Chapter 20 / Ends and Beginnings

February 10th, 15.006 Rooms floor, Command Tower, La Paz, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

The vibration pulsed under everyone’s skin before the sound ever hit the rooms—nano-ink waking, the general comms channel cracking open.

“Rise and shine,” Jeda said, voice rough but bright at the same time, eyes still half closed. “See you all in 15 minutes. Command Chamber. Yes, even you, Tech. All of you.”

Static. Then the chorus:  Axis: “Copy.”  Ailin: “Received.”  Dominique: “Ugh.”  Eloise, alert already: “Everything’s okay??”  Sami: “Coffee first.”  Elon: “Mh.”  Tech: “What a pain in the ass.”  Aaron: “Online in ten.”  Sukira: “What’s going on?”

He killed the channel, sat up and rolled onto her side and kissed the crease of her forehead. “Premise is classified. Show up, Commander.”

She squinted up at him, hair tangled against the pillow. “Let me abuse my position, c’mon. Something happened?”

“Abuse nothing,” he said, softer. Jeda brushed her hair as softly as he was capable of. He watched her for half a beat longer than he should have; the dark circles, the way she didn’t pretend to be anything but tired. Somewhere behind the grin, a thought landed and didn’t move: we’re using her too much. Every leak? Call Sukira. Every beast? Send Sukira. It worked—but for how long could it last?

“Let’s fix that,” he muttered to himself, already sketching the bones of an idea he’d test the moment the map came out.

“Fix what?” Sukira asked, buttoning her vest.

“You are asking more questions than usual.”

She snorted. “You are acting way more mysterious than general.”

They left the room's floor together, not sneaking and not announcing it—like a habit they hadn’t named.

♥︎

8AM — Command Chamber, Command Tower

The Command Chamber’s lights rose in layers: sun-white over the map wall, sea-blue across the table. Pins glowed along three continents; thin red threads connected rumors to roads, roads to ports, ports to names that kept changing.

Jeda stood, hands on the chairback, that casual posture he wore right before he broke bad news.

“Good morning, family.” A brief smile, then business. “Here’s the picture.”

They filtered in by waves, habits hardened by years. Ailin arrived first, pale gold untied hair catching the light; she took Jeda’s left in composed silence. Axis drifted to the map wall with a field case, his short red hair still wet, tattoos ghosting his sleeves. Dominique and Eloise entered together in matching vibes—Domi’s heart-patch neat today, tie crooked like she ran to the meeting; Eloise in her all-white crisp uniform as a scalpel, already pouring coffee to both of their mugs.

Tech slid in late with a data stylus behind his ear and grease on his cuffs; Sami breezed after him with two coffees and parked one at his elbow like a treat. Elon took the far side—uniform barely there, no emotions found, the kind of quiet that reads everything. Sukira appeared a beat after Jeda, sunglasses pushed into short hair, vest clean, knife-strap on her thigh like she was ready to depart for a mission. The hologrid pinged and Aaron flickered on from Eloria—travel leathers, daylight at his back.

Axis flicked his wrist; the Ashveil projection zoomed out to Concordia. Ports brightened; a supply corridor blinked three times.

Jeda tapped the map with two fingers. “The Barricade says Prowar’s out there selling ‘safety’ like ration bread. Sign the contract, get food credits and a neat little protection stamp—translation: pay or starve, bleed or vanish.” He snorted. “Halves go straight to the front—the first wave. Meat for the grinder. The ones who crawl back get ‘promoted’ to clean-up brigades. New badge, same grave.”

Elon asked, “What’s the mission they’ve been sending halves to deal with?”

“Fucking classified. My people are newbies... and humans; they haven’t climbed high enough to where the juicy data’s shared. Not yet. I might send a halve there but… It's like hiring someone and sending them to death”. He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance.

“Any good news?” Aaron joked.

Eloise stopped fidgeting with Dominique’s sleeve. “We’ve logged our first influenza cluster. Not deadly, but sticky.” Her eyes were steady, almost eager in the way only a builder gets about a first big test. “Triage flowed. The clinic handled it. But it exposed our bottlenecks: beds, runners, and comms latency between Civil and Infirmary.”

“Good,” Jeda said—meaning the systems, not the flu.

“Good how?” Aaron cut in.

“Well… a simple, controlled flu isn’t hard to handle. And I think it’s good news because it means the city’s behaving like a real city—real, boring problems like coughs and runny noses.” Eloise’s voice was sweet but confident; you could hear how much she’d grown since arriving in La Paz. “Zira handles ward scalability; K oversees non-magical throughput.”

“We’ll reinforce runners. Keep it ‘simple and controlled.’ Eloise, pick one deputy per floor,” Axis added. Sukira nodded; cadets weren’t in short supply—she could pull extra hands if needed.

“Two,” Dominique said automatically, half-stepping as if to shield her. Eloise hid a smile she didn’t really hide.

“What’s going on here, Cap?” Axis tapped the western desert; red threads tightened into triangles. “Where did this map come from?” His brow showed more interest than most—Axis, the strategist, was always into maps.

