Chapter 11 / I keep coming back

July 28th, 15.003 La Paz, Ashveil Desert, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

The smell of coffee grounded everything.

Sukira stood in full uniform in the quiet kitchen of the Academy building, spoon tapping against the rim of her cup. The soft noise of new refrigeration units, the slow drip of a tap, the faint echo of distant training gear — it was all familiar by now.

Further, somewhere in the library wing, Elon’s voice was probably guiding a lecture. She could feel the threads of magic in the air — fine lines, clean structure. His teaching was unmistakable.

Then her eyes narrowed slightly.

A very familiar light-blue flicker passed just beyond the doorway of the library. She didn’t enter — just passed.

Sukira didn’t call out. She just sipped her coffee, leaned back against the counter, and kept watching the corridor as if something were about to change.

Back at the library, Risha’s hand trembled slightly over the page. His spell was halfway through forming, a slow curl of light tracking the shapes Elon had taught them.

Then it stopped. He looked up fast.

“…Nima?”

“Why are you mumbling Nima’s name? Are you in love or something?” Lola said even before Risha could finish pronouncing her name, sassy as always.

Elon felt the little girl, too.  

He barely had to think. The sensation was faint but unmistakable — a thread tugging at his chest, like magic knew how to call magic. Risha dropped the spell and bolted out of the library, Cloud lifting his head lazily as he passed.Lola tried following him but Elon stopped her only with a look. 

She was already at the building's main door, about to leave, her back to him.

“HeEey! Are you finally joining the class?” 

Nima turned fast, startled — not angry, just… caught.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Risha said, slowing his pace. “I just… felt you.”

Nima’s arms folded across her chest. Her voice was smaller than usual. “I’m not joining. It’s fine. I was just passing by.”

“You weren’t… You came in. Then you left.” Risha’s train of thought was usually very… linear. 

She sat down on the edge of the wall of the main salon that connected to the other rooms. Arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered. “Not again.” She stopped for a second and then continued: “But I also don’t want to be the only one that’s on the bench and does nothing”. 

Risha sat beside her slowly, careful. “Do you want to talk about it, Nim?” He asked with a gentle vice. He didn’t rush it. He remembered Jeda’s words and how she might have a story to tell.

A long moment passed. The hallway was still. Risha held silence, mimicking the way Elon did when someone needed to speak but didn’t know how.

“I was seven.” Her voice was quiet, like she was telling it to the floor instead of him. “We lived in a city in Verellen. Not a big one. Mostly halves.” Her fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve. “I liked walking back from school. I’d stop for candy, or play with Zev on the way home. But that day… he didn’t come. He said he had a club thing.”

She paused, swallowed.

“So I walked alone. Took the same street I always took. Turned the same corner.”

Her voice wavered now. Risha didn’t interrupt.

“They saw me. Three of them, maybe four. Mercenaries. The kind that sniff bloodlines. The kind that know pale blue hair means something. They didn’t even ask anything. They just grabbed me.”

She looked up, eyes hollow but dry.

“My mom was close. She heard my voice from afar. She came running. She fought them. She had no powers, no strength. She was a researcher for the Silver Circle’s University. But she hit one of them in the face with a bag of groceries. Tomatoes everywhere. She screamed at me to run.”

Risha could picture it. Could see it. The street. The screaming. The fruit. The fear.

“But… I didn’t run. I froze. I watched one of them push her into a wall. I saw her head snap back. They started saying they wanted the two of us now; my mom also had this hair—”

She stopped herself.

“I remember screaming but then… I don’t remember anything else clearly. Just… power. Sound. A feeling like something inside me cracked open.”

She pressed her fingers to her temple, breathing shallow.

“When I woke up, I was in the hospital. My mom was there, alive — but… not. Something in her mind broke. Like her thoughts were trapped somewhere she couldn’t reach anymore. They said she had episodes. Disassociation. Memory loss. Anxiety. But I knew it wasn’t any of that.”

Risha stayed still, his hands folded in his lap.

“It was me,” Nima said. “I… I did something to her mind. I lashed out, and I didn’t know how to stop. I hit everything. I destroyed one of the mercenaries, made the others run. But I hit her, too.”

Silence.

