The broken skyline of the ruined city gave way to a patch of stability, a rare island amidst the storm. Smoke still curled faintly into the air, and buildings bore jagged scars from the eruption, but ahead stood the evacuation center—one of the few still intact. Its walls were chipped, its doors barely clinging to their frames, but compared to the devastation behind them, it might as well have been a fortress.
The moment the survivors realized where they were, relief broke out in the air like sunlight through storm clouds. Mothers clutched children tighter, the elderly wept openly, and even hardened men who had marched silently until now sagged against the walls with shaky laughter.
"We… we made it," one of them whispered.
The sound spread like wildfire, sighs turning into smiles, exhaustion into trembling embraces as families recognized one another in the crowd already sheltered within. The evacuation center's doors swung open, and those inside rushed to meet them—tearful reunions blossoming before the trio's eyes.
For the first time since they'd dropped into this hell, the three young heroes allowed themselves to stop. Chris exhaled loudly and leaned on his greatsword like a crutch, his wide grin returning as he glanced at his companions. Yuzu, though pale and sweat-drenched, managed a small nod and tugged nervously at his collar, the faintest ghost of relief flickering across his face.
Viktor said nothing, but his eyes softened—just barely—at the sight of families mending themselves in the middle of ruin.
Chris, unable to resist, lifted his free hand and gave a flamboyant thumbs-up toward Yuzu. "Well, look at that. We're not just good—we're damn good."
Yuzu blinked at him before letting out a small, nervous laugh and mimicking the gesture, his fingers trembling but his smile genuine. Almost reluctantly, Viktor followed suit, raising his hand into a calm, understated thumbs-up. It was clumsy, awkward, but in that moment, they shared something unspoken.
It was then that the boy—the same one who had been among the stragglers outside, the one who'd clung to his mother until moments ago—ran back toward them. His small footsteps pattered against the stone, drawing their attention.
He stopped in front of Viktor, clutching something in his tiny hands. His eyes shone with a mixture of awe and determination.
"I… I wanted to give you this," the boy said, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. He extended his hands, revealing a battered little action figure, its paint chipped, one arm cracked but still intact. It wore a heroic cape, the symbol of a protector.
Viktor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if unsure what he was looking at. His gloved fingers didn't move to take it immediately.
Chris leaned forward with a chuckle, his grin widening. "Oh-ho! Hey kid, is that for me? I am the strongest one here, y'know." He flexed an arm dramatically, his afro bouncing with the motion.
The boy shook his head without hesitation and pushed the figure closer to Viktor. "No! It's for him! Mister is so cool and super heroic!"
Chris froze mid-pose, his grin faltering as Yuzu snorted quietly behind his hand.
The boy smiled up at Viktor, his eyes shining. "Thanks to him, me and my mom found our dad again!" He pointed back toward the evacuation center, where his parents held each other tightly in the crowd.
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Viktor slowly reached out, his long fingers curling carefully around the little figurine. He lifted it into the light, studying it with that same unreadable expression he wore on the battlefield. Something flickered behind his eyes—something sharp, something old—but it passed as quickly as it came.
The boy rocked back on his heels, hesitating for just a moment before whispering, "I hope… I hope I can be a hero too someday."
Chris's grin returned, softer this time, as he reached down and ruffled the boy's hair. "Kid, if you're half as brave as you were out there, you'll outshine us all someday."
The boy beamed and ran back toward his family, the sound of his laughter joining the chorus of relieved voices filling the evacuation center.
Viktor looked down at the figure still in his hand. His reflection stared back at him faintly from its chipped surface. He turned it once, then closed his fist around it, slipping it silently into his coat pocket without a word.
Chris couldn't resist. The moment the boy disappeared into the crowd, he leaned on his greatsword and shot Viktor a grin wide enough to split his face.
"Well, would you look at that? Mr. Silent is officially somebody's hero," Chris teased, his voice carrying just enough to make Yuzu snicker beside him. He puffed his chest out in mock imitation of Viktor's stoic stance, deepening his voice dramatically. " 'I fight without wasted movement, I cut down my foes without pause… oh, and by the way, small children like me now… wait a minute.'"
Yuzu, still catching his breath from their earlier battle, chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. "He's not wrong, though. You did… really good out there." His tone was genuine, quiet but steady. His golden eyes flicked toward Viktor, hesitant yet full of admiration. "I… I only hope I helped as much as you did."
Viktor didn't answer right away. Instead, he withdrew the figurine from his pocket, turning it in his palm once more. His eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, softened as he pressed it against his chest. For a fleeting second, the hardened mask he wore cracked. His breath came unevenly, and his lids lowered as though the weight of the small token pressed heavier than the blade he carried.
He closed his eyes. Dread and acceptance swirled together in the hollow of his chest, a contradiction he couldn't untangle. His body felt taut, as though the figurine itself carried a burden he recognized but could not name. A bead of moisture welled at the corner of his eye—foreign, unwelcome, but undeniable.
Why? He didn't know.
Why did it feel like this gesture, so small, so innocent, was pressing against something deeper—something buried, something he wasn't supposed to remember?
The silence between the three lingered, fragile, almost sacred. Yuzu glanced toward Chris, uncertain, while Chris tilted his head as if he might say something else—another jab, another tease to break the tension.
But before either could speak, the moment shattered.
Their communicators crackled to life, static lacing through the silence. Then came a voice—cold, steady, and unbearably slow.
"...A Herrscher signal has been detected."