“Fresh data from our President.”  Jeda rolled a knuckle on the table. “Three hot spots. One isn’t a theory—Velmore Alps. That’s where the team pulled the DHA-05 stamp in the Heart Room; we treat that as confirmed.” He pointed to the next pin. “The Barricade, Concordia’s desert military belt on the Ashveil border—our convoy timings and Tech’s fuel-line telemetry spike along its southeast grid; if they’re training pacts there, they’re also feeding a lab or a logistics yard.” A third pin glowed. “Ravelyn’s Alley depots—the old road where caravans went quiet. Same days our people reported blackouts, same nights their tankers jumped. So: Alps confirmed, Barricade likely, Alley as a swap point. Move like that long enough, and the map confesses.”

Tech leaned back like the chair bored him. “Or nothing. Could be decoys. Prowar learned to plant empty nests.”

Sami didn’t glance at him, which was how you knew she agreed. “We need depth. ‘Security for the security’ is only as good as the people we can send without burning Sukira and Axis to the bone.”

Jeda lifted a palm. “That’s my bridge.” He nodded at the table. “We’ve grown. La Paz isn’t a camp anymore; it’s a city that can field tiers. I propose we authorize a golden cadets program—hand-picked seniors with clearance for high-category missions. We train them in infiltration, silence, evasion. We give ourselves options that aren’t ‘send Sukira again.’”

“I agree,” Elon’s voice cut, low. “But why now?”

Of course you agree, Sunshine. I’m doing this for her, not for you. But I get it. I really do.  “This is about to explode. I feel it.” Jeda looked past him to the map. “And because I want eyes and ears everywhere. And because if I can infiltrate every wall we built” — he let the sentence hang, just long enough — “someone else will sooner than we like.”

“Are you kidding?” Sami folded her arms. “We’re the leak-watchers.” Indignation was all over her tone. 

“Don’t kill me yet,” Jeda said. “I trust you. Which is why I’m preparing for the day your trust gets tested.” Jeda was known for being paranoid, but as the master of intel and disguise, he also knew that he can be tricked, too. 

Tech’s mouth pulled tight. He didn’t argue. That was as close to concession as he got.

Ailin finally spoke, voice clean as a blade’s spine. “Axis and Sukira own selection and doctrine. Keep it small. If this becomes theater, we fail.”

Sukira’s answer was a single nod, half feral, half tired. Her look hasn’t gotten better, everyone noticed. 

Aaron’s hologram hovered, arms crossed. “It seems I’m not going to be able to keep exploiting you, Commander.”

“I’ll keep showing up if you call, don’t worry”. Sukira replied, with a tone way more dangerous than needed for a keeping-up meeting at 8AM. 

“That’s all,” Jeda said. “Security team, stay.”

Chairs scraped. The room exhaled.

As bodies moved, Jeda caught Elon’s eye for a second: I’ll bring her back. He didn’t smile, which for him meant he believed him.

Axis and Sukira stayed behind to work on the strategy on how to approach the secret facilities and dismantle them, at least the one they were sure existed. Also, they would have to address whether they were really going to build up a new generation of cadets inside the Elite. 

♥︎

14HS — Magic Classroom, The Academy Tower

The Academy’s concrete hall felt colder than the sun outside. Chalk dust lifted in thin halos under skylights; cadets stood at attention while symbols bled light on the wall.

Elon capped the lesson the way he did everything—precise, clean, a little too quiet. “Field discipline is built in the calm, not the storm. You don’t reach for a spell you didn’t fold a hundred times when nobody watched. Dismissed.”

Boots shuffled. Voices dropped. The door slid open again before it shut: Risha, all long limbs and impatience, hair a bit longer now, eyes the same blade-bright blue.

He didn’t pretend he wasn’t there to fetch him. “Can we have dinner at the dining hall tonight? With everyone.”

Elon’s mouth almost smiled. “You’re supposed to knock.”

“I did… Inside my head.”

“That doesn’t count, Rish”.

Risha leaned on the desk, close. “Lunch?”

Elon glanced at the lecture board just once more—the half-erased sigil, the clean angles—then at the door. “I just have ten minutes to set up for the next class.”

“I’ll eat with mom then,” Risha said, already backing toward the hall. He stopped, noticed the tired crease at the edge of Elon’s eyes. “You okay?”

“You are too sharp for your age”, Elon said, which for him meant no.

Risha came back to him and hugged him tight. He was getting taller, but not close to Elon’s height, not yet. Elon returned the hug; he needed it. Risha tapped the desk twice, a habit he’d picked up from Jeda, then sprinted out.

Elon stood alone in the empty room, hands on the edge of the table. He saw—for a second he let himself—the way Jeda and Sukira had stood a shoulder’s width apart in the morning, joking inside a war. It burned, and it passed. He dragged his sleeve across the chalk and rebuilt the diagram until nothing personal lived in it.

20HS — Dining Hall, Civil Quarter

The Civil Quarter dining hall had outgrown itself months ago, but nobody minded the squeeze. New and old faces merged together here. The noise was the point: plates colliding with jokes, boots squeaking, three different songs whistled off-key.

