The rock bit into Ilias's palms like a broken promise.
He pressed his cheek against the mountainside, fingers clawing for purchase on stone that didn't care if he lived or died. His arms burned. His legs shook. Sweat dripped into his eyes despite the winter cold, and somewhere above him—of course above him—Seraph's voice drifted down like she wasn't also climbing a mountain in the middle of nowhere.
"You good down there?"
Ilias didn't answer. He was too busy not falling.
"You don't look fine."
"I said I'm fine," he muttered, pulling himself up another few inches. A loose stone tumbled past his face, bouncing off the cliff and disappearing into the drop below.
He didn't look down.
"You're sweating."
"It's hot."
"It's winter."
Ilias gritted his teeth and hauled himself up another handhold. His Resonance flickered weakly in his chest, trying to push warmth through exhausted muscles, but it was like trying to start a fire with wet wood. Still healing. Still broken.
"Mountains are stupid," he said.
Seraph's laugh echoed off the rocks. "You're the one who said you'd follow me anywhere."
"I lied."
"Too late. Almost there. Just a few more—"
"I know how climbing works."
"Do you though?"
Ilias reached the ledge and saw her hand extended toward him, haloed by the late afternoon sun. He grabbed it, let her pull him up, and collapsed onto solid ground like a man who'd just escaped death.
Which, technically, he had.
"I hate you," he said.
Seraph grinned down at him. "No you don't."
Ilias pushed himself upright, brushing dust and pebbles off his clothes, and finally looked up.
The words died in his throat.
The city sprawled below them—small from this height, but alive. Golden sunlight painted the rooftops, turned the streets into rivers of shadow and light. He could see the construction crews working on the damaged districts. Could see people moving through the markets. Could see smoke rising from chimneys, music drifting up faint and fragile.
Then his eyes caught on something to the east.
A massive crater.
Dark. Deep. Like someone had scooped out a piece of the earth and forgotten to put it back. The forests that used to ring that part of the city were just... gone. Flattened. Burned away. And in the center of it all, that wound in the ground—wider than three city blocks, edges still scorched black.
Ilias stared at it.
"You made that," Seraph said softly beside him.
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
"Ilias." She turned him gently by the shoulder, pointing to another angle. "You made that."
The crater looked different from here—deeper, somehow. More real.
"I know," he managed.
"Do you?" She wasn't accusing. Just... asking. "Because every time we see it from a different spot in the city, I have to remind you."
Ilias swallowed hard. "I was trying to save everyone."
"You did." Her hand found his. "But you also did that. And I don't think you've really looked at it yet."
He had. He'd seen it from street level, seen the rescue crews working to make sure no one had been caught in the blast zone. Seen the barriers they'd put up. Seen the way people walked faster when they passed it, like they could feel the violence still lingering in the air.
But seeing it from up here...
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I made that."
Seraph squeezed his hand. "And you're still here. Still standing. That's what matters."
Ilias pulled his eyes away from the scar he'd carved into his home and looked at the rest of the city instead—the parts that were still whole, still breathing, still alive because of what he'd done.
"Okay," he admitted, voice rough. "Maybe this was worth it."
Seraph stepped closer, shoulder touching his. "Told you."
They stood there in silence, the wind pulling at their clothes, the world breathing below them. Ilias tried to memorize the moment—the way the light caught in her hair, the way her hand found his, the way everything felt both infinite and fleeting at the same time.
"One month," Seraph said, softer now.
Ilias turned to look at her. "One month."
"That's... not a lot of time."
He squeezed her hand. "Then we make it count."
She turned to face him fully, and he saw it in her eyes—the fear she'd been hiding behind smiles and teasing. The knowledge that thirty days wasn't enough. That it would never be enough.
"Promise you'll come back," she whispered.
"I promise."
"Promise you won't forget us."
"Seraph—"
"Promise."
Ilias pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her like he could shield her from the inevitable. "I could never forget you."
She tilted her head up, and he kissed her.
Slow. Careful. The wind trying to pull them apart but failing.
When they broke away, her forehead rested against his, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest—fast and fragile and entirely too precious.
"Thirty days," she breathed.
"Yeah."
They stood like that for a while, two people holding onto a moment they couldn't keep, the city sprawling below them like a promise of what they'd be leaving behind.
Eventually, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of gold and rust.
Seraph pulled back with a sigh.
