Ikar woke up slowly.
The first thing he saw was Lívia's eyes.
She was sitting across from him at the dining table, still tied to the chair, her face pale. The moment she noticed his eyes were open, her body stiffened. She didn't speak. She couldn't. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, her eyes darting toward a point behind him.
Then she shook her head insistently.
Don't try anything.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment.
Ikar blinked again, letting the dizziness fade. He closed his eyes for just a second, trying to focus, searching for that inner place he hadn't visited in years.
"You shouldn't do that, Ikar," a voice said behind him. "You know it won't fix anything."
The sound of a cup being placed on the table broke the silence. Then another.
"The coffee was already getting cold."
The man stepped into his field of vision as he walked around the table. He set one cup in front of Lívia and another in front of Ikar. The third he kept for himself. He took a small sip, calm, casual—almost as if no one in the room was tied up.
With a rough gesture, he tore the tape from Ikar's mouth.
The sting was immediate.
Ikar lifted his gaze, burning with rage.
"What do you want?" he spat. "There's nothing here. We don't have anything."
The man smiled faintly, blowing on the coffee.
"That's true," he admitted. "There's nothing interesting about your life. And honestly… the effort you put into looking like one of them is just sad."
Ikar clenched his jaw.
"Who are you?"
The man let out a short laugh. In the motion, the coffee burned his fingers.
"Shit…"
He shook his hand, amused.
"You seriously don't remember?" he said. "That one actually hurts a little. After everything we went through… You already forgot about us?"
Ikar studied him more closely.
The posture. The way he moved. That arrogant calm. The constant habit of tapping a finger against the nearest surface.
The truth hit him without warning.
"…Silyan?"
The man raised his cup again, satisfied.
"Knew you'd remember," he said, before dumping the rest of the coffee into the sink. "The past doesn't fade that easily."
While he spoke, Ikar managed to free one of his hands. Then the other.
"It's been a long time, Ikar. We need to—"
"Stop," Ikar cut in. "First, let her go. She doesn't know anything."
Silyan looked at him as if he'd just said something ridiculous.
Then he laughed.
"Are you serious?" he asked. "Your girlfriend? Your girlfriend doesn't know anything about you?"
Ikar lowered his gaze for a second.
"She's not important," he said. "Just let her go."
His tone changed.
That made Silyan stop laughing.
"Fine," he replied at last. "If you say so. I'll let her go… since, apparently, you don't have any restraints on your hands anymore."
Ikar finished untying his feet without bothering to hide it.
"I wouldn't expect any less from you."
Silyan released Lívia.
The mistake was immediate.
She lunged at him with a muffled scream, striking him with clumsy, desperate punches. None of it worked. Silyan barely moved. When she grabbed a knife from the counter and tried to stab him, Ikar reacted instantly.
He caught her arm.
"No," he said. "Not now. You need to leave."
She stared at him, stunned.
"How…?" she stammered. "How did you get free so fast?"
Ikar didn't answer.
He pulled her out of the kitchen, almost dragging her. At the door, she started talking nonstop:
"Who is that man? Are you in trouble? Is this the mafia or something? What's going on? Why won't you answer me? It's okay if you messed with dangerous people; we can get through this together. I have contacts who could help us. Let's go together, or I'll stay with you, but tell me the truth—"
Ikar closed his eyes.
"Shut up," he said, exhausted. "Just go."
And he closed the door.
When he turned around, Silyan was already sitting on the couch, settled in as if he had always lived there. He looked around with clear disappointment.
"This is the best you managed?" he commented. "What a fall."
He tapped the armrest with a finger.
"No matter how hard you try," he added, "you'll never be normal."
Ikar took a deep breath.
"What do you want?" he asked. "And how did you find me? You'd better have a damn good answer, or I'll kick you out of my house."
Silyan shifted more comfortably in the seat. The atmosphere had changed completely.
"We have a problem," he said. "They're hunting us."
Ikar tensed.
"Is that why you haven't stopped using your ability since you got here?"
The tapping stopped.
Silyan smiled.
"So you noticed."
He leaned forward.
"I've improved," he continued. "Now I can feel vibrations from kilometers away. It used to be harder. Still not perfect… but good enough to know what's moving out there."
Ikar watched him closely.
"Then," he said, "how do you know they're after us?"
"…They captured Hera."
The words barely had time to settle in the air.
Ikar was already on him.
The movement was almost invisible—a blink between one point and another. Silyan barely had time to react before Ikar grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the back of the couch.