People who lived in the rooms and in the Command Tower were the ones who always had dinner here. From time to time, one or two faces that moved to the apartments showed up. 

Sukira sat already, uniform undone just enough to pass for off-duty. Jeda dropped into the seat across, flicked her tie straight like it was a ritual. Axis arrived with reports he didn’t open. Ryn slid in wordless, a moving shadow, but not a gloomy one, not anymore. Dominique and Eloise arrived together—obvious, happy, a soft gravity—Eloise instantly collecting Risha in a hug that lifted him clean off the bench.

“We missed you,” Dominique said, joining the hug.

“I saw you both this morning,” Risha laughed, muffled.

“Not the same,” Eloise said, and Risha let her keep him another second. “You are getting so tall, so handsome!!” 

Reno leaned over the back of the bench with the subtlety of a cat. “Haru’s not coming. Again,” he huffed, trying to sound casual and failing. “He’s always doing smart people stuff now.”

Tech was halfway to sitting when that landed. He didn’t look over, didn’t comment—just placed his tray down with surgical care and, for a breath, stared at the table like it was a mirror. He’d convinced himself once that isolation was proof of importance. It hadn’t been. He didn’t want the boy learning that lesson from him.

Sami thunked her tray down beside him, stole a roll without asking, and under the table let her boot tap his ankle, then a light touch to his calf. He glanced up. She gave him the smallest, laziest smile—it’ll be okay. He exhaled, the line of his shoulders easing.

“Okay, menaces,” Sami said, switching lanes like a pro. “What are you two doing next year?”

Risha perked up. “All,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Cadet training. Magic classes, the official ones now! And medical wing rotations if Eloise lets me.” He blinked an eye at her. 

“Yes!!!” Eloise said before he finished, bright and uncontained. “Please. If you want to, of course. Since we arrived, we see each other so little, and I hate it.” She softened the words with a sheepish grin. “Even though you somehow still make time to visit everyone like a little inspector.”

“I do rounds,” Risha said, solemn enough to make half the table laugh. Jeda’s words slipping through the teenager’s mouth without noticing. 

Sami tipped her chin at Reno. “And you?”

“I’ll become stronger than Axis and Ryn together. Cadet training, of course.” He grinned, then the bravado cracked. “I would like to have the brain to join the Research wing, too…”

Tech coughed into his water. “We’ll… adjust the lab schedules,” he muttered, cold and a bit rushed.

“Translation: you’ll continue seeing Haru just fine, don’t worry,” Sami said, patting his knee under the table. Good try.

The talk slid, as all tables do, into wider currents. Jeda had intended to keep the morning’s idea inside the chamber a little longer, but his mouth moved faster than his plan. “Did you have time to think about the golden cadets idea?” he said, casual as salt, looking at Axis and Sukira. 

Reno’s head snapped around. “A what?”

Risha’s eyes lit like someone had handed him fireworks. “For real? Like—picked cadets? What do we need to do to be chosen? Is there a test? Can anyone try? Do we have to—”

“Absolutely not,” Eloise said from afar, too calm to be anything but a slammed door.

Both boys blinked. The table caught the shift.

Sukira didn’t even look up from her plate. “It’s just an idea,” she said, voice level, eyes finally lifting to pin the two of them. “And you’re not even cadets yet.”

Reno wilted a fraction; Risha tried to look taller and failed adorably.

Axis cleared his throat, the table’s resident coolant. “If—and if—this happens, it will be hand-picked. Criteria will be written by Security.” A nod at Sukira and himself. “Not a game.”

Risha’s excitement simmered down into something steadier. Reno nodded like he was promising a future version of himself.

Sami elbowed Tech. “Say it.”

“What”

“The part where you admit depth is necessary.”

Tech pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need redundancies.”

“Thank you,” Sami said, triumphant.

Elon arrived late enough to pretend he hadn’t heard the first half and early enough to hear the last. He slid into the space beside Sukira because it was the only chair left, which wasn’t true, and set a novel in front of her like a neutral flag. “For the three minutes you rest.”

“If this is a trap and I fall asleep as soon as I open it, I’ll stab you,” she said.

“I wouldn't dare,” he said.

“Coward,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Eloise tugged Risha back. “And school?”

“Less boring than before,” he said, glancing at Elon like he couldn’t help it.

“Friends?” Eloise asked, although one of them was leaning on his shoulder.

Risha looked at Reno, kinda blue on his shoulder, and then at the orbit of adults pretending not to be stars. “Yeah,” he said, and for once didn’t elaborate.

A cadet tried to levitate a pitcher down the aisle and failed; water sloshed, laughter rose. Jeda leaned back, grinning at all of it like a man who liked noise because it meant breathing.

He caught Elon’s eye by accident. For a heartbeat they were both just men at a table—one who had touched what Elon loved and one who had let go of what Jeda envied. Neither spoke. Both looked down.

Ryn said nothing, but when Dominique’s laugh cracked too bright, she glanced over and then away, steadying herself like a soldier.

