(Marvel, DC, the images, manhuas, and every anime mentioned or used in this story do not belong to me; they belong to their respective owners. The main character, Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez, and this story belong to me.)
Vander and Adriel wandered through the settlement without any particular destination in mind.
The conversation had followed them out of Warwick's home and into the streets, though Adriel had found several excuses to interrupt it along the way. He stopped at one stall for vegetables, another for meat, and a third for spices he insisted the commune still did not know how to use properly.
If he was going to return home eventually, he might as well prepare dinner for everyone.
Vander included.
That created another problem Adriel had been deliberately avoiding.
Vi and Jinx did not know their father had been restored.
They knew Viktor had begun recovering the man buried within Warwick, but neither of them knew Adriel had impulsively constructed Vander a new body and transferred his soul into it. The only people aware that he planned to attempt something like that were Viktor and Sky.
Even they had not known when he intended to do it.
Adriel had never given them a date.
He had simply walked into Warwick's home, furious over what had happened with Caitlyn and even angrier with himself, and decided that rebuilding a dead man from the molecular level sounded easier than confronting his emotions.
It had worked for a few hours.
Now the consequences were walking beside him, physically thirty years younger and carrying a bag of groceries.
Vander listened as Adriel briefly explained what had happened before he arrived at Warwick's enclosed garden.
Artoria had dragged him outside.
Caitlyn had confronted him about his behavior.
Adriel had accused her of seeking his approval as proof that she was still a good person.
From there, everything had spiraled.
He told Vander about the Grey, Vi, Maddie, Ambessa, martial law, and the private memories he had weaponized against Caitlyn. He admitted that Vi had tried to stop him and that Artoria had repeatedly told him he had gone too far.
He had continued anyway.
Vander's expression shifted several times throughout the explanation.
"You said all of that in the middle of the street?"
"Pretty much."
"In front of Vi?"
"Yeah."
"And Artoria?"
"Also yeah."
Vander stared at him.
Adriel adjusted the grocery bag in his hand.
"In hindsight, it was not one of my better social interactions."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I'm aware."
They continued walking.
By the time Adriel finished, both men carried groceries. Vander held his bag effortlessly, still adjusting to the unusual strength contained within his restored body. Adriel occasionally glanced at him, checking his posture, breathing, and balance without making the examination obvious.
Vander noticed.
He chose not to mention it.
Instead, he remained quiet long enough for Adriel to become uncomfortable.
"Well?" Adriel finally asked.
"You want me to be honest?"
"Not particularly, but I know you're going to be."
Vander nodded once.
"She didn't deserve what you did to her."
Adriel's jaw tightened.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Because every time you explained another thing you said, you followed it with a reason she deserved to hear it."
"I never said she deserved all of it."
"You didn't have to."
Adriel looked toward the path ahead.
Vander continued before he could retreat into silence.
"Maybe everything you said was true."
"It was."
"That doesn't make what you did right."
Adriel's grip tightened around the bag.
"I know how that sounds, but she did those things. I didn't invent them."
"No. You just chose the ugliest way to use them."
Adriel looked at him.
Vander's expression remained steady.
"A knife cuts because it's sharp," he said. "That doesn't mean the knife decided where to go."
The words struck harder than Adriel expected.
"You weren't trying to make Caitlyn understand what she'd done," Vander continued. "You wanted to hurt her."
Adriel said nothing.
"You wanted someone in front of you who could bleed."
That stopped him.
Vander took another step before realizing Adriel was no longer beside him. He turned and found the younger Guardian standing motionless in the middle of the path.
Adriel's face had gone still.
Vander did not soften the point.
"You couldn't make Anansi pay for what he did to Isha," he said. "You couldn't give Powder the ending you promised her, and you couldn't take back whatever happened before you came here. Caitlyn was standing in front of you, so you made her carry all of it."
Adriel looked away.
Several residents passed nearby, greeting them as they went. Adriel returned the gestures automatically, barely registering their faces.
Vander waited until they had moved on.
"I understand more of that than you probably think."
Adriel gave him a doubtful look.
"I led the Undercity," Vander said. "People came to me when they were hungry, angry, frightened, or looking for someone to blame. Every choice I made affected more than the person standing in front of me."
His gaze drifted across the growing settlement.
"When people depend on you, you don't get to show them every doubt running through your head. If they think you're afraid, they become afraid. If they see you hesitate, they start wondering whether anyone knows what to do."
"You had to look strong."
"I had to look certain."
Vander's mouth tightened.
"Those aren't always the same thing."
Adriel resumed walking, and Vander fell into step beside him.
"I made choices that got people killed," Vander said. "I convinced myself I was protecting the Undercity even when part of me was only afraid of another war. Before that, I helped start the fight that left children without parents on the bridge."
Vi and Powder had been among them.
Vander carried that knowledge in a way time had never made lighter.
"So believe me," he continued. "I know what it means to swallow everything because you think everyone else needs you standing."
Adriel's expression shifted slightly.
"But I also know what happens when all that anger finds the wrong person."
Vander glanced at him.
"You're not the first man to hurt someone who didn't deserve it because admitting you were hurt felt worse."
Adriel released a breath through his nose.
"I didn't plan any of it."
"I know."
"She kept pushing."
"I know."
"Artoria dragged me into it after I made it clear I didn't want to talk to Caitlyn."
"I know."
Adriel stopped again.
"Then why does everyone keep acting like that part doesn't matter?"
"I'm not."
Vander's answer came immediately.
"Artoria crossed a boundary. She should've listened when you made it clear you wanted no part of that conversation."
Adriel's defensiveness faltered.
"She was wrong to force it," Vander continued. "You were wrong for what you did after. Both can be true."
Adriel looked down.
"Intentions don't erase consequences," Vander said. "That applies to Artoria, and it applies to you."
"I know she was trying to help."
"Then tell her that after you tell her she overstepped."
Vander shifted the grocery bag to his other hand.
"And apologize for what you said to her."
Adriel grimaced.
"I figured you'd get there eventually."
"You struck at her too."
"She arranged the whole thing."
"And you saw that it hurt her, so you kept going."
Adriel did not have an answer for that.
Vander gave him a moment before continuing.
"Caitlyn deserves an apology first."
"I know."
"Not an explanation dressed as one."
Adriel glanced at him.
"No 'I'm sorry, but you pushed me.' No 'I'm sorry, but everything I said was true.' You tell her what you did was cruel, you own it, and you let her decide what she wants to do with that."
"She'll probably tell me to go fuck myself."
"She might."
"Helpful."
"You're not apologizing to make yourself feel better."
Vander's tone carried the same blunt finality he once used whenever Vi tried to argue her way around a lesson she already understood.
Adriel sighed.
"Fine."
"No."
Vander looked directly at him.
"Not fine. Necessary."
Adriel muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?"
"I said you've been able to speak for less than an hour, and you're already annoying me."
A faint smile touched Vander's face.
"Good. Means your ears work."
Adriel almost laughed.
Almost.
They passed another row of stalls. Adriel purchased bread from an elderly woman who refused his money until he quietly slipped twice the amount onto the counter while she was distracted. Vander watched the exchange without commenting.
When they returned to the main road, Vander studied him again.
He had known Adriel was an anomaly from the moment the boy crashed into that warehouse in Piltover many years ago. Two nations had been tearing at each other, and amid the violence, something impossible had fallen out of the sky and landed directly in the middle of it.
