The Accord's message was supposed to be a celebration —a proof that the world could agree on something again.No armies. No commands. Just one shared moment where every settlement, every voice, would connect.
It took them months to prepare.They rebuilt the Citadel's old relay system, rewired the towers, wrote speeches polished down to emptiness.Unity, balance, peace.All the same words that used to mean control.
And somehow, I'm part of it.
Rai meets me three days before the event.He looks tired, the way leaders always do when they realize they've built something too large to steer.
"You came," he says.
"You asked."
"I wasn't sure you'd answer."
"Neither was I."
He studies me for a long moment. "They think you're a myth. You could stay that way. It would be easier."
"Easier for who?"
"For everyone who wants to believe peace just happened."
"Then maybe it's time they remember it didn't."
Rai exhales through his nose. "You're going to divide them."
"Truth always does."
He doesn't argue.
The broadcast site sits on the edge of Citadel — what's left of it.Half the city is rebuilt; the other half is still bones and rust.They chose the open plaza where the Directorate once announced its laws.Now it's filled with scaffolds, cables, and screens large enough to be seen from miles away.
Technicians rush around, muttering into headsets.Uraraka stands near the stage, reviewing her notes.When she sees me, she smiles — tired, uncertain, but genuine.
"I didn't think you'd actually come," she says.
"You told me to."
"Sometimes you listen too literally."
"It's a new habit."
She laughs, the sound cutting through the static of machinery."You're not here for me," she says quietly. "You're here because you can't stand seeing them forget."
"I'm here because they already have."
The crowd begins to gather long before sunset.Workers, farmers, students, former soldiers — every type of life I once thought lost.They fill the plaza and spill into the streets, faces turned toward the stage where the Accord's emblem glows against a white screen.
When the broadcast starts, Rai steps up first.He speaks about rebuilding, about connection, about lessons learned.The words are careful, the tone deliberate.It's a good speech.Too safe.
Uraraka follows.She speaks of memory — of mistakes worth remembering, of change that doesn't erase the past.She looks straight at me when she says it.The crowd listens. Some cheer.Others just nod, thoughtful.
Then it's my turn.
I walk onto the platform.The light is harsh.Hundreds of cameras blink red; thousands of people wait.Some already recognize the face they thought was only a legend.
For a moment, I consider turning back.Letting the myth stay perfect.
Then I speak.
"You've built something worth keeping," I begin. "Not because it's flawless — but because it isn't."
The plaza quiets.Even the static fades.
"I've watched this world tear itself apart, then stitch the wounds shut with names it barely remembers. Heroes. Villains. Systems. Each one promised order, and every one of them broke."
I look over the crowd — not down at them, across to them.
"The Accord won't save you. It's not supposed to.Peace isn't a thing you own. It's a choice you keep making, even when it stops being convenient."
Someone shouts, "You're the reason the world burned!"The crowd stirs. Murmurs spread.
I nod.
"Maybe. But the ashes let you see what was underneath.And what was underneath was always this — people, standing together because they finally ran out of someone to follow."
Silence.Then, slowly, applause.Uneven, uncertain — the sound of a world trying to decide whether to agree.
Uraraka steps forward, takes the mic."This isn't one voice," she says. "It's all of us. That's the point."
The crowd steadies.The cameras keep recording.
For the first time, the broadcast doesn't look like an announcement.It looks like a conversation.
When it ends, I leave before the speeches resume.Rai catches up halfway down the stairs."You turned the whole thing upside down," he says, not angry, not pleased.
"You wanted honesty."
"I wanted unity."
"Those two never last in the same room."
He laughs softly. "Then maybe that's how it's supposed to be."
That night, the Accord's message spreads across every remaining relay.Some celebrate.Some argue.Some fear it means the end of the comfort they just learned to trust.
I sit on the roof of a half-built house at the edge of Citadel and watch the lights flicker in the distance.Each one is a voice deciding what comes next.
For once, I don't need to decide for them.
The world doesn't need heroes anymore, I think. Just witnesses brave enough to remember.
I close my eyes.The city below keeps breathing — uneven, uncertain, alive.