The moon hung like a polished silver sigil in the velvet blackness above Zenith City. On any other night, its cold, impartial light would have painted the chrome spires of the Apex district in a serene, almost ethereal tranquility.
But tonight, that serenity was a fragile veneer, stretched taut over a city—a world—that had collectively forgotten how to breathe.
Every screen, from the colossal holographic billboards wrapping thousand-foot skyscrapers to the personal comms clutched in trembling hands, was a portal to the same impossible moment. They replayed the footage from the Crucible on an endless, mesmerizing loop: the untouchable, god-like heroes of Ironhearth, paragons of an entire Province, brought to their knees.
They showed the heirs of the Valerian and Sterling families—names synonymous with power—executed without pomp or ceremony, their lives extinguished like flickering candles in a gale.
And at the center of it all was the calm, implacable face of Orion, the architect of a new and terrifying age.
The aftermath was not merely a political tremor; it was a schism in the very fabric of reality.
In opulent, sound-proofed boardrooms, noble families who had languished under the Valerians' oppressive thumb for generations saw a sudden, violent path to relevance flicker before their eyes.
In the dimly lit offices of hero agencies, ambitious C-Rankers who had long ago made peace with their genetic ceilings felt a dangerous, intoxicating hope ignite within their Aether Cores.
And far below, in the perpetual twilight of the Sump, where unregistered Talented and revolutionaries scuttled in the shadows, hushed whispers of rebellion found a new, bolder voice.
The shockwaves radiated outward, shaking the foundations of every C-Rank Province. The gaze of various C-Rank Provinces was now fixed upon the Republic of Cascadia, waiting for the aftershocks of the earthquake that had just reshaped their world.
At the very epicenter of this global quake, four hooded figures moved through the manicured, eerily silent streets of the Apex. Their steps were unhurried, their presence an island of impossible calm in a sea of silent pandemonium.
Beneath his hood, Orion wore a faint, contemplative smile.
The dinner had been… illuminating.
Through Alya Vance's delightful, utterly shameless storytelling, he'd been treated to a comprehensive and mortifying history of Elysia's stoic glares as a toddler and Lisanna's uncanny ability to charm her way out of any trouble she instigated.
He felt an indignant pout form from the woman walking on his right.
"I still can't believe her," Lisanna huffed, the sound muffled by her hood. "Why must she always run that mouth of hers? Telling all those foolish stories… she just wanted to watch us squirm."
Elysia, gliding gracefully on his left, let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of two decades of parental embarrassment.
"I knew it would be a trial," she murmured, her voice laced with resignation. "But I did not anticipate it reaching that extent. Truly, haah…"
Orion gave both of their hands a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his smile widening into a grin. "Come now, it was a bonding experience. It's rather cute to know that two of Cascadia's most distinguished and elegant noble ladies once waged epic wars of fantasy with mud pies."
"Shut up!" they shrieked in perfect, horrified unison, their faces flushing hotly beneath the shadows of their hoods. They both gripped his hands in retaliation, a mock-threatening gesture that, to him, felt more like a pleasant, affectionate squeeze.
Lisanna clicked her tongue. "You're just as bad as my mother. Equally shameless, but utterly without limits. Tch, just you wait. I can't wait until we find your embarrassing stories."
Elysia nodded in grim, solemn agreement, a hint of future vengeance coloring her tone. "It will be a delightful treat indeed. To see that smug, insufferable facade of yours finally crumble to dust."
Orion chuckled, but before he could offer a witty retort, a derisive snort cut through the air.
"Unlike you two," Lyra drawled from across their path, her voice laced with a familiar, sharp-edged disdain, "we didn't waste our childhoods playing with dirt. We practically came into this world with knives in our hands."
The lighthearted mood shifted, the air growing still for a beat. Elysia and Lisanna fell silent, a flicker of guilt crossing their features as they were once again confronted with the brutal, unforgiving reality the siblings had endured in the Sump.
But just as the quiet threatened to become heavy, Orion rolled his eyes, shattering the tension.
"That's a real poetic way of saying I had to wipe your ass every time we got kicked out of another hovel," he retorted dryly. "Our 'hard life' didn't really start until a few years ago. Before that, we were just brats trying not to starve."