Somewhere under the scrape of forks and the tug of sleeves, three red triangles still glowed on a wall across the compound. At this table, the only red that mattered was wine, cheeks, and the thread of a life loud enough to be heard over anything.

♥︎

23.18HS — Rooms, Civil Quarter

Reno didn’t bother with doors. He flattened gravity around his body like a second skin and let the night lift him, palms on the concrete walls as he drifted up past the rain gutters. The window latch clicked; he hovered, grinning.

“Haru. Open up.”

A cough. Then, hoarse: “Go away.”

Reno popped the lock anyway and swung inside. Bare feet touched down without a sound. The room was the kind of neat only Haru (15y/o) achieved—books stacked in straight towers like city blocks, pencils lined up by length, a half-finished mug of something bitter beside an open notebook. A wool blanket had been thrown wrong over a boy trying very hard to look composed while failing to stop his shivers.

“You look like shit,” Reno announced cheerfully, catching the blanket edge when Haru tried to burrito himself deeper.

Haru pushed up on his elbows. Even pale, even fever-stupid, he managed tidy annoyance. “It’s the flu. You can’t be here. You’ll catch it. And stop using windows like chimneys.”

Reno sniffed the mug on the table, grimaced. “This tea tastes like old leaves and punishment.” He swapped it for fresh water from the carafe. “Eat, drink, sleep. I’ll take the dangerous, complex medical part, which is… glaring at you until you finally rest. Reading is not resting–”

“Reno…” The name softened in Haru’s mouth.

“I brought you dinner, silly.” Reno dragged a chair over, then ignored it and sat on the bed, letting a little extra weight pin the blanket corners. “I thought you were being a nerd and forgot to eat. Turns out you were dying.” He lifted a small container from a paper bag—steam curled out. “Lucky for you, your hero came anyway.”

“Stew again?” Haru asked, and—traitor—smiled. He gathered strength to pull himself together and went on, “Reno.” Firmer this time. “Seriously—go. I don’t want you sick.”

“I don’t get sick.” (He absolutely did.) He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “And if I do, I’ll be here tomorrow too, so we can cough in harmony.”

“That’s not how—” Another cough stole the rest. He finally accepted the water, drank, hand shaking once and then steadying when Reno’s knuckles braced the bottom.

Reno slid down the mattress until his shoulder touched the wall and his hip touched Haru’s blanketed knee. He sat there and their bodies created a tiny, ridiculous fortress. The room settled into the sound of breathing—one ragged, one loud because Reno never remembered to be quiet.

“You always keep it too quiet when you feel bad; you need to learn to ask for help. You did the same thing a few years ago.”

Haru didn’t reply. He was an orphan. He learned how to survive and deal with life alone. He didn’t want to be an annoyance to those who called friends.  

“You’re warm,” he muttered, frowning at Haru’s forehead like warmth had personally offended him. “Too warm.”

Haru let his spine unwind a vertebra at a time. “That’s… how fevers… work.”

“Lucky I’m a genius.” Reno cupped the back of Haru’s neck with both hands, cool palms against hot skin, and pressed his own forehead to Haru’s like he was lining up compass needles.

Haru flinched. “Reno, what are you—?”

“They say fever likes cold. I’m cold.” A smirk. “Vampire perks. I’ll take it out with my superior chill. Don’t worry.”

“Again… that’s not how it works,” Haru tried, but his voice had lost most of its protest. The cold felt indecently good. Reno’s hands were spring water, snowfall, basin rim. His brain stopped rattling in his skull for a second.

Reno’s fingers slid, cradled Haru’s face, thumbs mapping his cheekbones. The neat towers of books blurred at the edges as Haru’s eyes went soft. Objectively not very scientific. Subjectively better than any medicine.

“Okay,” Haru said at last, because capitulation sometimes sounded like being practical, “but if you’re staying with me, you’re sleeping too. Otherwise, you’ll be a menace to everyone tomorrow.”

Reno blinked. Internal static, then fireworks: he didn’t move for a full beat because the words landed like a dropped coin in a deep well. He flipped the corner of the blanket up anyway, grin out of control already. They have slept together countless times, but it's been a while since the last time they did it. Maybe a pajama party at Risha’s house a year ago? 

“Doctor’s orders, huh?”, always mischievous, always brushing up against the truth with humor.

Haru coughed into his elbow to avoid answering, which was convenient for everyone.

Reno killed the bedside lamp with a thought—gravity pressed the switch—and the room folded into desert wind tapping the glass and the faint hum of the Civil Quarter past midnight. He slid under the blanket, exaggerating the care he took so as not to jostle Haru’s headache. The mattress dipped; then he anchored it, subtle, so every movement after felt lighter. Haru exhaled as a knot had loosened behind his ribs.

“Don’t make it float,” Haru mumbled. “If the bed floats, I’ll get dizzy, and I’ll get angry.”

“Rude of you to think I don’t already know that. But noted.” Reno tucked the stew container on the nightstand, letting it hover a thumb’s width off to keep it warm. Show-off, Haru thought, and didn’t tell him to stop. He’s getting better at using his gravity control. 