“My dad never looked at me the same again. Not after that. He didn’t yell. He didn’t hit me. He just… stopped seeing me. Probably because everything he saw me, he saw her, too. We moved to Eloria’s capital first, right after the funeral, and to La Paz not so long ago.”

Risha’s brow furrowed. “Funeral?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

“My mom died two years later.” The words dropped like a stone into water. “She wasn’t whole anymore. And I did that.”

Risha’s hands curled around the edge of his clothes. His throat felt thick.

“Zev’s the only one who never blamed me. But I think… I think he blames himself.”

“…Because he didn’t walk with you that day,” Risha whispered. 

Nima didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

They sat there a while longer, Risha holding Nima’s hand, but letting the silence do its thing — the girl’s words hanging heavy between them. Then, Risha turned toward her, grabbing her by her knees, voice low but certain.

“You need to learn to control it.”

She blinked, startled by the shift.

He heard this before, many, many times. — “If you don’t train it, it trains itself. It doesn’t care if you’re angry, or scared, or just trying to protect someone. It will act. And then it will be too late.”

“Elon said that to me. Not long ago. When I…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “When I exploded.”

“You?”

“A whole village,” he said, a bit bragging, a mechanism he started using just not to feel sad about it anymore. Risha took a breath.

“You need to learn to control it,” he said again, echoing the words as if they were his own. “Even now. Even now, even if you’re not using it — that doesn’t mean it’s gone. It's just, em–It's sleeping! And that doesn’t mean you can’t explode again. You just don’t know when. You can’t live afraid of your own power. It’s waiting. Always.”

Her mouth parted — like she wanted to deny it. But didn’t.

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” he went on. “But it’s worse not knowing what’ll happen if you lose control again.”

Another pause. Then he stood up and held out his hand.

“I’m so scared, I feel like I can't move.” She grabbed Risha’s hand, hesitant.

He smiled gently, holding out her hand. “That’s okay. I’ll walk with you.”

She looked at their hands for a long moment. And then, without a word, she stood up using him as a strength point.

Sukira hadn’t moved from the doorway.

She saw the two of them in the salon: Risha leading Nima through the corridor with her hand in his. Nima’s shoulders were still tense, but her eyes looked forward. Not down.

Sukira took another sip of coffee, hiding the small smile that tugged at her mouth.

“Nice words, blondie,” she muttered softly to no one. “Your kid’s growing so much.”

♥︎

Sukira finished her coffee, the mug warming her hand even as the heat of the Ashveil sun already clung to her skin.

The courtyard that separated the Academy from the rest of the Citadel stretched wide and quiet. Training dummies stood in their lines. Sand had collected again in the corners. Someone would have to sweep it before the drills.

She walked out the side door and stepped into the open.

The silence here was different than usual. Not peaceful. Not tense. Just… on pause.

She turned her face toward the breeze, just beginning to fade with the rise of afternoon.

Then the lights snapped.

A hard pulse of yellow flickered through the air — not from overhead lamps, but from the street poles and perimeter lines across the Citadel. Even in daylight, the color was sharp, warning-level bright.

She opened the command channel — one long press this time.

“This again? I’m heading to the Tower. Update me.”

The soft buzz of responses followed:

Tech, exasperated: “The system’s not finished. Still working on the shadow layer.”

Ailin: “Acknowledged. Dominique’s already rerouting civilian patrols.”

Axis: “Hold on—Sukira. Elon says he’s got something.”

“Elon?” She asked as he certainly didn’t have a nano-tattoo implanted. 

A new vibration triggered — the security team channel.

Axis again, low and urgent: “He said to tell you the compromise point is twelve degrees off the northwest border. Old garden ruins. He says the pressure’s buckling there — he felt it.”

Sukira’s jaw set. Her pace didn’t slow.

“Tell him,” she said coolly, “he’s going to explain this later.”

“Ryn,” she said, already stepping forward.

“Already on my way.” She gave her an instant reply. Calm, focused.

The low thud of paws answered almost immediately — the bloodhound bounding toward her from the direction of the Civil Quarter, a blur of heavy fur and sharp instinct. He fell in beside her like a shadow.

The old ruins still held the echo of something sacred. Cracked columns, wild dried vines reclaiming statues of long-forgotten gods, the faint scent of sun-warmed dust and dead animals.