Time had only confirmed Vander's suspicion.
Adriel could create matter, alter bodies, repair powers, move entire settlements, and speak about other universes as though they were distant neighborhoods. Vander had awakened inside Warwick to discover that the strange boy he once knew had become something powerful enough to make Piltover's greatest inventions look primitive.
Yet there was one thing Vander had never considered him to be.
"You know, for someone most people probably mistake for a god, you're terrible at pretending you know what you're doing."
Adriel slowly turned toward him.
"Thank you?"
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I noticed."
Vander looked ahead again.
"I've never had much use for gods. People in the Undercity rarely do. If they exist, they've always lived too high above us to smell the sump."
Adriel listened quietly.
"But if someone told me a god walked among us," Vander continued, "I'd expect him to understand the world he was walking through. I'd expect him to see the whole road instead of guessing at the next turn."
He glanced at Adriel.
"You don't."
"That's brutally reassuring."
"You make mistakes. You get angry. You improvise, and when something goes wrong, you tear yourself apart because you think having all that power means you should've known better."
Vander shook his head.
"That doesn't make you a god. It makes you a man carrying more responsibility than any man was built to hold."
Adriel's expression became unreadable.
"Yes, you can do things I don't understand," Vander said. "You can build bodies, change reality, and whatever else you've been hiding. But I've never looked at you and seen a god."
"Funny. Most people see the power first."
"I saw you before all that."
Vander remembered the strange child who had appeared in the middle of a war and looked as though he understood even less about his situation than everyone surrounding him.
"I saw a lost boy trying to act like he wasn't lost."
Adriel looked away.
"Some things don't change."
"No," Vander agreed. "They don't."
For several moments, the sounds of the settlement filled the silence between them. Workers called to one another from unfinished rooftops. Children ran between the houses. Somewhere farther down the slope, metal rang against metal inside one of the new workshops.
Vander let the quiet settle before speaking again.
"Your worst habit isn't your temper."
Adriel raised an eyebrow.
"It's this need you have to become a martyr."
"Oh, great. We're still going."
"You asked."
"I'm beginning to regret that."
"You help everyone. You protect everyone. You throw yourself into whatever problem is in front of you and act like being useful is the same thing as being alright."
Vander's expression hardened.
"Then, when someone asks how you're doing, you say, 'I'm fine.'"
Adriel opened his mouth.
"You're not."
He closed it.
"You say it when you're tired, when you're angry, and apparently when you're so badly wounded that the next person who touches the wrong nerve gets torn apart."
"I can usually handle it."
"That isn't the same as being fine."
"As long as nobody pushes me—"
"A cracked support beam can hold a roof until someone leans against it."
Adriel's jaw tightened.
"That doesn't mean the beam was fine before they touched it."
The comparison silenced him.
Vander had spent too many years keeping the Undercity standing not to recognize something surviving beyond the point when it should have been repaired.
Adriel was still functioning.
That was not proof that he was healthy.
"I don't expect you to tell me everything," Vander said. "I'm not sure I could endure hearing it."
"That's what I've been trying to tell people."
Adriel's laugh carried no humor.
"You don't understand what I've seen. Nobody here does. Maybe Peter, Ace, and Artoria understand parts of it, but even they don't know everything."
He stared toward the mountains beyond the settlement.
"I'm reaching Guts-level suffering at this point. Might've passed him."
Vander frowned.
"Who?"
"Guts."
"That supposed to mean something to me?"
"Man with a sword larger than common sense. His entire life is basically one horrible thing happening after another."
Vander considered that description.
"And you're comparing yourself to him?"
"Depressingly."
"I don't know who that is."
"Probably for the best."
Vander grunted.
"Whoever he is, using another miserable bastard as a measuring stick doesn't make this healthier."
Adriel stared at him.
"You know, I liked you better when you couldn't talk."
"No, you didn't."
"No," Adriel admitted. "I didn't."
Vander's expression softened, though his voice remained firm.
"I may never understand everything you've endured. Your companions might be the only people capable of coming close. But I don't need your entire life story to see what you're doing to yourself."
He gestured toward the settlement around them.
"You keep talking about giving everyone a happy ending."
Adriel glanced at him.
"Powder. Vi. Caitlyn. Viktor. Sky. Everyone you meet becomes another person you have to save."
"That's the job."
"Is it?"
Adriel frowned.
"What happens to you when everyone else gets their ending?"
The question caught him off guard.
"What do you mean?"
"Where are you in it?"
Adriel's pace slowed.
Vander continued walking for another step, then stopped beside him.
"You talk about what everyone else needs. You complain about what you've lost, but you never seem to ask what you want unless somebody forces you to."
"That's not true."
"Then tell me."
Adriel looked at him.
"What future do you want?"
The settlement continued moving around them, but the question seemed to close over Adriel until every surrounding sound became distant.
What did he want?
The answer should have been easy.
It had been the same since this entire nightmare began.
He wanted to go home.
Not to another universe that resembled it. Not to some fictional recreation assembled from his memories. He wanted the real world. His world. His family.
That had been the point once.
Before Guardian became less of a title and more of a sentence.
Before the job stretched across so much time that returning home began to feel like a childish dream he had been too stubborn to bury.
Adriel had once been real.
Now he existed inside fiction as a character with dialogue, scenes, internal monologue, and a perspective someone could follow. He did not know how a person crossed back after becoming part of a narrative.
Stories occasionally allowed fictional characters to enter the real world, but even then, an author remained behind the journey. The character had not truly escaped fiction. The story had simply changed its setting.
If Adriel genuinely returned to reality, there would be no narrative waiting for him.
No point of view.
No scene describing his arrival.
No unseen observer translating his thoughts into words.
There would only be life.
Perhaps a diary entry could pass for narration after the fact, but even that would merely record what had already happened. It could not provide a road out.
He was not Superboy-Prime.
He was not Gwenpool or one of the other metafictional characters who understood their worlds were stories. They had been created within fiction to interact with the idea of reality.
Adriel had traveled in the opposite direction.
He had been real first.
Now he was the only real person trapped between printed pages, animated worlds, computer files, and the endless information stored across the internet.
Alone inside fiction.
"Home," Adriel finally said.
Vander waited.
"I want to go home."
"Then why have you never said that?"
"Because it's impossible."
"You don't know that."
"I don't even know what returning would mean anymore."
Adriel struggled to find words that would make sense to someone who had only recently learned other universes existed.
"I used to be real, Vander. Not real the way you're real to yourself. I mean outside all of this."
He gestured around them.
"This world, your history, everyone in it—it was a story where I came from. So were Peter's world, Artoria's, Ace's, and nearly every place I've visited."
Vander listened without interrupting.
"Now I'm part of those stories," Adriel continued. "I'm being treated like a character inside them. If I leave fiction completely, there's nothing left to follow me. No story. No point of view. Nothing."
He laughed quietly.
"How the hell am I supposed to find a door that stops existing the moment I walk through it?"
Vander remained silent for several seconds.
"I understood about half of that."
"That's more than most."
"But I understand wanting to go home."
Adriel looked at him.
"And I understand convincing yourself you're never getting there because you can't see the road."
"There might not be one."
"Maybe."
Vander did not offer him some empty promise that everything would work out. He had lived too long and lost too much to insult Adriel with certainty he did not possess.
"But if home is what you want, stop pretending you don't want anything."
Vander shifted the groceries in his hand.