Haru ate as much as someone sick could. Then silence stretched. Reno’s thumb found the blanket seam and started tracing it, tiny scratch-scratch-scratch like a metronome teaching a body how to calm down. Haru’s hand drifted out from under the wool and, almost by accident, grazed Reno’s. Not a hold. A question. Reno pretended not to notice, pretending to let Haru keep it there. Their fingers rested side by side, almost touching, heat arguing with cold under the same cliff of cloth.

“You broke the window seal, again,” Haru murmured.

Well, I called, and you didn't open... Reno made a face into the dark. “And you’ll fix it, again. I just follow the important rules.”

“Oh?” Haru’s voice was tired amusement. “Which ones are those?”

“Eat when you can. Don’t waste any blood. Don’t nap in wet clothes. Tell people when you’re sad.” He swallowed. The last rule had snuck out uninvited. “And if someone’s sick, you go to them. Even if they say ‘use the door.’ Especially then.”

Haru closed his eyes. He’d planned to argue about germs, about logic, the whole list of proper choices he kept like a pocket catechism. Instead: “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Reno’s chest did a stupid lurch. He kept his tone bright to hide it. “Every time.” He nudged his shoulder until their arms touched from elbow to wrist. “I might join the Medical Branch, what do ya think? I’m good for the fever.”

“I’ve seen you drip blood from open wounds every day since we’ve met.”

“Lies and propaganda.”

Haru huffed a laugh and tipped his forehead forward; it bumped Reno’s temple. Little, thoughtless intimacy—easier in the dark. Reno took it like a gift and told himself it was the usual closeness they used to share.

Minutes folded. The fever didn’t magically drop; science was stubborn; so were they. But the ache around it changed shape. Haru’s breaths evened to something that wasn’t quite sleep, that soft between-place where you admit things only to the ceiling.

“I completely forgot about the first time you came here to check on me,” Haru said, so quietly Reno almost didn’t catch it. “You climbed through the window for the first time, you were still learning to use the gravity thing you have. We were so little, but somehow you knew how to take care of me.” There was a sort of drunkish tone in Haru’s voice, tiredness and fever doing its thing. “I liked it then, and I like it now”. 

Reno’s grin flashed, unseen. “I’m a delight, since always. This is common knowledge.”

“That’s not… what I—” Haru coughed again, then let the thought finish itself without precision. “You’re a delight, yes. But don’t join the Medical Branch.”

Reno laughed and checked Haru’s forehead with the back of his hand the way he’d seen Eloise do, then left the hand there because it was an excuse.

“Don’t you have morning drills?” Haru asked, eyes closed, not letting Reno take his hand from where it was.

"Tomorrow's a Saturday, silly.”

“... you have drills on Saturdays too, silly. Sukira will scold you for ages if you don’t show up”.

“She does not scare me.”

“Pfff. I’ll take you on that." Haru’s mouth twitched. "Nothing scares you.”

Reno considered it, serious for once. I’m not scared of anything? He looked down at Haru and how nervous he was about the year ahead and how it might tear them apart. That was scary. He winced internally at his own thoughts and immediately buried it in a yawn. “Ugh. Fever is contagious. You made me sleepy.”

“Finally,” Haru whispered, and the word sounded like it had been waiting all day. He turned his face toward Reno’s shoulder. It wasn’t a cuddle; it didn’t have to be. It was gravity doing what gravity did best—choosing the nearer body as the most reliable center.

Under the blanket, Haru’s fingers found Reno’s again. Not quite a hold. But closer. Reno stayed still, absolutely still, like any movement would spook fate. He let the bed keep its quiet anchor. He let the night be ordinary and enormous. He let himself be cold so Haru could be less hot.

Outside, the wind rattled the pane like a cat asking to be let in. Reno tipped his head back and grinned at the ceiling because he’d been told off three times and still won. He mouthed, silently, to the plaster:

“Told you I’m good for the fever, you absolute silly”. 

♥︎

00:20HS — Command Tower rooftop

Sukira found the wind first. She sat with her back to a low wall, vodka bottle sweating against her palm, the small-becoming-big city glow breathing under her boots. The night was knife-clean; she liked it like that.

Peace didn’t last.

“Can’t get a single minute alone in this place—”

“No, you can’t,” Sami replied as she showed up, blanket around her shoulders and a quick hand stealing the bottle from her old friend.

Two big silhouettes followed: Axis and Jeda, cigarettes already about to be lit. It was always strange seeing them without their immaculate Elite uniforms.

Last—by a second—Elon appeared. Teleportation magic; taking the stairs was apparently beneath him.

“Show-off,” Axis joked as Elon dropped in front of them and lit both their cigarettes with a snap of his fingers, no words.

“I just looove when Axis stops with the serious face,” Sami said, passing him the bottle.

“It’s all a cover. He’s the sweetest,” Jeda said, stealing the bottle mid-pass.