Five black vans stood at the edge of the old garden ruins, right outside the protection ward, dust still settling around their tires. Mercenaries — two dozen at least — moved between them, unloading gear. Spells flickered and collapsed against the invisible wardline again and again, sparks crackling over the air like lightning caught in glass.

“This place looks fancy,” one sneered, adjusting his rifle. “We should take it all. Whatever’s inside must be worth a fortune.”

Sukira crouched low, eyes narrowed. Ryn’s heavy steps crunched to a stop beside her.

Both of them tapped behind their ears — three sharp touches. The faint vibration signaled the link to the lab.

“Hey, Tech. Let us out,” Sukira said.

Tech’s voice came back instantly, clipped and tired: “Yes. A second. Stand by.”

La Paz’s perimeter wasn’t a fence so much as a woven wall—top notch technology mixed with strong magic sigils. It held both ways: you didn’t wander in, and you didn’t walk out. Crossing required a “gatekey,” a thumb-sized device coded to a bearer’s bio-signature created by Tech; without it, you pinged the Labs—three taps to the nano-tattoo opened a direct line to the labs in comms, usually Sami, who could hand-shake the wards and push a temporary corridor. Otherwise, the veil didn’t budge for anyone.

The nano-tattoos warmed softly against their skin. A hum rolled through their spines as the small devices synced.

“Done. You can get out now.”

Just as she was about to rise, another buzz sparked at the back of her neck — two taps, the security channel.

She sighed and answered. “What?”

Jeda’s voice filled her ear. “Need reinforcements, Commander?”

“If I did, I’d already have asked.” She cut the line before he could reply.

Ryn cracked her neck once. “Ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

The wardline rippled like water as they stepped through.

The first mercenary never saw Sukira. She voided mid-step, reappearing at his flank, gun pressed to his temple. One silent shot, and she was gone again — smoke and dust where her body had been.

Ryn hit the ground a heartbeat later. Not subtle. Not fast. Just unstoppable. Her blade cleaved through two men in a single downswing, sparks spitting off steel as a rifle jammed under the weight of her strike. She didn’t bother parrying; she absorbed the blows, sword up — and kept swinging.

Sukira danced between them, voiding in and out, kicking rifles from hands, pinning throats with her knife before putting bullets clean through them. Guns vanished from her grip only to reappear in her hands mid-roll, muzzle flashes blooming where no one expected them.

Ryn was a wall. Sukira a storm.

Within minutes, the ruins were painted with blood and smoke. Bodies sprawled across the cracked stone, weapons scattered.

Only two were left breathing. Sukira pinned one to the ground with her knee, blade poised just above his chest.

“Who hired you?”

The man shook his head frantically. “No one! We—we’re freelance! Just scavengers. Word was this place is so old ground, that no one is around anymore. Easy pickings.”

“This is your first time trying to enter? You triggered alarms here before?” Sukira pressed.

“Uh? What alarms? Before what? We didn’t even know this place existed!” His voice cracked. “We just thought we got lucky.”

Sukira’s eyes flicked to Ryn.

“Amateurs,” Ryn spat, blade dripping blood after slicing the other mercenary's head off. 

The man beneath Sukira panicked. “This was the whole firm, you killed them all, you don’t need to kill me too, no one else is coming—”

“You are right” Her knife drove clean through his throat. “No one else is coming.”

Silence, except for Cloud’s low growl as he padded between the bodies.

Sukira tapped twice at her tattoo. “Axis. Site contained. Send a cleaning team.”

A pause. Then Jeda’s buzzed in, uninvited. “Quick recap?”

Sukira wiped her blade on one of the dead clothes. “Nothing to worry about.”

“…‘Nothing’ meaning?”

“No one left alive.”

The silence on the line was sharp. Then Jeda exhaled, slow. “…Understood. Cleaning team dispatched.” His tone carried no joke this time — only a reluctant respect.

Sukira turned to Ryn. “You’re heading to the infirmary. Protocol.”

“I’m not even scratched.”

“Then enjoy the paperwork. Deliver everything to Axis directly.”

Ryn tapped three times. “Two coming back in”. 

The approval sound gave them the note. 

Ryn stared at her for a beat, she hoisted her blade over her shoulder and trudged back toward the wardline.

Sukira didn’t move yet.