"You spend all your time building homes for everyone else while acting like missing your own is something you should be ashamed of."
Adriel's gaze lowered.
"Tell your people," Vander said. "Maybe they can't get you there. Maybe nobody can. But they should at least know what future you're trying to reach."
"And if I never reach it?"
"Then you still need something between now and then that belongs to you."
Adriel glanced toward him.
"Not another person's ending. Not another world you saved. Something you chose because you wanted it."
The advice did not solve everything.
It did not create a route back to reality or make the possibility feel less impossible. It did not erase Isha's death, undo what Adriel had said to Caitlyn, or loosen the centuries of damage wound through his mind.
But it reached him.
Not completely.
Enough.
"Thanks," Adriel said.
Vander nodded.
"Don't thank me yet. You still have two apologies to make."
Adriel groaned.
"You really know how to ruin a moment."
"Someone has to."
They continued through the settlement until Adriel's home came into view.
Vander stopped.
The enormous treehouse rose above the surrounding buildings, built into a tree massive enough to resemble a small world of its own. Broad wooden structures rested among its branches, connected by stairs, platforms, and reinforced walkways. Large windows reflected the afternoon light, while sections of metal, glass, and unfamiliar technology blended into the living wood.
It looked simultaneously fantastical and modern, more advanced than anything in Piltover without sacrificing the warmth of an actual home.
Vander stared at it.
"That's your house?"
Adriel chuckled at his expression.
"I like having space."
"You built a house large enough for half the Undercity."
"At the rate people keep moving in, that might've been accidental foresight."
Vander looked from the enormous structure to Adriel.
"You built all of this yourself?"
"Most of it."
"Of course you did."
They climbed toward the entrance, each still carrying a bag of groceries.
Adriel reached for the door.
Then he froze.
Vander nearly walked into him.
"What is it?"
Adriel slowly lowered his hand.
"They don't know."
"Who doesn't know what?"
"Vi and Jinx."
Vander's expression changed.
"They know Viktor was helping you," Adriel explained. "They do not know I finished your new body, transferred your soul, or planned on bringing you home for dinner."
"You brought me back without telling my daughters?"
"In my defense, I was emotionally compromised."
"That isn't a defense."
"I realized that while saying it."
Vander looked toward the door.
Only now did the full weight of the reunion seem to settle over him.
Vi and Powder believed the father they had lost was trapped inside a beast, only partially recovered and unable to speak. Neither of them expected him to walk through the door looking younger than he had when they last saw him.
His shoulders tensed.
Adriel noticed.
"Yeah," he said. "That's exactly the problem."
"What do we do?"
"I've had enough sudden emotional devastation to last several lifetimes."
Adriel rubbed his face.
"We should find both of them first. Get Vi and Jinx together, explain that Viktor's work succeeded, and prepare them before you walk into the room."
Vander considered it.
"That might be better."
"Exactly. We handle this calmly, give them time to process it, and avoid anyone getting blindsided by—"
Something heavy struck the ground behind them.
Metal plates, tools, and several pieces of equipment intended for the gym beneath Adriel's house spilled across the walkway.
Both men turned.
Vi stood several paces behind them, her empty hands still raised as though they had forgotten the equipment was no longer there.
She was staring at Vander.
Her face had gone completely still.
"Dad?"
Adriel closed his eyes and released a long, defeated sigh.
I cannot catch a fucking break.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Meanwhile, Peter was inside the home Adriel had recently reconstructed for Viktor and Sky.
The building retained enough of its original design to feel familiar, but nearly everything inside had been modernized. Heating, plumbing, lighting, and unfamiliar appliances had been integrated throughout the house, usually without Adriel explaining any of it beforehand.
Whenever something new appeared, Viktor and Sky were forced to find one of the four Guardians and ask what the hell it was supposed to do.
Today's mystery was the enormous plasma television mounted against the living-room wall.
Adriel had apparently updated it again. The television could now connect to several streaming services through its internal system, giving Viktor and Sky access to an absurd amount of entertainment from worlds they had never known existed.
Peter had been more than happy to explain it.
He stood in front of the television with the remote in one hand while Viktor sat on the couch, studying the screen with the concentration of a scientist witnessing a new form of Hextech.
Sky sat beside him, visibly more entertained by the lesson than Viktor was willing to admit he felt.
"Alright," Peter said. "This is the home screen. Everything starts here."
Peter handed Viktor the remote. The scientist examined it closely.
"There is also a button depicting a house."
"Yeah. That takes you back to the home screen."
"Then why does the other button exist?"
Peter paused.
"Because apparently one way of returning home wasn't enough."
"That seems unnecessarily redundant."
"Welcome to modern technology."
Viktor pressed one of the buttons.
The screen abruptly changed to the settings menu.
Peter stared at him.
"What did you press?"
"I do not know."
"The remote has labels."
"I am still learning what the symbols mean."
"They're arrows, Viktor."
"I am aware of what arrows are."
"Could've fooled me."
Viktor gave him a flat look.
Sky hid a smile behind her hand.
Peter pointed toward her.
"Don't laugh. You're next."
"I already understand how it works."
Peter lowered his hand.
"What?"
"While you were explaining the home screen to Viktor, I explored the other menus."
Sky held up the second remote she had found.
"I also found the parental controls."
Peter slowly looked toward Viktor.
Viktor looked back at him.
"Do not," Viktor said.
Sky's smile widened.
"I have made no promises."
Peter placed a hand against his chest.
"I'm so proud."
"You were threatening to tease me less than a minute ago," Sky reminded him.
"I've changed my mind. You're learning too fast, and now I respect you."
Viktor glanced between them.
"I am beginning to regret inviting you here."
"You didn't invite me. Adriel gave you a television with six thousand menus and left me to handle the consequences."
Peter reclaimed the remote from Viktor and returned them to the home screen.
"Now, these are the streaming services. Netflix, HBO Max, Disney Plus, Hulu, and several others that Adriel added because he has apparently decided you need access to the entire twenty-first-century entertainment industry."
Viktor examined the row of applications.
"They all provide the same function."
"More or less."
"Then why are there so many?"
Peter stared at the screen.
"Capitalism."
Viktor waited for further explanation.
Peter offered none.
Sky tilted her head.
"Do they all require separate payments?"
"Yep."
"Then it seems Piltover did not perfect the practice of charging people repeatedly for the same service after all."
Peter pointed at her.
"That was good."
"Thank you."
Viktor sighed.
Peter continued down the application list until he reached Crunchyroll.
He stopped.
His expression changed immediately.
"No."
Viktor looked toward him.
"No?"
"We're removing that."
"Why?"
Peter selected the application and opened its options.
"Because Crunchyroll is a bitch."
"Peter," Sky said.
"What? It is."
He selected Uninstall with considerably more force than necessary.
"Because of these assholes, half the websites I used to watch anime on have been shut down."
Sky studied him.
"Were those websites officially licensed to distribute these programs?"
Peter went silent.
Viktor raised an eyebrow.
"They were accessible," Peter finally said.
"That does not answer her question."
"It answers the important part."
"So you were stealing them," Sky concluded.
"I prefer the term archiving through alternative distribution channels."
"You were stealing them."
"I didn't come here to be judged."
The Crunchyroll application disappeared from the screen.
Peter nodded with satisfaction.
"Good riddance."
Viktor stared at the empty space it left behind.
"Your relationship with entertainment services appears strangely personal."
"You have no idea."