Axis sat, long legs, shoulders hunched against the cold concrete wall, right next to Sukira. “He’s actually right. It is a cover.” His voice was still rough, and so was his overall look—broad shoulders, scars, tattoos, crisp red hair and matching eyes—but yeah, odds were his heart was the purest of the group.

Elon slipped a hand into Jeda’s pants pocket and fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes; took one. No comment.

“Thoughts on the latest news? Are we scared?” Jeda joked, hiding the tiny skip in his heartbeat at Elon’s casual reach. Since the Vlad disaster and Sukira’s abduction, things between them weren’t exactly smooth; the distance had grown, too. Jeda liked the sudden closeness. 

“We spent the whole damn morning building a plan,” Axis said, breath fogging white. “Not sure it’s good yet. Thoughts, Commander?” He looked to Sukira; five straight hours putting together something viable. She’d even skipped training; Ryn took over.

“I’m off duty,” she said plainly.

“Idiot,” Sami shot back. “Pretty sure those Prowar bastards tightened security after our prince of flames lit the place up.”

“You bet,” Jeda said—and sat just a bit too close to Sukira.

Elon rolled his eyes at both of them and took the passing bottle. He didn’t drink; just held it. When he spoke, his voice stayed low, even, no cracks:

“If they did tighten security… then I don’t see the point of you going to their facilities at all. An unverified map. A report delivered like a rumor. And even if it’s real…”—his gaze sharpened by a few degrees—“what exactly changes? The world’s still the same. The structures holding up the coming war are still there. The races still don’t trust each other. And you’re still sending the same person to take all the hits.”

He didn’t say the name. Didn’t need to.

“La Paz wants to believe it can fix centuries of hatred with surgical missions,” he went on. “But hatred doesn’t come apart like that. You don’t negotiate it, you don’t educate it, you don’t talk it down. It perpetuates. And pretending otherwise… is naïve.”

Short silence. He wasn’t staring at anyone in particular, yet everyone felt the edge.

“If you want to believe in that dream, go ahead,” he added. “Just don’t pretend this specific plan is anything more than a desperate reaction to a shaky lead.”

There was no heat in his voice. That made it worse. It was just a diagnosis. And for him, the diagnosis was final.

Reactions hit at once, tired but sharp:

“So pretty and so…” Jeda’s words died halfway. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “Then don’t get involved, as usual. Spare us the trouble,” Sukira said, dry, tired of the distance he chose to keep. “Really… What’s your problem? Why are you like this?” Sami asked, genuinely trying to understand.

A second passed.

“You’re really annoying, Elon,” Axis said, calm to the point of cruelty. “You and that performance where you pretend nothing gets to you. You talk about hatred and systems and the inevitability of war… but when the person you love was kidnapped, you burned an entire facility to get to her. You didn’t do that out of duty. Or morals. You did it because someone you cared about was taken.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Did you think about the others?” Axis kept going, merciless. “The ones who died in the other sites? The atrocities they might be repeating right now while you decide when to get involved? How many more people like her were trapped, same as her?”

He took a long drink from the bottle and added:

“You only move when the pain hits you.”

There was no mockery in it—only disappointment.

“You say La Paz is fooling itself. That we can’t change anything. That everything is fixed in place,” Axis went on. “But you, Elon, are the one acting like you’ve given up on the world. Like feeling is a selective luxury. Your vision thing, your power, your overachiever genius brain—none of it means anything if you only look when it suits you. We don’t get that luxury. We act even when we hate what we see. Even when we’re exhausted. Even when we’re terrified.”

Axis set the bottle on the ground, then picked it back up just to have something to do with his hand; he started scratching the edge of the etiquette without noticing.

“Maybe it is a trap,” he said. “We’re planning as if it is. We’re not idiots. We’d still rather do something than sit comfortably resigned to the thing you call realism. We’re already breaking our backs to find a way in, pull out whoever we can, and destroy whatever has to go. That’s called responsibility.

Then came the last blow, soft but clean:

“Stop talking like you’re not part of this. You are. You have been since you arrived. The fact you don’t want to accept it doesn’t make it less true.”

He looked at him with that particular brand of almost-affectionate contempt only Axis could manage.

“So please, please, skip the philosophical doubt speech,” he finished. “The map is in our hands, real or fake. If it’s fake, we adapt. What we can’t afford is your half-engagement. Your brilliance showing up only when the world pokes your feelings. Not now. Not with this.”

Elon didn’t move. His eyes stayed hooked on the fire in Axis’s, like he was trying to solve something behind it. Then the fire settled.

He didn’t defend himself. Didn’t argue. The punch had landed clean. His jaw tightened, barely—a tiny movement, obvious only to those who knew him. The gesture he made when a truth hurt—and he accepted it anyway.

Sukira tilted her head very slowly, as if studying both Elon and Axis at once. Her eyes, already tired, darkened a shade. The reproaches didn’t surprise her; what did was the way Axis had gone straight to the wound, no anesthetic. She dipped her chin in something close to agreement.