"We should probably start climbing back before it gets dark," she said, glancing down the mountain path that wound its way back to the city.
It would take at least an hour to climb down safely.
Ilias looked at the ledge, then at the ground far below, then back at Seraph.
She recognized the look in his eyes immediately.
"Ilias, no."
"Ilias yes."
"You're still healing. You can't—"
He scooped her up princess-style before she could finish the sentence.
"Ilias Venn, don't you dare —"
"Too late."
He backed up, giving himself room for a running start.
"ILIAS!"
He grinned at her. "I can do whatever I want."
Then he jumped.
Seraph's scream tore through the air—half terrified, half laughing—as the ground rushed up to meet them. Wind roared past, pulling tears from Ilias's eyes, ripping the sound from his lungs.
"YOU'RE INSANE!" Seraph shouted, arms locked tight around his neck.
"YOU LOVE IT!"
The ground came fast.
Ilias bent his knees, let his Resonance flare—just enough—and hit the earth like a meteor.
**BOOM.**
Dust exploded outward. The ground cracked beneath his feet, spiderwebbing in all directions. He stumbled slightly, caught his balance, and set Seraph down gently like he hadn't just fallen a hundred feet.
She stood there, heart hammering, hair wild from the wind.
Then she punched his shoulder.
"You... you absolute *idiot*."
Ilias rubbed the spot she'd hit, still grinning. "But I'm *your* idiot."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
"I really do."
He pulled her close. "Liar."
She kissed him instead of arguing.
---
The streets were alive.
Hammers rang against metal where construction crews worked to rebuild the districts the Entity had torn apart. Music drifted from someone's radio—old Afrobeat, the kind his mother used to play. Children darted between market stalls, laughing and shouting. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices that blended into the constant hum of the city.
Ilias breathed it in—grilled meat, fresh paint, exhaust fumes, someone baking bread.
Home.
People noticed him almost immediately.
A vendor rushed over, pressing wrapped food into his hands before he could protest. "Ilias! Ilias! Take this, take this!"
"Ah, no, I can't—"
"Please. You saved my daughter. Take it."
The sincerity in the man's eyes stopped Ilias's protest cold. He accepted the food, throat tight. "Thank you."
An old woman stopped them next, holding out a small carved figure—intricate, beautiful, made from dark wood that gleamed in the sunlight.
"Blessed child," she said. "For protection."
Ilias took it carefully, turning it over in his hands. "This is beautiful. Thank you."
She smiled, patted his cheek like he was still a child, and shuffled away.
More people came. More gifts. Fruit. Trinkets. A scarf someone's grandmother had knitted. Ilias and Seraph tried to refuse, tried to explain they didn't need anything, but the city wouldn't listen.
By the time they'd made it three blocks, their arms were overflowing.
"Ilias, we need more hands," Seraph said, struggling to balance everything.
"I'm Blessed but I can't carry all this alone!"
She laughed. "Some hero you are."
A street kid ran up—couldn't be older than ten—eyes wide with wonder.
"Are you really him?" the kid asked, breathless. "The one who saved the city? The one who flew above us?"
Ilias knelt down, careful not to drop anything. The kid was staring at him like he'd stepped out of a story.
"Yeah," Ilias said. "That's me."
"That's so cool! Can you show me your powers?"
Ilias smiled, something warm and painful twisting in his chest. "Maybe next time. I'm kinda busy right now."
"Okay! Bye!" The kid ran off, already shouting to his friends about meeting the Blessed.
Seraph watched him go, something soft in her expression. "You're good with them."
Ilias stood, adjusting the bags threatening to slip from his grip. "Used to be one of them."
They walked in silence for a while, weaving through the crowd, until Seraph spoke again.
"They love you."
"They don't even know me."
"They know you saved them. That's enough."
Ilias didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
---
Kojo's apartment was small—worn but clean, the kind of place that had seen better days but still held together through sheer stubbornness. Everyone had crowded inside, talking over each other, laughing, filling the space with noise and warmth.
Revub stood in the tiny kitchen, stirring something that smelled like heaven. Steam rose from multiple pots. Oil sizzled. The scent of jollof rice, fried plantains, and chicken stew filled the air so completely that Ilias's stomach growled.
"You two look like you robbed a market," Kojo said, taking bags from them.
Seraph collapsed into a chair with a dramatic sigh. "People kept giving us things."