"What did you say?" he demanded. "What do you mean, they captured her?"
Silyan tried to break free, but Ikar shoved him again, harder.
"Breathe, Ikar!" he growled. "Let me go."
"I told you to protect her!" Ikar shouted, ignoring him. "You! How the hell did this happen?"
He was losing control. His voice cracked. His eyes overflowed with rage and guilt.
"I knew I shouldn't have left her with you," he continued. "Same as always. You always fail when it matters most. You're useless."
Silyan clenched his jaw.
"I told you to let me go."
Ikar didn't.
"It's just like that time at the orphanage," he spat. "That was your fault, too. It always was your—"
"LET ME GO!"
The scream wasn't just a sound.
The wave burst from Silyan's chest, a brutal vibration that shook the entire apartment. The walls trembled, the windows exploded into a thousand fragments, and Ikar was thrown backward.
His back slammed into the opposite wall.
The concrete cracked on impact, forming a small crater before Ikar collapsed to the floor, sitting, stunned. Dust and fragments rained down on both of them.
The echo of the shout faded slowly.
Silyan was breathing hard. He ran a hand over his face, brushing dust from his shoulders.
"You have no right…" he said quietly. "You have no right to talk about that time."
He fell silent.
For a moment, his voice wavered.
"If only…" he began, but stopped.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again, calmer.
He walked over to Ikar and held out his hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."
Ikar hesitated for a second before taking it.
"You're right. I shouldn't have said that either," he replied, standing up. "I'm sorry."
They looked at each other in silence.
"Although," Ikar added, pointing at the destroyed wall, "that part is definitely your fault. I'm going to have to take extra shifts to pay for this."
Silyan let out a short, tired laugh.
"Always so considerate."
They both sat down again, facing each other, surrounded by broken glass and displaced furniture.
"We were ambushed," Silyan continued. "They weren't regular soldiers."
Ikar looked up.
"Superhumans?"
"Yes. With abilities. Like us… but more. Many more."
Silyan rested his elbows on his knees.
"I went out to buy food. That's all. When I came back…"
He fell silent for a second.
"The apartment was destroyed. Walls torn open, furniture smashed. There was blood everywhere," he swallowed. "And bodies. Some of them didn't get back up."
Ikar clenched his fists.
"Any idea where they took her?"
"Plenty," Silyan replied. "Too many, actually. Places, movements, rumors. But I can't do this alone."
Ikar frowned.
"How is that possible?" he asked. "We made sure those bastards were wiped out."
Silyan shook his head.
"I'm not sure it's them. It could be another group. Something different… maybe worse."
The word lingered.
A chill ran down Ikar's spine.
For a second, his mind betrayed him.
A narrow corridor. Flickering lights. Bodies piled against the walls. The floor was covered in blood, still warm. His hands… red. Not just from others. From everyone.
The sound of bones breaking.
The memory was brief—but violent.
"Ikar!"
Silyan's voice pulled him back.
"Focus."
Ikar blinked, breathing hard.
"What is it?"
Silyan went still.
He tapped the arm of the couch with a finger. Once. Twice.
His expression changed.
"We should continue this conversation somewhere else," he said. "They're already here."
Ikar tensed.
"How many?"
"Five… no," Silyan corrected. "Ten. They're talking. I can hear them. They're moving fast, coming up."
His ability allowed him to feel vibrations within a radius of up to a hundred meters: muffled conversations, distant footsteps, nervous breathing. Sometimes even heartbeats. Any sound that generated a vibration, no matter how small, reached him.
But it wasn't just about hearing.
If he focused enough energy, he could amplify the vibrations of his own voice and release them as a brutal wave—capable of tearing through walls, shattering structures, pulverizing eardrums… or obliterating whatever stood in his way.
He tapped the table lightly. The air around them seemed to vibrate faintly.
Ikar looked toward the door.
"So they didn't come to talk," he said dryly.
"No," Silyan replied. "They came for you."
The silence that followed was different.
Both moved almost at the same time, separating slightly, taking different angles within the apartment. Silyan closed his eyes for a second, concentrating. The tapping of his finger returned—slow, precise.
"It's only seconds before they reach the apartment," he said without looking at him. "Do you still know how to fight?"
Ikar didn't answer right away. He studied the reflection in the shattered window, the glass scattered across the floor, the shifted table, and the wall still marked by the impact of his body.
"I'd rather not."
Silyan opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly.
"That's not a no."
Ikar didn't answer.