Blood slicked her arm where she’d taken a grazing shot — a cut she’d allowed rather than let Ryn take it. Not serious. But real.

She flexed her hand once, breath leaving her slow.

Then, with a faint ripple of void energy, she vanished from the ruins — leaving only smoke and silence behind.

♥︎

The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of a lamp in the kitchen, shadows stretching long across the walls. Sukira sat quietly on the balcony floor, back pressed against the half-wall, hidden from the glass door. She kept her injured arm folded close, her breath even, waiting.

Through the half-open window she heard voices.

“Pss,” Risha’s voice, muffled but warm, “movie night? Just one. I’ll pick a short one.”

Elon’s reply was calm, steady, the kind of tone he rarely used with anyone else. “You’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

A pause. Then Risha’s tired laugh. “…Yeah. I will.”

Bedsheets rustled, the sound of a body finally giving in to exhaustion.

“Night, dad.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

The balcony door slid open with a faint click. Elon stepped out slowly, barefoot, the desert night still warm against his skin.

She was there, still on the floor. She had chosen the spot deliberately, where Risha wouldn’t see her if he wandered out. 

“Here you are”, Elon said quietly, “You could’ve knocked.”

“I didn’t want him to see me like this.”

He didn’t argue. Just stepped closer, sliding the door shut behind him, the night air sealing them in.

For once, he didn’t start with reproach. No sharp words about risks, about her trying to die, about him not wanting to watch it. He just leaned on the rail, looking at her the way one looks at a storm that finally passed.

After a long silence, he asked, almost dry: “Do you think I can ask for a private channel with you?” He mimicked tapping on his non-existent nano-tattoo. 

Her eyes narrowed faintly. “…Why would you want that?”

He lifted a hand and tapped his own ear where the nano tattoo would sit, again. 

“Also, you have a phone,” she pointed out.

“It’s not the same.” He tilted his head, watching her. 

Something in her expression softened — a flicker of surprise, then quickly hidden behind her usual coolness.

Elon looked down at her wrapped arm, flexed her hand once, then let out a quiet breath. 

“I saw him today,” she said.

“Risha?”

She nodded. “He felt Nima wandering near the library. He went after her. Talked her back inside. Said the same words you gave him when he set the village on fire.”

Elon’s mouth twitched at that, equal parts grim and proud.

“He’s learning from you,” Sukira added. “You should be proud.”

The night stretched quiet again, the weight of her admission hanging between them.

Elon shifted against the rail, arms folded. “You know, when I was his age, I didn’t repeat anyone’s words. I almost didn’t talk at all, I thought I knew better. He’s different. He listens. He adapts. Faster than I ever did.”

Sukira tilted her head faintly. “You’re stalling.”

He didn’t look at her. “He’s growing fast. Too fast. One day he’ll—”

“—Elon.” Her tone sharpened, though not unkind. “You’re stretching time.”

He finally turned his gaze back to her. Blue eyes, steady, unblinking. “Good. Let it stretch. You deserve to sit with it for once.” He pointed out with a finger at her bleeding arm.

She frowned, realizing. “Is this some sort of scolding?”

“I feel it on my chest every time I see you come back like this,” he said, voice flat. Not raised, not angry. Just flat. “So, yes. I’m trying a new strategy. Tonight, we’ll both suffer a little.”

Her smirk came faint, cold, but there was no bite to it. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m just paying you back.”

Minutes passed like that — him talking in quiet circles, asking about nothing, remarking on the hum of the city lights, even on the breeze off the desert. Just… keeping her there. Keeping her still.

“Alright. Enough.” Finally, her patience cracked, he sighed. “You were the one who told me to come back to you after whatever situation. And here I am, doing it as a well-trained dog. I don't even need Eloise; I know how to stitch me up.”

He crossed the narrow space between them, kneeling low. In silence. His hands hovered over her arm, steady, precise. Warmth bled from his palms into her skin — sharp at first, then soothing, like frost melting under the sun’s heat. 

The wound closed clean. Only a faint ache lingered.

“Done. This time was easy”. He drew back slowly. “Thanks." Sarcasm as its finest. 

“...You can always take it back.” Sukira flexed her fingers, studying the perfect seal of skin. “You can always tell me to stop coming back to you, and I will respect it.” 

Elon almost smiled. “Talking about cruelty…” 

♥︎