Sami let out a short breath. Not relief, not anger—one of those sighs that escape when someone says what you weren’t brave enough to say out loud. She dropped her gaze for a second, as if admitting she’d felt that same frustration more times than she’d like.

Jeda frowned, uncomfortable. Not because Axis had “gone too far”—Axis never went too far—but because watching Elon swallow a lecture without raising any defenses sent a weird little sting through his chest. Elon normally had a reply for everything. This time, nothing. Jeda wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

The wind cut through them, cold and sandy. The sound filled the space nobody dared to fill.

Finally, Elon blinked—once—and spoke in a very low voice, almost imperceptible, but steady:

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t agreement. It wasn’t surrender. It was something more dangerous: a quiet promise that he’d heard it. For real.

Axis nodded without looking at him, like that one word was enough.

The tension stayed hanging in the air—dense, uncomfortable, almost metallic.

Jeda clicked his tongue. “Well…” He lifted the bottle with a clumsy, almost celebratory gesture. “At least he said more than two sentences tonight. If he keeps it up, by the end of the year he might even admit he cares about us. One word per season. We’re making progress.”

“Baby steps,” Sami added, with a short, involuntary laugh.

Axis smiled, honest. Elon shot Jeda a look that was half warning, half resignation.

“What?” Jeda shrugged. “Someone had to say something before we all turned into statues.”

Nods went around the circle. That was enough. The night did the rest. Cigarettes glowed and died. Someone’s playlist refused to pair; Axis hummed an old tune until Sukira stole his cigarette—and his rhythm.

Sami bumped Elon’s knee with hers. “Speaking of idiots. Nano-tat. You’ve got the newest gen. How’s the itch? Phantom buzzing? Any secret government voice whispering truths?”

“It works. Privacy is… theoretical,” Elon said, thinking of the morning’s wake-up buzz.

“‘It works,’” Sami repeated, unimpressed. “I’ll tell Tech that. Thanks for nothing, prince.”

“As if he cares,” Jeda snorted.

“He does care,” Sami said, lifting a brow.

“It’s weird seeing you two get along,” Sukira said, grabbing the chance to tease her.

The comment landed soft, but the whole group took it as an invitation. The jokes followed—not as an attack, just out of habit:

Elon, without looking up from the floor: “We all know who’s actually in charge in that lab.”

Jeda adjusted his beanie. “Honestly? I respect the talent… and the patience.”

Axis took a sip. “Lately, Tech listens to Sami more than any of us.”

Sukira murmured, amused: “Lately? Tech only pays attention when she talks.”

Sami heard all of it without moving a muscle.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, flat as stone. “We respect each other as colleagues. That’s it. You should try it, makes work easier.”

Somehow, that shut them up immediately.

Jeda cleared his throat. “How boring… that killed the joke.”

“Because it wasn’t a joke,” Sukira said, resting her elbow on her knee and leaning in a little. “At least admit it’s curious,” she added, a pushing, teasing glint in her eyes. “I’ve known him my whole life. This is the first time Tech listens to someone who isn’t a screen.”

Sami stayed quiet, not because the sharp comments bothered her, but because something in them hit closer than she liked. They don’t get you, genius; you care about this just like the rest of us… you’re just bad at showing it.

Sukira decided to change the subject after catching the tangle of complex emotions coming off her friend. “Are requests open?” Sukira stole the bottle without looking. “Can we have a mute option?”

“Oh, no, no,” Jeda said. “Request denied.” He stole the bottle back. “I’ll be the first one to be isolated if we start muting channels.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad...” Elon took Jeda’s lighter, didn’t light anything, just kept it. “Axis—how’s Reno handling his last ‘regular’ school year?”

Sukira chimed in before Axis could answer: “Is he still hovering three centimeters off the floor when he’s bored? I’ve been working closely with him to get that under control.”

“Oh, so it is your fault he’s learned he can mess with other things’ gravity too?” Axis sounded delighted and exhausted at the same time. “He’s been doing tricks all damn time every day.”

“Guilty,” Sukira said, flashing a full-toothed grin.

Axis exhaled a laugh. “Teacher sent a note: ‘Your brother shows unusual… buoyancy.’ He’s trying. Hates homework. Wants Haru to help with everything. Never stops for a second. Keeps asking when the cadet trials start so he can do ‘real things.’”

“Teenage disease,” Sami diagnosed. “Terminal until kissed.”

“The kissing part? Facts,” Jeda said, leaning on his elbows.

“Speaking of ‘real things’—what’s the cut on your new toys?” Sami nudged Sukira’s shoulder. “Golden cadets. How small is small?”

Sukira studied the bottle’s mouth like it might answer. “I’m off duty. Stop making me work.”

“You already have names?” Jeda asked—light tone, not-light eyes. He didn’t care about her complaint.

She sighed. “Riku and Renji are definitely coming. Impertinent. Stubborn. Brave.”

“Reminds me of someone,” Elon said. The smile was small—very small—but it was there.

“Riku quit regular training, right? He’s with Research and Medical now? When my mom told me, I couldn’t believe it.” Jeda’s grin flashed, helpless.