"That's what happens when you're a hero, guy," Revub called from the kitchen, not looking up from his cooking.
"I'm not a hero," Ilias said automatically. "I just—"
"Did what anyone would do!" everyone chorused in perfect unison.
Ilias laughed despite himself. "Okay, okay, I get it. I need new lines."
Myra leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, studying him with that sharp look she always had—the one that saw through bullshit like glass.
"So when you leaving us, Mr. Academy?"
The room went quiet.
All the laughter, all the noise, all the warmth—it drained away like someone had pulled a plug.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Ilias took a breath.
"About that..."
---
He told them everything.
The Academy. The Blessed who'd given him the card. The offer to train, to learn control, to become something more than a scared kid with too much power and no idea how to use it.
The one-month deadline.
When he finished, silence hung in the air like smoke.
Kojo stood slowly, walked over, and Ilias braced himself for anger, for arguments, for the older brother lecture about abandoning them.
Instead, Kojo just looked at him.
"When?" he asked.
"One month. The Blessed who gave me the card said I could have time. To be with you all. Then he'll come get me when the semester starts."
"One month?" Revub's voice drifted from the kitchen. "That's—"
"Not enough time," Myra finished.
"I know," Ilias said quietly.
Kojo studied his face for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"But you have to go."
Ilias blinked. "What?"
"It's one thing to have power, Ilias. It's another thing to know how to use it. To use it *right*." Kojo's voice was steady, certain. "We did research. The Academy... they're the good guys. They'll teach you things we can't."
Revub joined them, wiping his hands on a towel. "Plus, you think we want you here when you don't know your own strength? Last week you sneezed and cracked a window."
"That was *one time*—"
"Exactly. One time too many." But Revub was smiling, the kind of smile that said *I'm scared for you but I'm proud of you too*.
Myra pushed off the doorway. "Plus if you stay here with that pretty boy face, every girl in the district gonna be after you."
The tension broke. Everyone laughed.
Everyone except Seraph.
"Myra," she said, voice tight.
Myra raised her hands. "I'm just saying! Academy girls probably the same."
Ilias turned to Seraph, found her hand under the table, squeezed. "You know I wouldn't—"
"I know." She squeezed back harder than necessary.
Kojo's expression turned serious again. "We support you. All of us. You go learn. You get strong. Then you come back and show us what you became."
Something hot and painful lodged itself in Ilias's throat. "Thank you. All of you."
"Now can we eat?" Revub said, breaking the moment like he always did. "Food getting cold."
---
Night had fallen by the time everyone left.
Ilias sat on the rooftop with Seraph, the city sprawling below them—lights flickering on like stars coming to life, music drifting up from open windows, the distant hum of traffic never quite fading.
Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her. The night air was cold, but the warmth between them pushed it back.
"One month," Seraph said quietly.
"Yeah."
"That's thirty days."
"I can count."
"Thirty days. Then you're gone for... how long?"
Ilias hesitated. "I don't know. A semester? Maybe a year?"
She pulled away to look at him. "A *year*?"
"Seraph—"
"That's... that's a long time, Ilias."
"I know. But I have to do this. I have to learn control." He met her eyes, made sure she saw the truth in his. "What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt *you*?"
She touched his face, palm warm against his cheek. "You would never hurt me."
"Not on purpose. But if I lose control—"
"Then we make sure you don't. Together."
"That's what the Academy is for."
Her eyes glistened. "I know. I just... I just got you. I don't want to lose you."
Ilias pulled her close, buried his face in her hair, held her like she was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. "You're not losing me. I'll write. I'll call. I'll come visit if they let me."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Her voice cracked. "Thirty days."
He kissed her forehead. "Then we make every single one count."
They sat like that for a long time—two people holding each other against the inevitable, the city breathing around them, alive and indifferent and beautiful.
Finally, Seraph spoke again.
"Stay with me tonight."
Ilias pulled back to see her face. "Seraph..."
"We're adults. And we don't have much time. I just... I want to be close to you. Please."
He searched her eyes, looking for doubt, for hesitation.
Found only certainty.
"Are you sure?"
She stood, pulling him up with her. "I'm sure."
She led him inside, and he followed.
"One month," he said.
"Thirty days," she answered.
"We'll make them count."
She looked back at him, a small smile on her lips despite the tears threatening to fall.
"Yeah. We will.".