The penthouse of Vayndrin Energy Solutions loomed above Vanterra's neon skyline, its glass walls reflecting the pulsing colors of the city below. Inside, silence pressed like a storm waiting to break.
Henry, Emilia, Jack, Lenny, Ichiro, and Elara had finally regrouped. For once, none of them were running, bleeding, or fighting for their lives. But peace didn't reach their expressions.
Ronnie sat at the long glass table, his face half-lit by the glow of a holoscreen. The headline still hung in the air like a taunt:
"Hero of Neoterra—Current Favorite to Win Presidential Election."
He looked up at them, his jaw tight, eyes shadowed by something between disbelief and fatigue.
Jack (mockingly): "Mr. President, how are you feeling?"
Ronnie: "I didn't ask for this. I didn't even know I was in the running."
Jack: "And the billboards?"
Ronnie (surprised): "There are billboards?"
Lenny: "What, you didn't know? Isn't this somehow illegal then?"
Henry glanced at Elara, then back at Ronnie. The room's weight seemed to settle onto his shoulders. He was still rattled by what Elara had told him earlier—the truth of his Heavenly Awakening, of why the Soul Reapers hunted him.
Henry (quiet): "But if it's true, if you really are leading in the polls… then it means people trust you."
Ronnie: "Trust? Or desperation? People see one man throw fire, another move buildings with just one hand wave, cities burning, and they think putting me in a bigger chair will solve it. It's not that simple."
His hand clenched against the tabletop. For once, the man who commanded energy grids, who has been the high authority of Neoterra Prime and defended entire cities, seemed vulnerable.
Emilia crossed her arms, sharp-eyed as ever.
Emilia: "Simple or not, you're their symbol. Whether you want to be or not."
Jack leaned against the glass, the city's reflection bending across his scales. He didn't say much—but his glance at Henry was meaningful. If Ronnie became president, their world would change.
Then Elara stepped forward.
The others turned, surprised—except Henry. She had been quiet since they first met her, but now her voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Elara: "That's exactly why we should use it."
Ronnie raised a brow; his expression was caught between paternal concern and curiosity.
Ronnie: "Use it? For what?"
Elara drew a breath. Her voice trembled only at the start—then steadied with steel.
Elara: "A grant. An official project backed by Neoterra itself. You become president, and instead of just fighting shadows in alleys and hiding in penthouses, we form something bigger. Organized. Protected. With resources."
Lenny blinked, surprised.
Lenny: "Like… a team?"
Elara shook her head, her eyes burning.
Elara: "Like a shield. We have the Shield of Neoterra sitting right in front of us. A government-backed initiative to protect against the Soul Reapers, the Syndicate, Black Halo, or whatever crawls out next would give us the bigger advantage in our battle. But not just us, not just secrecy. A real force. The world needs more than stories of us fighting in the dark."
Ichiro tilted his head, arms folded.
Ichiro: "You mean… You want us to go public?"
Elara: "Yes."
The word landed like thunder.
Henry straightened, shock cutting through his grief-clouded thoughts.
Henry: "Public? Do you know what that means? If the Soul Reapers come again, it won't just be us in the crossfire. It'll be everyone. Families. Kids. Ordinary people who just want to live."
Elara met his gaze—and for once, there was no hesitation in her.
Elara: "This is it, Henry; this is how we can beat their asses!"
Henry's eyes widened: "Elara…"
Elara: "And they'll be in the crossfire anyway. Don't you get it, Henry? You're 'Marked by Heaven.' They won't stop hunting you. They won't stop burning cities until they get what they want. We can't keep hiding and waiting for their next move. If my dad takes that seat, we have a chance to turn fear into strength. To give people hope."
Jack finally spoke, his voice low and steady—the kind of voice that silenced rooms.
Jack: "And you think the people are ready to follow us? After everything? After Elion?"
At the name, the room chilled. Ronnie flinched, Elara's fists tightened, and Henry's jaw set.
Elara: "Especially after Elion."
Ronnie looked at her—his daughter, now standing taller than he ever expected. She had been broken, timid, and scarred by shadows of the past. But now… now she burned with something new.
Ronnie (softly): "Elara…"
Emilia leaned against the wall, her mist curling faintly. She studied Elara with quiet intrigue, then smirked.
Emilia: "Well. I didn't think you had that in you. But she's right. If we want to beat them, it can't just be fists and lightning anymore. It has to be bigger. And I am also fed up with running all the time."
Henry rubbed his face, sighing. His mind screamed with doubt—memories of Adelin, of failure, of nearly losing everything. But another voice stirred in him. The one that used to love adventure. The one that once dreamed of being part of something greater.
Henry (hesitant): "If we do this… we'll be putting ourselves in the spotlight. The Soul Reapers won't just come for us. They'll come for the whole damn world."
Elara (firm): "Then we'll be ready. We won't run anymore. We'll give them something to fear."
Silence stretched in the room. Each of them weighed her words, the idea hanging in the air like an unlit torch.
Finally, Ronnie leaned back, a tired smile tugging at his lips.
Ronnie: "You sound like your mother."
Elara's eyes softened. For a moment, she looked just like she had never borne her scars—hopeful, fragile, but unbroken.
Elara: "Mother raised Elion and me with all the love she had, even though she never knew me before. She still took me in and called me her own."
Ronnie turned to the rest of them.
Ronnie: "If I take this presidency… then the Shield of Neoterra will be born. But it won't just be my shield. It'll be yours. All of you."
Henry exchanged a glance with Jack, then Emilia, then Lenny and Ichiro. None of them spoke—but something shifted in the silence.
The city's neon light bled into the room, painting them in colors of fire and frost. Outside, Vanterra's towers stood tall, unaware of the storm still brewing.
And within that penthouse, for the first time, the group felt something heavier than fate.
Purpose.