Peter returned to Netflix and began explaining the interface, including profiles, categories, subtitles, watch lists, and the algorithm that recommended new programs based on whatever they watched.
That feature captured Viktor's attention.
"The system studies the user's behavior?"
"Yeah."
"And predicts what they might wish to watch next?"
"Usually."
"How accurately?"
"Depends. Sometimes it understands you better than your family. Other times you watch one documentary about sharks and it decides your entire personality is now ocean murder."
Viktor considered that.
"Can the predictive system be examined?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you're supposed to watch the shows, not disassemble Netflix."
"I merely wish to understand its methodology."
Peter looked toward Sky.
"This is what you deal with every day?"
Sky released a patient sigh.
"Frequently."
"I do not examine everything placed before me," Viktor protested.
Sky turned toward him.
"You dismantled the coffee maker yesterday."
"It was operating inefficiently."
"It was three hours old."
"It operates more efficiently now."
"It also makes a sound resembling a distressed animal."
"That is unrelated."
Peter nodded gravely.
"Of course. Completely unrelated."
Viktor narrowed his eyes.
Peter grinned.
He had tried teasing Sky when the lesson began, but she had returned every remark quickly enough to make him reconsider. Viktor, however, remained an easy target. The scientist understood sarcasm perfectly well; he simply responded with such serious irritation that Peter found it impossible to stop.
Despite the constant banter, Peter genuinely wanted to help them.
Viktor possessed a brilliant scientific mind alongside abilities that blurred the line between technology and magic. Given the opportunity, he would remain inside his laboratory until exhaustion forced his body to shut down.
Fortunately, Sky refused to allow that.
"You need to relax once in a while," Peter told him. "Watching something that has nothing to do with your work is good for you."
"I leave the laboratory."
"Being physically dragged out by Sky does not count."
"I do not physically drag him," Sky said.
Viktor gave Peter a small, vindicated nod.
"I merely shut off his equipment and refuse to restore the power until he follows me."
Viktor's expression flattened.
Peter stared at Sky.
"That's terrifying."
"It is effective."
"I take back everything I said. You're doing great."
"She exaggerates," Viktor muttered.
"You remained inside the laboratory for sixteen consecutive hours two days ago," Sky said.
"I was occupied."
"You forgot to eat."
"I intended to do so later."
"You said that during breakfast."
Peter leaned against the back of the couch.
"Viktor, buddy, when two separate universes agree that your work habits are unhealthy, you've lost the argument."
Viktor crossed his arms.
"I was unaware this was an argument."
"That explains why you're losing."
Sky snorted.
For all their teasing, both she and Viktor were grateful for Peter's presence.
He had done nothing but help since arriving. Whether someone needed assistance with machinery, infrastructure, medical equipment, or something as simple as understanding a television, Peter stepped forward without hesitation.
Helping people seemed less like a choice and more like the condition around which his entire life had been built.
Neither Viktor nor Sky knew the creed Peter carried with him wherever he went.
With great power comes great responsibility.
Peter had not always lived up to those words perfectly. There had been times when grief, anger, and exhaustion pulled him away from the person he wanted to be.
Ace had helped him find his way back.
Without his best friend, Peter genuinely did not know what kind of person he might have become. He would always be grateful for everything Ace had done—and everything he had sacrificed—to keep him from losing himself.
Peter pushed those thoughts aside and opened Viktor's new watch list.
"Alright. Recommendations."
The list rapidly began filling.
"You need to watch Doctor Who."
Viktor read the title.
"A physician?"
"Not that kind of doctor."
"Then why is he called that?"
"Because his actual name is a secret."
"Why?"
"Because British television needed a title."
Viktor frowned.
"That explanation clarified nothing."
"Perfect. You're already prepared for the show."
Peter added it to the list.
"Time travel, aliens, civilizations, paradoxes, science that ranges from brilliant to absolute nonsense, and a man who solves half his problems by giving speeches."
"That sounds potentially interesting," Viktor admitted.
"Oh, it is. Just don't ask me where to start unless you have several hours."
Sky looked at the growing list.
"He has already been speaking for several hours."
"Exactly. I'm pacing myself."
Peter moved to another service.
"And then there's Star Wars."
That was where the lesson stopped being a lesson and became a lecture.
Peter explained the Jedi, the Sith, the Force, lightsabers, the Republic, the Empire, the Clone Wars, and the considerable debate surrounding the correct viewing order. He discussed the original trilogy, prequels, sequels, animated series, expanded material, and several continuity decisions that had personally offended him.
His knowledge was disgusting.
Sky gradually stopped following the explanation and began watching Peter instead, amused by how passionately he could discuss the political failures of a fictional galactic republic.
Viktor, surprisingly, remained interested.
"So this Force is an energy field connecting living beings?" he asked.
"Basically."
"And certain individuals can manipulate it?"
"Yep."
"Through biological aptitude or disciplined study?"
"Both. There are microscopic organisms involved, but everyone gets angry if you talk about them too much."
"Why?"
"Because it complicates the space magic."
Viktor leaned forward slightly.
"And the weapons consist of contained plasma?"
Peter's eyes lit up.
"Oh, you're gonna like this."
Sky sighed fondly as the two scientists immediately disappeared into a discussion about whether a lightsaber could function under Runeterran physics.
She allowed it to continue for several minutes before interrupting.
"If you encourage him to build one, neither of you is allowed to test it inside the house."
Peter looked offended.
"I would never do that."
Viktor glanced at him.
Peter pointed toward the laboratory.
"We'd test it in there."
"No," Sky said.
"Outside?"
"No."
"Underground?"
"Peter."
"Fine."
He added the entire Star Wars saga to the watch list anyway.
Peter continued recommending programs until Viktor finally stopped him on one particular title.
"Breaking Bad," Viktor read. "What is this about?"
Peter slowly turned toward him.
"Now that is an excellent choice."
"What is its premise?"
Peter considered how to explain it.
"A brilliant chemistry teacher gets cancer, discovers the horrors of the American healthcare system, and responds by becoming a drug lord with a hat."
Viktor stared at him.
Sky audibly snorted and struck Peter across the shoulder.
"That cannot possibly be an accurate summary."
"It is emotionally accurate."
"What kind of drugs?" Viktor asked.
"Methamphetamine."
Viktor's brows drew together.
"And he manufactures it himself?"
"With a former student."
"Why?"
"Money, pride, fear of death, repressed anger, and an ego large enough to qualify as a natural disaster."
Viktor looked toward the title again.
Peter nodded approvingly.
"You know how to pick them."
Sky smacked his shoulder a second time.
"What?"
"You are going to give him ideas."
"He already transformed an entire commune through magical evolution. Walter White is several levels beneath his pay grade."
"That is not reassuring."
Viktor ignored them both.
"Is the chemistry portrayed accurately?"
"Sometimes disturbingly so. Other times the show avoids details because teaching millions of people how to manufacture narcotics would be a questionable production decision."
"That is sensible."
Peter added the series to the list.
"You'll like it. Crime, chemistry, manipulation, consequences, and one very intelligent man repeatedly convincing himself he's the only person capable of solving every problem."
Sky slowly looked toward Viktor.
Viktor noticed.
"I fail to understand why you are looking at me."
"No reason," she said.
Peter pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a laugh.
Viktor turned toward him.
"Do not."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"You can't prove that."
