The classroom buzzed with idle chatter, but Elion barely heard it.
Ronnie's words from a week ago looped endlessly in his head:
"If we mishandle it, this whole city could burn."
He glanced out the window, toward the distant haze above the city skyline.
That morning, the newsfeeds had reported another bombing—two transit hubs destroyed, dozens dead. Police suspected Circle's suicide bombers.
Elion's grip on his pen tightened until it snapped.
By lunch, he was gone.
He didn't bother with excuses anymore — just slipped through the rear gate of the schoolyard and disappeared into the backstreets.
He wore a plain hoodie and gloves. Ronnie had taught him control, but tonight wasn't about control—it was about action.
Elion spent hours roaming the lower districts, ears tuned for whispers of the Circle. He lingered near markets and alley bars, listening. It didn't take long to catch hints—a group of men exchanging quiet instructions about "deliveries" and "timeframes."
He followed them from the shadows until they reached a storage lot. Inside, he spotted crates—not food, not goods, but vests lined with explosives and crude devices.
When the men noticed him, one lunged forward.
Without thinking, Elion's fist ignited, heat swirling up his arm. He struck once, the explosion of fire knocking the man into a wall.
The others charged, but Elion moved fast—ducking, striking, bursts of flame flaring with every blow. He didn't kill them, but he left them incapacitated, burned enough to keep them from moving.
Then, one guy attacked Elion from behind. He had a metal bat with some kind of impact technology on it.
Elion tried to block the next swing, but the tech created a shockwave that increased the damage of the impact.
The thug spun his bat around while walking up close to Elion.
Thug: "Not so tough now, right, fireboy?"
He gave Elion a kick to the ribs—but Elion quickly got his leg, twisting it completely.
The thug shouted in pain.
Elion quickly gave the thug a punch to the face so that he would stop screaming.
Elion channeled flames around his body, releasing them in every direction, burning the storage to ash.
The thugs were bound outside to a nearby light, safe from the flames.
As sirens began to wail in the distance, Elion slipped out, vanishing into the maze of side streets before the police arrived.
That night, he entered the penthouse through the balcony, the faint smell of smoke still clinging to him. Elara was asleep on the couch with a book in her lap.
He didn't wake her.
But as he stood there, watching her sleep, he knew this couldn't be a one-time thing.
If Ronnie could be here to stop them, he would. And even though he didn't want to admit it, it was a lot of fun too.
Neoterra's underbelly whispered a new name—The Blazing Hollow.
Some saw him as a ghost; others swore he was a devil with burning fists. Either way, the streets knew him, and the newsfeeds ran shaky footage of his exploits: blurred shapes leaping from rooftops, bursts of orange and red slicing through the dark.
The anchors speculated about whether he was a rogue Awakening user, a government experiment, or a criminal himself.
No one knew the truth.
Ronnie was gone more than ever. The Circle had stepped up their bombing campaign, and his days and nights were consumed by counter-operations.
Elion barely came home before sunrise, smelling of smoke and sweat. He rarely spoke to Elara, brushing past her to his room, sometimes collapsing in bed without eating.
At first, she waited for him in the living room, lights dimmed, sketchbook in hand. But as the weeks passed, she stopped expecting him.
At school she would be waiting for Elion after class, but when the bell rang, he was nowhere to be found.
She would ask the teacher, but he hasn't seen him after he asked to go to the toilet a while ago.
Sometimes passed, and Elion wouldn't even go to school anymore. At first, she was asking herself, why? But after a while she wouldn't bother to.
Instead, she visited their mother on her own after school. She'd walk the familiar streets, carrying her drawings in a folder, and sit by her mother's window, talking quietly about her day.
When her mother asked,
"Where's your brother?" Elara would just say,
"Busy with school."
If she then asks about Ronnie, Elara will simply say,
"Busy with work."
She never mentioned the news reports.
Or how Elion would come home dirty and bruised.
One rainy night, Elara returned home alone. The penthouse was silent except for the hum of the air system. She curled up on the couch with a blanket, the city's neon glow painting the windows.
She turned on the TV when a news report about the Blazing Hollow would've talked badly about how he is a vigilante and that he isn't better than the criminals he is fighting.
She knew that it was Elion; she knew from the beginning. That's not what upset her—she wasn't sad about Ronnie not coming home for weeks now or Elion not going to school; she was sad about how she was all alone again, asking herself every day when the normal days will return.
Meanwhile, across the city, Elion stood on a rooftop, staring down at a Circle hideout he'd been tracking for days. The rain hissed against the flames licking at his knuckles.
He didn't think about his mother's smile, Ronnie's teachings, or Elara's quiet voice anymore—only the next move, the next fight.
He already took out two other hideouts before the police or Ronnie could even get close to him.
He became really good at what he was doing. He became so good that he forgot why he was doing it in the first place.
A van entered the hideout. Elion expected new weapons, food, or resources, but he was in shock when a suicide bomber left the van.
Elion thought only one thing:
"I have to stop them, no matter what."