Three years later.
The penthouse felt too big in the mornings now.
The usual sound of Ronnie clinking his coffee mug or muttering about paperwork was gone—replaced by the hum of the city outside and the low buzz of the refrigerator.
Elion, taller now, lean with the build of someone who trained regularly, stood in the kitchen barefoot, flipping an egg in the pan. His black hair was longer, brushing against his cheekbones, and there was a quiet sharpness to his eyes.
Elara, now twelve, sat at the counter sketching in her notebook, her art more detailed than ever.
Elion: "We're out of milk again."
Elara (without looking up): "Dad usually gets it on his way back…"
The unspoken truth hung in the air: Ronnie hadn't been "on his way back" in days.
Elion walked Elara to her school first, hands in his pockets, watching the streets with the same alertness Ronnie used to. The city had changed—corners that were once lively now felt tense, and certain alleys carried the wrong kind of silence.
After dropping her off, he headed to his own school. Teachers noticed the difference in him—less talkative, quicker to challenge anyone who stepped on his toes.
During lunch, instead of sitting with friends, he slipped out behind the school to check the side streets. Old habits from the slums never truly left him.
Once classes were over, he met Elara, and they took the familiar walk to the treatment house.
Their mother was there, smiling like always, but even she noticed Ronnie's absence.
Mother: "Is your father working late again?"
Elion (forcing a smile): "Yeah. Just a lot going on."
Elara sat close to their mom, showing her sketches, while Elion leaned back in the chair, staring out the window at the city skyline.
By the time they got back to the penthouse, the neon glow had taken over the streets.
Elion reheated leftover pasta, and the two of them ate in front of the TV without really watching.
When Elara went to her room, Elion stepped out onto the balcony, leaning on the railing. From here, he could see the faint flashes of light far away—signs of a fight somewhere in the lower districts.
He knew Ronnie was out there.
But he couldn't help wondering how much longer this absence would last… and if the city might swallow them whole before Ronnie made it back.
It was nearly midnight when the sound of keys at the penthouse door jolted Elion from his seat on the couch. He'd been pretending to study, but in truth, he'd been waiting.
Ronnie stepped in—but he wasn't the same as before.
His suit jacket was torn at the sleeve, his shirt collar loosened, and faint burn marks laced across the edges of his gloves. His hair was disheveled, and his usually sharp eyes looked heavier, as if weighed down by weeks of sleepless nights.
Ronnie: "…You're still awake."
Elion: "You've been gone for five days."
There was no anger in Elion's voice, just a quiet accusation.
Elara came out of her room rubbing her eyes, but when she saw Ronnie, she brightened and hurried to hug him. Ronnie crouched to return it, holding her a moment longer than usual.
Elara: "I missed you, Dad."
Ronnie: "Sorry, kiddo… Things got messy out there."
They moved to the kitchen. Ronnie poured himself black coffee, ignoring the hour, while Elion leaned against the counter with crossed arms.
Elion: "Dad… What's going on?"
Ronnie: "The new president—word came to the street that he is a corrupt piece of shit. The protestants that were against his candidacy in the first place…they radicalized."
Elion: "They became more dangerous?"
Ronnie: "…A new group. Well-organized. Not like the street gangs. They've got resources, tech, and people who would do horrible things…without even thinking."
Elion: "Terrorists…"
Ronnie nodded slowly.
Ronnie: "I'm calling them the Circle. For now."
Elion: "And you've been fighting them alone?"
Ronnie: "I have a team. Or… I did. Most of them are gone now."
The heaviness in his voice made Elara glance up from where she sat, worry creeping into her expression.
Elion: "Then why aren't you telling the higher-ups? The police force—"
Ronnie (cutting him off): "Because I can't trust everyone in the force. Not with what I've seen. This isn't just crime, Elion—it's something much bigger. If we mishandle it, this whole city could burn."
Ronnie finished his coffee and finally looked directly at both of them.
Ronnie: "I'll keep you safe. No matter what it takes. That's my promise."
He meant it—but for the first time, Elion wasn't sure that promise could hold against whatever the Circle truly was.
The next morning Ronnie was already gone. Elion was already up making his routine breakfast for him and Elara.
By the time he was finished preparing breakfast, Elara woke up.
Elara: "Dad is already gone?"
Elion: "Yeah, seems like the Circle is some really hard work."
Elara: "I hope Dad is alright."
Elion shook his head.
Elion: "There is a reason why Dad is the High Authority of Neoterra Prime. Not only is he strong, but he is also smart. So don't worry, sis."
Elara smiled. She stuffed all her eggs inside her mouth—quickly getting down from her chair.
While they walked hand in hand towards the car, Elion's head was flooded with so many thoughts:
"Isn't there something I could do?"
"I have a gift, but why do I still feel this powerless?"
"Did I even change? Am I still the weakling from the slumps?"
Once he arrived at school, he stood motionless in front of the classroom door.
His mind was flooded with questions and thoughts.
Only when the teacher asked what he was doing did he snap out of it.
Elion: "I am fine."
Teacher: "Really? You don't seem too well; did you even sleep?"
Elion (loud): "I said I'm fine!"
Elion became unintentionally loud. He quickly realized what he had done and excused himself to the teacher.
Teacher: "It's alright, Elion, sit on your chair and go to the school nurse afterwards."