"Tch," Lyra clicked her tongue, though the sound lacked any real heat.
A small, relieved sigh escaped both Lisanna and Elysia. They appreciated his effort to keep the mood light, to not let them wallow in pity for a past they could never change.
Lyra, ever impatient, rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, yeah, sugarcoat it for your little girlfriends. But the real question is, why the hell are we still wearing these stupid hoods? You still haven't told me. Everyone in this city would piss themselves at the mere sight of us."
"One," Orion began, his tone patient and measured, "because if I had told you the reason earlier, you would have gotten annoyingly fussy, and it's time you learned the necessity of hiding your identity. It's a useful skill. Two, because I find it troublesome to be stopped every five feet by sycophants or fools. And three…"
He paused, a teasing glint in his eye. "Well, can you fly us through the air yet?"
"Whatever," Lyra grumbled, kicking a loose pebble. "Not yet. But I'll be the first one to do it."
The declaration, made with such childish, absolute certainty, caused Elysia and Lisanna to blink.
"Can it… can it really be done?" Lisanna asked, her voice filled with a wondrous, hesitant awe. "I mean… flight. True flight. That's a skill reserved for the highest-tier A-Rank heroes. For the mythical S-Ranks."
Orion simply smiled, a knowing, profound look in his eyes. "And didn't the entire world, for centuries, insist it was impossible for a person to evolve their Aether Core beyond its predetermined Rank?"
"Ah…" The single syllable escaped from both Lisanna and Elysia in a soft, synchronized breath. It wasn't just a sound of understanding; it was the sound of shackles breaking.
In that instant, their entire perception of the world shifted once again. A thousand doors in their minds, once sealed shut by the absolute, immutable laws of their world, were suddenly blown wide open. The future wasn't just bright; it was a canvas of infinite, blinding possibility.
It was in this expanded state of mind that they arrived at their destination.
The Sterling Manor wasn't just a home; it was a fortress of nobility, a spiraling monument of wealth and power crafted from obsidian and light. The outer walls themselves hummed with a low, predatory energy, faint sparks of azure Aether crackling across their polished surface from a continuously active defensive array.
But tonight, a palpable crisis emanated from within those walls, a shroud of fear and uncertainty so thick that no amount of power could conceal it.
Two guards stood sentinel before the main gate. They were powerful C-Rank Heroes, their postures ramrod straight, their custom-forged armor gleaming even in the dim moonlight. Their cold, disciplined gazes, sharp enough to freeze the blood of weaker Talented, locked onto the four hooded figures.
"State your business!" one of them shouted, his voice booming with the practiced authority of a man used to being obeyed. "This is a restricted area. If your matter is not urgent, vacate the premises immediately!"
There was no verbal response. Instead, in a single, fluid, coordinated movement, the four figures reached up and pulled back their hoods.
The moonlight cascaded down, illuminating four faces that were now seared into the consciousness of the entire world.
Orion's calm, unnerving smile. Lyra's sharp, predatory sneer. Elysia's regal, icy beauty. Lisanna's radiant, disarming charm.
"Ah—ahh!" The guards let out choked, strangled shrieks, their imposing auras wildly fluctuating like faulty holograms. The color drained from their faces, replaced by the stark, bloodless white of pure terror.
They stumbled back, their discipline shattering as they crashed into a deep, clumsy, desperate bow. "It—it was our mistake, Guardians! We—we didn't know!"
Before they could devolve into incoherent, blubbering apologies, Lyra's sneer widened. "One of you, open the gates. The other, alert the head of this family. Tell them their Guardians are here to pay a visit."
A flicker of hesitation crossed their faces—a ghost of the strict, unyielding orders they had surely received to admit no one. But then the image of their young master's unceremonious death, of the Valerians' public humiliation, flashed through their minds. These people didn't negotiate. They erased.
"Right away, Guardians!" they stammered in unison.
One frantically jabbed at a comms device on his wrist while the other scrambled to operate the controls for the massive, Aether-reinforced gates.
