ended.

They don't just pop up like that, he thought, scanning. His Spider-Sense prickled, not with the usual sharp edge of danger, but with a deeper, more constant warning—like standing next to a live wire humming at the edge of perception. If they were infused with Dark energy, then something let them through.

He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. The hum intensified when his gaze fell on the fountain.

There—just above the rim, faint and flickering—space wasn't holding right. A hairline fracture of light and shadow shimmered, almost invisible unless you knew how to look. To the Guardians it might look like nothing but a distortion in the air, but to Peter it screamed louder than any alarm.

Found you.

He stepped forward, every stride certain. The others noticed.

"Peter?" Lux asked, still catching her breath.

"Something's wrong," he said. His voice had shifted—no joking, no banter. Commander-quiet. "That wasn't just a wave. It was a test run."

The group tightened, clustering instinctively around him as he came to stand before the fountain. From this close, the rift sharpened. It was barely a tear, thin as a crack in glass, but through it—

Peter's eyes hardened.

It wasn't just void. It wasn't emptiness.

It was reflection.

On the other side of the shimmer stretched Valoran City Park, but washed in wrongness. The fountain stood, but dark water bled upward instead of down. Trees stretched clawed branches into an orange-black sky. And where the Guardians should stand, distorted shadows pulsed—mocking shapes, like their silhouettes had been carved hollow and filled with hunger.

Peter's gut dropped even as his jaw clenched. He'd seen this pattern before. Every Guardian had.

A dark reflection.

Another side of the same coin.

They finally opened a door to the mirror.

"Whoa," Jinx said, her voice uneasy for once. She tilted her head, squinting at the shimmer. "Uh. Is anyone else seeing... creepy mirror-park?"

Neeko crept closer, eyes wide but not afraid. She tilted her head, ears twitching as her pupils narrowed like an animal tracking prey. "Feels heavy. Wrong-heavy. Like... Neeko does not want to step inside."

Lux lifted her staff, but hesitated. The light bent faintly around the rift as if resisting her power. "It's... it's not reacting to me." She frowned, lines of worry carving her expression. "Peter. What is this?"

He didn't answer at first. He just stared, cataloging every detail, letting the truth settle in his chest where he couldn't share it. He knew too well what lay beyond: not a "place" in any normal sense, but the infected underside of their reality. The kind of thing that only existed because the story had to have a shadow.

And stepping through?

That was inviting the infection in.

Finally, he exhaled. "It's a tear. A breach. Think of it like... the glass cracked, and whatever's behind it started bleeding through."

Ahri, still pale from the fight, narrowed her eyes. "Behind what?"

Peter didn't flinch, but he dodged. "Behind here. Another layer of the board. If those Voidlings came crawling out carrying Dark energy, then they didn't just spawn—they crossed over. And something opened the door for them."

Silence followed.

The Guardians looked at him, each reading him differently. Lux's eyes burned with worry but trust. Jinx chewed her lip, suspicion hidden under bravado. Neeko tilted her head, utterly accepting. Ahri watched like she could peel his words apart and find the missing truths.

Peter straightened.

Peter stood in front of it, jaw tight, voice low. "I'm going in."

The words landed like shrapnel.

Lux froze. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His gaze never left the tear. "Whatever opened this, whatever pushed those things through—it's not going to stop on its own. If I can close it from the other side, I will."

"No." Lux's voice cracked sharp, panic blooming under steel. "Absolutely not. You don't just—walk through some nightmare doorway and leave us standing here again."

Jinx crossed her arms, expression hard, though her foot tapped like a fuse burning short. "Yeah, déjà vu, anyone? You planning on pulling another 'brb, gone for a month, don't wait up'? Because last time, spoiler alert, it sucked."

The air thickened. Neeko flinched, ears twitching, eyes darting between them.

Lux's anger sharpened. "You think I forgot? That night—the slumber party. You told Ahri you'd be late, and then you vanished. For weeks. No word, no explanation. Do you know what it was like? Holding the team together, keeping everyone calm while you were just—gone?"

Jinx barked a humorless laugh. "Oh, she remembers. I remember wanting to put your face on a milk carton: 'Have you seen this idiot in spandex?'" She jabbed a finger at him. "And then Ahri—sweet, perfect Ahri—finally caves under pressure and admits she knew you were gone the whole time. That was a fun night."

The mention of her name snapped every eye to Ahri.