The three continued through Peter's recommendations, their conversation drifting between explanations, jokes, and Viktor's increasingly specific questions. Sky listened even when she had little interest in a particular series. Peter spoke about these worlds with such enthusiasm that it was difficult not to become curious.
Then, in the middle of explaining another show, Peter stopped.
The remote became still in his hand.
A warning tingled along the base of his skull.
It was not the violent scream that preceded immediate danger. This felt more like someone had brushed a finger across one strand of his Spider-Sense and accidentally pulled it taut.
Peter recognized the presence behind it.
Adriel.
Viktor noticed the change in him immediately.
"Is everything alright?"
Peter remained silent for another second, following the sensation.
Then he sighed.
"Probably."
Sky's amusement faded.
"That did not sound convincing."
"Adriel just pinged my Spider-Sense."
Viktor frowned.
"I believed his method of communicating with you was telepathic."
"It is when he can concentrate."
Peter placed the remote on the table.
"When he gets stressed, his control becomes inconsistent. Sometimes he reaches for the telepathic link. Other times his brain leans against whatever emergency system it finds first."
"Is he in danger?" Sky asked.
"Not physical danger."
Peter stood.
"At least, I don't think so."
The sensation carried distress, surprise, and the unmistakable pressure of several emotions about to collide in one place.
Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"If I'm reading this correctly, I'm about to have to calm down an unknown number of people."
"Which people?" Viktor asked.
"No idea."
"That seems concerning."
"It usually is."
Peter headed toward the door.
"You two start working through the list. Pick whatever you want."
Viktor glanced toward the television.
"Breaking Bad?"
"Excellent choice. Don't finish half the season before I get back."
"How long will you be gone?"
Peter opened the door.
"If this is what I think it is, long enough to stop somebody from crying, hitting something, or doing both at the same time."
Sky stared at him.
"That is even less reassuring."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
The strange pressure tugged at his Spider-Sense again.
Peter stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Whatever Adriel had accidentally called him toward, he could only hope it was not as bad as it felt.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
By the time Peter reached Adriel's home, the crisis awaiting him looked nothing like what he had expected.
He stopped near the entrance to the living room and stared toward the kitchen.
Vander was standing beside the counter.
Not Warwick.
Vander.
Human, alive, and apparently restored to somewhere in his early thirties.
Peter remained silent as his mind attempted to organize what his eyes were reporting.
Vander had technically already been alive, but his consciousness had been buried inside Warwick. Now he was no longer inside Warwick, his original body had somehow returned, and he looked several decades younger than he should have.
As if that were not enough, Peter could sense something else beneath the surface.
The body was far stronger than an ordinary human's.
Its muscles, bones, metabolism, and nervous system had been enhanced to the same impossible human threshold Peter remembered sensing from Steve Rogers.
Adriel had given Vander a version of the super-soldier serum.
Of course he had.
Vi stood across from her father, speaking so animatedly that Peter could barely follow the conversation from where he was. The two of them seemed to be catching up on the many years Vander had missed. Vi jumped between subjects, occasionally stopping to explain some development that left Vander staring at her in disbelief before the conversation moved forward again.
Neither of them noticed Peter arrive.
Adriel sat alone on the sofa.
His posture appeared relaxed until Peter noticed his right foot repeatedly tapping against the floor. The movement was constant and fast enough to betray the anxiety hidden behind his otherwise tired expression.
Peter looked from Adriel to Vander.
Then back to Adriel.
He sighed and quietly approached the sofa.
Adriel did not react until Peter stopped directly in front of him.
Peter looked down at him.
"What the fuck did you do now?" he whispered.
Adriel slowly raised his head.
His eyes immediately shifted toward the kitchen, checking whether Vi or Vander had heard.
Neither appeared to have noticed.
"Okay, look," Adriel whispered back. "This was impulsive."
Peter raised an eyebrow.
"Impulsive?"
Adriel nodded once.
"Ordering food at three in the morning is impulsive," Peter said. "Buying something you don't need is impulsive. You extracted Vander's soul from Warwick, reconstructed his original body, made him thirty years younger, and gave him the Steve Rogers package."
Adriel stared at him.
Peter gestured toward Vander.
"You gave him super-soldier enhancements."
"Maybe."
"I can feel it from here."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I wanted to hear you admit it."
Adriel looked away.
Peter's eyebrow remained raised.
"So?"
Adriel released a quiet breath.
"It's better than letting him die again."
"That was never the alternative."
"You don't know that."
Peter's expression changed slightly.
Adriel leaned forward, lowering his voice even further.
"We're probably going back to Piltover eventually. Ambessa and the Noxians are still a problem, and even if we deal with them, there's no guarantee another force won't come here while we're gone."
"Viktor and Sky can defend themselves."
"I know."
"Then what are you worried about?"
"What if they aren't enough?"
Peter opened his mouth, but Adriel continued before he could answer.
"What if the Noxians find this place and send an entire force into the mountains? What if Viktor and Sky are distracted or weakened? What if somebody attacks while the rest of us are in Piltover?"
His words began coming faster.
"This isn't a commune anymore. It's a town. There are families here, children, people who can't protect themselves from trained soldiers. Vander already knows how to lead and defend people. Giving him enough strength to survive against something worse than an ordinary Enforcer seemed like the most practical option."
"Adriel."
"And I didn't make him absurdly powerful. He's enhanced, sure, but it's not like I turned him into—"
"Adriel."
He stopped.
Peter studied him.
"Calm down."
"I am calm."
"Your foot has been trying to drill through the floor for the last five minutes."
Adriel glanced down.
His right foot was still tapping rapidly.
He forced it to stop.
Peter sat on the edge of the table across from him.
"You have a terrible habit of overthinking shit."
Adriel gave him a tired look.
"You probably got it from me," Peter admitted. "But that's beside the point."
He glanced toward the kitchen again.
Vi was smiling.
Not the sarcastic grin she usually wore before insulting someone. This was open and unguarded, the expression of someone receiving something she had stopped allowing herself to hope for.
Vander listened closely as she spoke, occasionally shaking his head in disbelief.
"Is Vi upset?" Peter asked.
Adriel stared at him.
"What are you talking about? Does she look upset?"
"No."
"She's happier than I've seen her since we arrived."
Peter lowered his gaze toward Adriel's foot.
It had begun tapping again.
The moment Adriel noticed Peter looking at it, he stopped.
"Then why do you look like you're waiting for an execution?"
Adriel leaned back and rubbed his face.
"Because eventually she's going to finish catching up with Vander."
"Yes. That's usually how conversations work."
"Then she's going to come looking for me."
Peter waited.
"And?"
"She's going to ask what else I've been hiding from her and Jinx."
"That is a fair question."
"I know."
Adriel's hand dropped from his face.
"I didn't exactly plan any of this. I was angry, went to check on Warwick, and decided rebuilding Vander would give me something useful to focus on."
Peter's eyebrow rose for the second time.
"Angry at what?"
Adriel hesitated.
Peter's eyes narrowed.
"Don't tell me you and Artoria argued again."
Adriel clicked his tongue.
"Seriously, man. Leave Saber alone."
"I don't want to get into that again."
"So you did argue."
"I already talked to Vander about it."
"That does not make me less curious."
"He gave me the answer I somewhat needed, and I don't need another lecture right now."
Adriel looked away.
"I'm fine. I'm just tired."
Peter snorted.
"No shit you're tired."
Adriel glanced at him.
Peter recognized that answer too well.
I'm fine.