As they stepped into the front courtyard, Orion and Lyra remained impassive, their expressions unreadable.
Elysia and Lisanna, however, cast brief, curious glances around the opulent grounds.
"Say, Ellie," Lisanna remarked, her tone surprisingly light, "wouldn't this count as the first time you've ever been here?"
Elysia raised a single, indifferent brow, her gaze sweeping over the elaborate fountains and exotic flora without interest.
"I suppose it would," she replied, her voice flat and cold.
Any lingering memory of a past relationship with Ryan Sterling had been thoroughly, mercilessly excised from her mind.
It didn't take long for the Sterlings to respond. A ripple of displaced air and a faint flash of light announced the hasty arrival of figures from the main manor.
Two men in crackling, electrified armor, both clearly powerful C-Rank commanders, flanked a man and a woman who radiated an aura of command.
Cole Sterling, the patriarch, was handsome and imposing, a man born to lead. His wife, a beautiful woman with an enchanting, almost bewitching presence, stood by his side, a perfect picture of noble grace.
Yet, as they faced Orion's group, not a single shred of arrogance or noble pride was present on their faces. There was only a mask of perfect, strained calm, stretched thin over a foundation of pure dread.
"It is a profound honor for the Guardians to visit our humble home," Cole began, his voice impressively steady. "To what do we owe this—"
"Save the dull formalities," Lyra cut him off, her voice as sharp and cold as a shard of glass. "We killed your son. Now we're here to ensure this little family of yours doesn't get any suicidal ideas."
An unsettling, absolute silence descended, so thick and heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing down on them. The air itself seemed to tremble.
Orion's smile, gentle and pleasant, sent a fresh wave of ice-cold shivers down the Sterlings' spines. "I am quite sure our two demonstrations today were more than enough of a warning," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "But then again, the Valerians foolishly tried to attack us after we had already crushed them at the Tech Conclave. Some people are just slow learners."
"We—" Cole and his wife tried to speak, to offer assurances, to pledge their unwavering fealty.
They never got the chance.
In perfect, terrifying synchronicity, Orion and Lyra snapped their fingers.
It was not a sound. It was a trigger. An invisible, conceptual shockwave of pure, condensed killing intent erupted from them, washing over the entire Sterling Manor in a silent, instantaneous deluge.
It was a pressure so absolute, so immense, it felt as if a star had materialized in the courtyard. The very air became thick as syrup, impossible to breathe.
The ambient Aether in the atmosphere didn't just go silent; it screamed, crushed into utter submission by a will so dominant it bordered on divine. The humming defensive arrays sputtered and died, starved of energy.
For every member of the Sterling family, from the patriarch down to the lowest servant cowering in the kitchens, it felt as though the specter of Death itself had wrapped its icy, intangible hands around their hearts, squeezing with a gentle, patient, and inescapable pressure. It was the primal, soul-deep certainty of their own imminent and absolute annihilation.
In the deathly, ringing silence, Lyra's voice was a whisper that carried like a thunderclap. "Remember this feeling. Etch it into your souls. All it will take is one snap of our fingers, and your entire lineage will be erased from history. Check the news later tonight. You'll see what we really mean."
With another synchronized snap, the suffocating, world-ending aura vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Reality rushed back in—the distant hum of the city, the chirping of insects, the frantic, panicked pounding of their own hearts in their ears.
Orion and Lyra didn't say another word. They turned on their heels, their movements fluid and unconcerned, as if they had merely commented on the weather.
Elysia and Lisanna gave the petrified nobles a final, cold snort of disdain before following, their regal composure already adapting to this new, brutal form of diplomacy.
As the four uninvited guests left, unchecked and unchallenged, Cole Sterling, his wife, and their commanders remained frozen in place. They were ghostly white, drenched in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the night air. Their legs trembled violently, barely able to support their weight.
His wife finally managed a shaky, whispered question, her voice cracking. "Wh-what… what do we do now?"
Cole let out a long, ragged sigh, a sound that seemed to drain the very life and pride from his body, leaving behind an empty husk.
"Get inside," he rasped, his eyes fixed on the empty space where their new masters had stood. "There is much to discuss."