“Yeah, a smart little brother must be shocking,” Sukira joked, but her tone softened when it came to him. “Renji doesn’t have the brain, but his heart is huge.”

“They’ll eat the world if you let them,” Jeda added, simple and proud.

“I won’t,” Axis said, deadpan. “Measured bites. No dessert.”

Sukira went on, almost reluctant. “And… they’re not even proper cadets yet, but you feel it when they walk in. Risha. Reno. Nima and Zevran.” A tiny pause. “Lola too. Too much energy in a small radius. I can’t ignore that. They need shaping.”

Elon didn’t answer. He stared at the city like it was a formula he wanted to solve.

“I’m keeping Haru,” Sami decided. “And we’re definitely sharing Riku—now that he’s on the Research track, he’ll be good.” She shivered. “Okay. Bed. I’m freezing.”

They got up in pieces, trading blankets back to their original thieves. Axis slapped Jeda’s shoulder once—a wordless good night. Sami turned automatically to drag Tech along, realized he wasn’t there, and smiled to herself.

Sukira rose last. Jeda touched her wrist like it was nothing.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a bit.”

No joke. No show. She vanished—clean, quiet—the kind of exit that only looks easy from the outside.

♥︎

They didn’t leave the roof; they just changed the air. The city was quieter, the bottle lighter, the blankets folded like flags waiting for a war.

Jeda leaned his back against the concrete edge. Elon stood at his left, gaze fixed on the horizon, hands in his pockets—the way a man stands when he’s trying to keep them from shaking over something that isn’t cold.

“So you really are together,” Elon noted, almost like an accusation.

Jeda shut his eyes for a second and smirked. “She’s letting me believe that.”

“And you let her kill them,” he said—almost conversational, like he was sharing a rumor with the wind. Then he turned his head, and the rumor turned into a blade. “The Velarics.”

“It took you a while to say it out loud. I was waiting for you,” Jeda didn’t flinch. He gave himself a moment before continuing, “I wasn’t involved. I didn’t point the weapon. I just stopped pretending I could pull it out of her hand.”

“That’s an answer for a committee.” Elon’s laugh had no humor. “You opened the door for her and looked away.”

“She would’ve gone through the damn wall if I didn’t open it.” Jeda’s jaw worked once, then eased. “I’m not scrubbing my hands clean, Sunshine. I made choices I can’t disguise as strategy. I was angry and then I was relieved. I wanted the old world punished, and I used the sharpest thing fate ever dropped in my lap. I saw the opening, and I took it.”

“You both use each other and call it love.” He murmured that. Elon’s eyes were the kind you only ever see in old tales—deep, furious, colder than the night itself. “You even sound proud,” he said, louder this time.

“I sound honest.” Jeda ignored the first part—he’d said it out of spite and it didn’t need addressing. He tapped ash over the ledge and watched it break apart before falling. “You want my confession? Here, take it. You’re not wrong. I carry my share. But don’t pretend you weren’t pushing her toward a different kind of death.”

“Don’t—”, Elon’s mouth opened, then closed. The breath he took was uneven. “I wanted her alive. And now she has that look in her eyes… she’s completely shattered. You’ve noticed too.”

“I noticed,” Jeda said, his voice dropping. “I’ve learned there are two ways to get it wrong with her. You either hold her so tight she suffocates… or you throw her into every fire and call it freedom.” He stared at his hands like they’d misbehaved without him. “We’ve done both.”

Silence, except for some distant dog barking and the low hum of a generator somewhere in the new wings of the buildings.

Jeda went on, quieter: “I get it now. Why you lost her. Why I could lose her too if I don’t play this right. She lives at the edge, and it’s intoxicating—the urge to try to fix. Makes you feel useful. Holy, even. But she doesn’t need saints. She needs… support.”

Elon swallowed that word like medicine.

“That’s why I pushed for the gold cohort,” Jeda said. “Not to make heroes. To make space. So next time someone needs help, I can say: ‘we already sent three ghosts and two pairs of boots,’ and she actually gets to sleep a whole night.”

Elon stared into the dark until the dark blinked first. When he finally spoke, the anger had seeped into something older. “I hate that you’re right.”

“Don’t be kind to me, my heart won’t take it,” Jeda joked, pressing a hand to his chest the old playful way, and resting his head on Elon’s shoulder. 

“She comes back to you now,” Elon said—not quite asking, not quite accusing anymore.

“Nah. I’m not that naïve. She always comes back to Risha,” Jeda said. “I’m just on the route.”

That earned a breath out of Elon—something almost like a laugh. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t lose her.”

“You’re gonna hate me even more for saying this, but… we will lose her. That’s a fact. Jeda’s tone wasn’t gloomy, but it cut sharp with sudden seriousness.“I’m just buying us a bit more time. And trying not to lose everyone else in the process.”

He nudged Elon’s arm with his elbow, like two school boys leaning on a wall during recess. “Go home, Sunshine. Your inspector’s gonna audit the curfew.”

Elon smiled—small, defeated—and in a pulse, he vanished.

Fucking sorcerer.

♥︎