Adriel used it whenever he was anything but fine.
Peter knew how much his master kept buried. Adriel carried memories, failures, and entire lifetimes he rarely shared with the team. Sometimes he claimed the details were too much for anyone else to handle. Other times, he dismissed them as unimportant.
Maybe a few of those things genuinely were not worth worrying about.
But if something involved Adriel, it was almost always worse than he admitted.
Peter wanted to know what had happened with Artoria.
He had spent the afternoon joking with Viktor and Sky while Adriel had apparently argued with someone, rebuilt Vander, enhanced his body, reunited him with Vi, and accidentally activated Peter's Spider-Sense through sheer emotional distress.
What the hell had this man been doing while Peter was gone?
Peter could ask Vander later.
He doubted that would accomplish much.
Vander did not seem like someone who would reveal what another person told him in confidence. Peter had to respect that. The man was not a snitch.
For now, Peter would wait, watch, and connect the pieces himself.
He moved around the table and sat beside Adriel. Resting one elbow against the sofa's armrest, Peter leaned his head into his hand and released another sigh.
"Well, your little distress signal dragged me over here."
Adriel frowned.
"My what?"
"You pinged my Spider-Sense."
"I did?"
"Apparently."
Peter looked toward him.
"You probably tried reaching out telepathically and accidentally pressed the cosmic emergency button instead."
"I didn't try to call anyone."
"Your subconscious disagrees."
Adriel groaned.
Peter settled farther into the sofa.
"I was about to watch Breaking Bad with Viktor and Sky. I told them not to get too far ahead without me, so I've got some time."
He nodded toward the television.
"How about we watch something while Vi and Vander catch up?"
Adriel considered it.
Sitting quietly with Peter sounded considerably better than waiting alone for whatever emotional disaster came next.
"Yeah," he said. "That could work."
He reached for the remote.
Then stopped.
Peter noticed.
"What now?"
Adriel's expression fell.
"I haven't told Jinx."
Peter closed his eyes.
"Well, fuck."
"Exactly."
"You brought her father back from the dead and told her sister first?"
"I didn't tell Vi either. She found us outside."
"That somehow makes this worse."
"I know."
Peter looked toward Vander.
"You'd better hope Jinx doesn't snap."
Adriel's face tightened.
Peter considered that possibility for another moment.
"Actually..."
"What?"
"She has a soft spot for you."
Adriel stared at him.
"You're probably one of the safest people to deliver the news."
"That's not as reassuring as you think it is."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
Peter watched Vander listen to Vi.
The reunion had clearly affected him. The man stood quietly while his daughter spoke, but his attention never left her face. Every so often, his expression shifted as another missing piece of her life settled into place.
Peter's amusement faded.
"To be honest, bringing him back wasn't a bad decision."
Adriel looked toward him, visibly surprised.
Peter continued before he misunderstood.
"Doing it without warning anybody was reckless."
"There it is."
"I'm not finished."
Adriel fell silent.
"The way you handled it was impulsive," Peter said. "But the result?"
He gestured toward the kitchen.
"That's good."
Adriel followed his gaze.
Vi was laughing now. Vander said something Peter could not hear, and she shoved him lightly against the shoulder. The movement carried none of her usual aggression.
She looked younger somehow.
Not physically, but in the way her expression had opened.
"Isha is still gone," Peter said quietly. "Nothing we do changes that."
Adriel's eyes lowered.
"But if you still want to give Jinx a happy ending, this is part of it."
Peter looked toward Vander.
"He was one of the most important people in both their lives. Vi and Jinx spent years believing they'd lost him forever. Now they have another chance."
Adriel studied Peter's face as though searching for the criticism he expected to follow.
It did not come.
For once, someone was not only pointing toward another mistake.
Peter was acknowledging that something good had come from it.
"You actually think I did the right thing?" Adriel asked.
"I think you did a good thing in the most Adriel way possible."
"That sounds insulting."
"It is a little."
Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.
"But it's still good."
Adriel looked down at Peter's hand.
"One step at a time, right?" Peter said.
After a moment, Adriel nodded.
"Yeah."
His shoulders loosened slightly.
"One step at a time."
Peter removed his hand and sank comfortably into the sofa.
"So, I heard about this animated series called Pantheon."
Adriel picked up the remote.
"What about it?"
"Apparently, it's about uploaded intelligence instead of artificial intelligence. Human minds copied into computers, conspiracies, technology getting completely out of hand—the usual light entertainment."
Adriel's interest immediately sharpened.
"Uploaded intelligence?"
"Yep."
"Alright. Let's see."
He opened Netflix and typed Pantheon into the search bar. The animated series appeared near the top of the results.
Adriel selected it and examined the information page.
"Huh."
"What?"
"It's only two seasons."
Peter looked toward the screen.
"That's manageable."
"We could binge-watch this."
"You say that like you don't have several emotional confrontations waiting for you."
"They can wait twenty-four episodes."
"That is absolutely not how responsibility works."
Adriel glanced at him.
"You're the one who suggested the show."
"Fair."
Peter pushed himself off the sofa.
"I'll make popcorn."
Adriel nodded.
"Alright."
Peter headed toward the kitchen.
Vi noticed him first.
"Hey, Webhead."
"Hey."
Vander turned toward him.
For a moment, the two men studied one another.
Peter had seen Vander before, but only through the body of the beast he had been trapped inside. Meeting him while he stood upright, human, and fully himself felt entirely different.
"Peter Parker," Peter said. "It's good to finally meet you while you can answer."
Vander extended his hand.
"Vander."
Peter accepted it.
The strength behind the grip confirmed everything his senses had already told him.
Adriel had not held back with those enhancements.
Peter gave Vander an approving look.
"You seem to be in good condition."
"I feel better than I have in years."
"Good."
Peter released his hand.
"I'm glad you're alright."
Vander nodded.
"Thank you."
Peter glanced between him and Vi.
"I'm just here for popcorn. Pretend I'm not interrupting the family reunion."
"You're always interrupting something," Vi said.
"And yet everyone misses me when I leave."
"Nobody said that."
"You didn't have to."
Vi rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling.
Peter found the popcorn, prepared enough for both himself and Adriel, and left the kitchen before the reunion could lose its privacy.
When he returned, Adriel had already dimmed the lights.
Peter handed him the bowl, dropped onto the sofa beside him, and took a generous handful before the opening scene had even begun.
Adriel pressed play.
As the episode started, a small smile appeared on his face.
He could not remember the last time he and Peter had simply sat together like this. Most of their recent time had been consumed by training, battles, planning, Darks, and the constant responsibility of keeping entire worlds alive.
For once, they were neither master and apprentice nor Guardians preparing for another disaster.
They were simply friends watching a show together.
Adriel had missed moments like this more than he realized.
He would not have traded this one for anything.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Artoria had been unable to find Ace anywhere since the confrontation with Adriel.
She wandered through the town without direction, searching the paths and glancing between the newer buildings in the hope of spotting his familiar hat or catching the sound of his voice. Wherever he had gone, he was apparently occupied with something else.
That left Artoria alone with her thoughts.
She wanted to find some solution to what had happened. There had to be a way to repair the damage, apologize where necessary, and prevent the tension from spreading throughout the team.
Perhaps she was overthinking everything.
The thought did little to ease the guilt pressing against her chest.
She blamed herself for the confrontation.