The fox-eared Guardian's tail flicked once, betraying nerves she otherwise kept buried. Her lips parted, then closed, then finally: "He told me he'd be late. That's all. I didn't... I didn't tell the rest of you because..." Her shoulders sank, ears drooping. "Because I thought it would spare you worry. I thought he'd come back sooner. And when he didn't—" She exhaled sharply. "I froze."

"Ahri," Lux said, disbelief etched deep. "You let us think he might never come back."

Ahri winced, silent.

"I didn't ask her to lie," Peter cut in, stepping forward, voice hard. "Don't pin that on her. I only said I'd be late. The rest was me."

Jinx scoffed. "Late? A month counts as late now?"

At that, Neeko moved.

She darted forward, planting herself squarely between Peter and the others. Her hair shimmered faintly in the light of the rift, her eyes fierce in a way they rarely were. "Stop." Her voice rang with startling clarity. "Do not talk like that. He saved me."

Silence.

Her words cut through the air sharper than any accusation.

Neeko's tail lashed once, ears flattening. "None of you were there. None of you saw Zoe, or the corrupted ones, or—" She broke off, shuddering. Her hand found Peter's sleeve, clutching it like a tether. "Peter did. Peter fought. For me. He came back. That is what matters."

Jinx blinked, thrown. Lux's anger softened into raw confusion.

"Neeko..." Lux began, but the chameleon shook her head furiously.

"No. You don't understand. He did not vanish for nothing. He brought me home. He helped Neeko breathe again when shadows tried to eat her. If he says he must go now, then..." She squeezed Peter's sleeve tighter. "Then I believe him."

The rift pulsed behind them, throwing jagged light across their faces.

Lux's hands tightened on her staff. "You're defending him? After what it cost the rest of us? The fallout of his fight with Riku and Aqua nearly tore holes in reality, Neeko. Time cracks, dimensions bleeding over—you think I didn't see it?"

"Exactly," Jinx snapped, seizing the point. "Whole timelines got scrambled. But sure, let's all clap because Spider-Man here decided to solo the end of the world."

Peter finally turned, expression like a storm barely kept in check. "You think I wanted that? You think I wanted to disappear, to fight them alone? I didn't have a choice. Not then. And right now—" He jabbed a finger at the rift. "—we don't have one either."

His voice dropped lower, harder. "You can't go in there. None of you. You can't fight what's waiting on the other side."

Lux's chin lifted. "Try me."

Peter exhaled sharply, hands flexing at his sides. "You don't get it. Those Voidlings you just fought? That was entry-level. The corrupted ones, the Darks—they're higher-dimensional. You can throw everything you've got at them and all you'll do is slow them down. That's why your magic barely scratched the infused ones."

He swept his gaze across them—Lux, Jinx, Ahri—landing finally on Neeko, softer but no less firm. "You're Star Guardians. Protectors of this world. But the Darks? They aren't of this world. They don't play by the rules of your story. They're viruses. And Guardians like me—we're the antivirus. We're the only ones who can erase them."

Ahri's tails flicked, her voice calm but weighted. "So you're saying if we follow, we die."

Peter's jaw worked. "I'm saying you'd break. And I'm not losing any of you to that."

Jinx shook her head, muttering, "Always the martyr. Always the guy who has to take it all on himself." She glared, fire burning under the cracks in her voice. "You're not bulletproof, Peter. You vanish again, and maybe you don't come back this time."

Lux's grip tightened on her staff. "We should be in this together. That's what being Guardians means. We fight as one."

"Not this fight." His reply was iron.

For a moment, no one spoke. The fountain gurgled faintly, absurd in its normalcy against the background hum of the rift.

Finally, Neeko broke the silence. Her hand still held Peter's sleeve, but now she looked at Lux, Jinx, even Ahri. "He is telling the truth. Neeko feels it. That place is wrong. If he says we cannot follow, then we do not follow."

Her trust landed heavy. Lux faltered. Jinx rolled her eyes but didn't argue further. Ahri just exhaled slowly, resignation curling into her posture.

The tension remained, thick as smoke, but the shouting dulled to silence.

Peter turned back toward the rift, shoulders squared. His reflection—darker, twisted—stared back at him from the other side.

This was the cost of knowing the truth. This was the war only he could fight.

"Stay here," he said quietly. "No matter what happens, you hold this line. I'll handle the rest."

Behind him, no one agreed. But no one stopped him either.

The tear pulsed once, hungry, waiting.

To Be Continued...