Before Anansi appeared in Piltover, everything between the four Guardians had seemed to be progressing well. Their time in Ixtal had passed without any serious conflict among them. They had fought together, spoken openly, and gradually learned how to exist around one another without every conversation feeling like a negotiation between strangers.
In particular, her relationship with Adriel had appeared to be improving.
They had shared quiet moments. They had spoken about their experiences, responsibilities, and regrets. Artoria had believed she was beginning to understand him.
Then Anansi came.
After everything Adriel endured during that battle, it seemed as though every attempt she made to help him only drove them farther apart. She wanted him to rest, to confront what he felt, and to stop pretending nothing was wrong. Yet the harder she tried to reach him, the more defensive and distant he became.
Artoria could not understand why she seemed incapable of making him feel better.
That thought led her toward a more uncomfortable realization.
Perhaps Adriel had never truly opened himself to her.
He had shared pieces of his life and allowed her closer than most, but there was still an immeasurable distance between what he revealed and what he carried. Even during their most sincere conversations, he controlled how much of himself she was permitted to see.
Peter and Ace did not seem bothered by that.
Neither of them constantly questioned Adriel about what he was feeling. They watched him, remained nearby, and allowed him to speak when he was ready. If he withdrew, they gave him room without disappearing entirely.
Artoria had mistaken that patience for inaction.
She had been desperate to prove that she cared, and that desperation had convinced her that she needed to force progress whenever Adriel refused to make it himself.
It should have been normal to ask someone what troubled them.
It should have been normal to encourage communication.
But care stopped being care when the other person's discomfort became something to overcome rather than respect.
Artoria was still learning the difference.
For most of her existence, communication had meant giving commands.
She had been King Arthur, leader of the Knights of the Round Table, and later something far worse. After becoming a Dark, she commanded knights pulled from failed realities that were not even her own. They conquered one planet after another beneath her rule.
She told them where to march.
Who to kill.
What worlds to claim.
They obeyed, or they died for their insubordination.
There had been no need to ask how they felt. Vulnerability had no place in the armies she commanded, and compassion had become little more than another weakness to destroy.
Artoria had spent so long speaking only to be obeyed that, after becoming a Guardian, she had been forced to relearn how to speak simply to be understood.
Sometimes she wondered whether she had ever truly known how.
The only person with whom she felt entirely comfortable exposing her vulnerable side was Ace. She could speak to him without carefully measuring every word. He listened without making her feel weak, and his presence made emotions that normally overwhelmed her feel easier to carry.
She had spoken with Peter before, but Peter carried burdens of his own. He constantly moved from one responsibility to another, helping wherever he believed he was needed. God only knew what he was doing now.
Ace was different.
When she spoke to him, she felt heard.
Unfortunately, the one person she wanted to find had disappeared somewhere beyond the town.
So Artoria continued walking alone.
Her thoughts eventually returned to Caitlyn.
Adriel had not merely criticized her. He had turned her into a target and driven every sharpened truth he possessed into the most vulnerable parts of her. Even if much of what he said was accurate—perhaps all of it—he had not spoken with the intention of helping her understand.
He had wanted her to suffer.
Artoria had created the situation that allowed it to happen.
She should have known Adriel was not ready. She had seen the exhaustion in him and noticed the hostility he carried toward Caitlyn, yet she still decided that forcing them together would somehow resolve the tension.
It had been arrogant.
Still, Adriel's choices remained his own.
His pain did not absolve him of what he had done to Caitlyn, just as Artoria's concern did not absolve her of violating his boundaries. Both of them had crossed a line.
There was no sense denying that.
Artoria should have been more considerate.
Adriel should have controlled his emotions rather than using Caitlyn as a substitute for everything he could not strike back at.
What had happened could not be undone. The only thing left was to allow everyone enough time to breathe and then speak honestly about it.
Artoria would apologize.
She would acknowledge that she had overstepped, explain why she had acted as she did without treating her intentions as an excuse, and allow Adriel to decide how much he wished to say in return.
He would still need to answer for his own actions.
Both truths could exist without erasing one another.
Artoria understood that logically.
Emotionally, the situation remained far more difficult.
She wanted to speak with Ace before confronting Adriel again. Conversations with him always left her feeling steadier, as though the noise inside her mind had finally been arranged into something she could understand.
Yet beneath that desire waited another fear.
Was she truly suited for any of this?
Artoria looked across the town as she walked.
Everyone else seemed to be working constantly.
Adriel constructed homes, repaired infrastructure, protected entire civilizations, and shouldered responsibilities no single person should have been expected to carry.
Peter moved from one problem to another, offering his knowledge wherever it could improve someone's life.
Ace reached people in ways Artoria still struggled to understand. He could turn an uncomfortable silence into a conversation and make someone feel less alone without forcing them to confess anything.
Artoria fought beside them.
She assisted when asked.
She offered whatever strength and experience she possessed.
But was that enough?
She had believed she was improving. Every conversation, friendship, and moment of vulnerability had seemed like evidence that she was becoming someone better than the Dark she once was.
Now one terrible mistake had brought all those doubts back.
Had she truly earned her place among the Guardians?
Had she been worth saving?
Was transforming her into a Guardian anything more than another risk Adriel had taken in the belief that everyone deserved a second chance?
Artoria's steps slowed.
She looked down at the road beneath her feet.
No.
She could not allow herself to continue thinking that way.
Those thoughts were familiar. They began as uncertainty, then became self-loathing, isolation, and the conviction that any attempt to become better was meaningless. Following that path had already helped turn her into something she never wished to become again.
She would not descend into it a second time.
One mistake did not erase every step she had taken.
Failing to understand Adriel did not mean she was incapable of learning.
Hurting someone unintentionally did not mean she should withdraw from every relationship out of fear that she might do it again.
Artoria drew a slow breath and forced the thoughts to settle.
She offered a quiet prayer that the friendships she had formed with her fellow Guardians would survive this. She prayed that Adriel would eventually understand that she had acted out of concern, even if she had expressed that concern poorly.
More than anything, she prayed that she could regain what she had lost.
Her understanding of emotion.
Her ability to communicate without commanding.
The part of herself capable of caring for others without attempting to control how they healed.
She was trying her damnedest to recover those things.
Artoria would speak with Adriel properly when both of them were ready.
She would apologize, listen, and accept whatever discomfort came with the conversation.
First, however, she still needed to find Ace.
Artoria lowered her gaze toward her hands.
At some point during her aimless walk, she had purchased an enormous bundle of cotton candy. She did not remember approaching the stall or paying for it, yet nearly half of it was already gone.
She stared at the remaining pink cloud for several seconds.
Finding Ace could wait a little longer.
She would speak to him after she finished stress-eating.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
Ace and Jinx had spent most of the afternoon near the lake.
After exhausting herself at the shooting range—and exhausting Ace with the jokes that followed—Jinx had decided the water looked considerably more inviting than another round of target practice.
She floated on her back near the center of the lake, blue braids drifting beneath the surface as she stared into the open sky. The water carried her without effort, rocking gently whenever the breeze disturbed it.
Ace had remained near the shore.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Jinx was content to drift while Ace sat nearby, seemingly distracted by thoughts he had no intention of sharing.
Eventually, she turned her head to check on him.
During the few minutes she had looked away, Ace had somehow summoned a beach chair and a large umbrella. He was stretched across the chair with his arms folded behind his head, completely protected from the sun.
His eyes were closed.
He had fallen asleep.
Jinx stared at him before an amused smile spread across her face.
It was such an old-man thing to do.
Despite how young Ace appeared, she occasionally forgot that the Guardians were far older than they looked. Sometimes it showed in the strangest ways: the distant expressions, the stories they casually referenced, or the ability to fall asleep almost anywhere the moment they decided nothing nearby was worth worrying about.
That realization did absolutely nothing to discourage her.
Jinx rolled onto her stomach and quietly swam toward shore.
Ace did not move.
Once the water became shallow enough to stand, she approached the chair one careful step at a time. Water streamed from her hair and ran down her arms as she cupped both hands beneath the surface.
She lifted a generous handful.
Ace raised one hand without opening his eyes.
"Don't."
Jinx froze.
The water slipped between her fingers.
"Weren't you asleep?"
"I was."
"You didn't even look at me."
"Didn't need to."
"That's bullshit."
Ace lowered his hand onto his chest. "Nah, just Observation Haki."
Jinx stared at him.
"That explained nothing."
"It explained everything."
"No, it didn't. You just said two words and expected me to magically understand them."
Ace released a tired breath, though the faint smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Haki is spiritual power," he said. "Willpower made into something you can actually use. Observation is one of its forms."
Jinx glanced down at the water still dripping from her hands.
"And it tells you when someone's about to splash you?"
"It lets me sense living things, even when I can't see them. Their presence, their strength, sometimes their emotions. More importantly, it lets me feel the intent behind an action before it happens."
"So you read my mind."
"No."
"You knew what I was going to do."
"I knew you were sneaking toward me, gathering water, and preparing to throw it. I didn't hear the exact thoughts bouncing around inside your skull."
Ace finally opened one eye.
"And frankly, I'm grateful for that."
Jinx kicked water at the bottom of the chair.
Ace lifted his legs before the splash reached him.
"That was Observation Haki too," she accused.
"That was common sense."
"Same thing."
"Not even remotely."
Jinx folded her arms.
"So you can tell what someone's about to do?"
"To an extent. Every deliberate movement carries intent. In a fight, that intent can warn you where the next attack is coming from before the person even throws it. If someone develops their Observation Haki far enough, they can briefly see into the future."
Jinx's irritation gave way to curiosity.
"How far?"
"A few seconds, usually."
She stared at him.
"You can see the future."
"Sometimes, yeah."
"And you didn't think that was the first thing you should mention?"
"I didn't need Future Sight to catch you carrying a handful of water. You're not subtle."
Jinx splashed him again.
Ace moved his chair several feet to the side without bothering to stand.
The water struck empty ground.
"You suck," she said.
"Sounds like a skill issue."
Jinx considered overturning the entire chair.
The slight tilt of Ace's head told her he had already sensed that idea forming through her posture and intent.
She abandoned it with a frustrated click of her tongue.
Before becoming a Guardian, Ace could have named several people whose Haki surpassed his own. Some had possessed awareness that stretched across impossible distances. Others could exert their will so powerfully that entire battlefields trembled beneath it.
Many of them were gone now, left behind in the story he used to inhabit.
Becoming a Guardian had changed Ace's limits. Every form of Haki he possessed had continued developing until his power reached a level that would have made Joy Boy himself shit his pants. His Observation Haki now extended far beyond what he had once believed possible, and Future Sight came as naturally as focusing his eyes.
Yet he still remembered what it had felt like to stand beside people whose will had seemed large enough to swallow the sea.
Jinx returned to the lake and resumed bothering him from the water. She alternated between asking increasingly ridiculous questions about Haki and searching for some method of catching him off guard.
Ace answered only when he felt like it.
Despite his complaints, he did not appear particularly annoyed.
Their bickering continued until something unfamiliar entered the range of his awareness.
Ace's smile disappeared.
There was a presence within the forest.
Weak and unsteady.
Moving toward them slowly.
He sensed fear first, followed by pain and a desperate determination that was rapidly fading. Whoever it was could barely remain on their feet.
Ace sat upright.
Jinx noticed the change immediately.
"What's wrong?"
He rose from the chair, allowing his hat to fall against his back by its cord.
"Someone's coming."
Jinx looked toward the forest.
"I don't see anybody."
"They're still beyond the trees."
Ace focused on the flickering presence.
One person.
Alive, but not by much.
The undergrowth shifted several seconds later.
Branches snapped somewhere beyond the tree line. Footsteps dragged through dead leaves, uneven and labored, growing louder as the stranger staggered toward the clearing.
Ace stepped forward.
"Who's there?"
A figure broke through the trees.
It was a woman.
Her clothing had been torn in several places, and blood streaked her arms, face, and exposed skin. Cuts covered her body, some shallow and others deep enough to have soaked the fabric around them. Each breath came as a trembling gasp.
She managed one more step before her legs failed.
"Help..."
The word barely escaped her mouth.
She collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Ace was moving before Jinx could react. He crossed the distance in an instant and dropped beside the woman, carefully turning her onto her back.
Jinx rushed from the water and hurried to his side, leaving wet footprints across the shore.
"Who the hell is that?"
Ace brushed the woman's hair away from her face.
Recognition struck immediately.
"Mel Medarda."
Jinx stared at him.
"The councilor?"
"Yeah."
Ace slid one arm beneath Mel's shoulders and another beneath her legs before lifting her from the ground. She felt disturbingly light in his arms, her body limp and her breathing dangerously shallow.
His Observation Haki could still sense her presence, but it flickered like a flame trapped in heavy wind.
"What's she doing all the way out here?" Jinx asked.
"That's what I intend to find out."
Ace carried Mel into Jinx's small workshop and placed her on the only bed in the corner. With Adriel's permission to access his Gamer inventory, Ace opened it and retrieved an Elixir identical to those found in the Final Fantasy worlds.
He shattered the Elixir over her. The liquid dissolved into sparks of light that rained across her body and sank through her torn clothing.
Her wounds began to close almost immediately.
Mel's breathing steadied, but she did not wake.
Ace examined what remained of her garments. Whatever had happened to her had not been a simple accident. She had been attacked, and judging by the condition in which she had reached them, she had escaped only narrowly.
His expression hardened.
"Jinx."
Something in his voice erased the last of her playfulness.
"Yeah?"
"Get dressed and find the others. Tell every Guardian to meet at Adriel's house immediately."
Jinx glanced at Mel.
"What about you?"
"I'll keep an eye on her condition. If she wakes up, I'm getting answers."
He looked toward the distant town.
"I'll bring her to the house as soon as she's ready."
Jinx nodded.
There was no argument and no joke.
She ran toward the place where they had left their belongings, hastily drying herself before pulling on her spare clothes. Her shoes followed, barely tied before she started running toward the town.
Ace watched until she disappeared beyond the trees.
Then he looked down at Mel.
She should not have been here.
Piltover was miles away. Mel had no reason to be wandering through this forest, wounded, alone, and close to death.
More importantly, this was not how events were supposed to unfold.
The established story had already changed in countless ways since the Guardians arrived, but most deviations had been caused by their direct interference. This felt different.
Deliberate.
Unless Anansi had decided to fuck the script entirely and replace it with his own version.
If that was the case, their remaining time had just disappeared.
They had planned to recover first, determine the full extent of Anansi's movements, prepare an attack, and execute it only when they were ready.
Now they might have to accomplish all of it at once.
Ace frowned at the thought.
Breaktime was over.
To Be Continued...