The skies over Griza were painted in deep mauve and dusky blues, streaked with the last remnants of sunset. Castor stood alone on the rooftop of the apartment Snowflake was helping him get—bare, hollow rooms below, a bed hastily laid out in the corner, boxes still unpacked. The place didn't feel like home yet, just a space between what was and what's coming.
He leaned against the metal railing, staring out at the cityscape. Neon signs flickered to life in the distance, and the hum of traffic buzzed faintly beneath the wind. His mind replayed it all—Ethan's burning eyes, the warehouse engulfed in flames, the weight of the Aegis Shield in his hands.
Even now, Ethan's voice lingered like a curse.
"You left me, Castor. You all left me to die."
Castor clenched his jaw, knuckles whitening against the railing. Guilt was a strange thing. It didn't come from knowing you did something wrong—it came from the sickening possibility that maybe, just maybe, you could've done more.
The air around him shifted slightly, a familiar presence behind him.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Snowflake told me you might be here," came Isla's soft voice.
Castor blinked and turned slightly. She approached quietly, hands in her coat pockets, her eyes searching his face.
"I figured you might want someone to talk to before you vanish into your lone-wolf phase."
He gave a small, dry smile. "I wasn't planning on vanishing."
"Good," Isla said. "Because if you try, I'll hack every camera in Griza and track you down."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound bitter. "Thanks."
They stood in silence for a while, letting the wind speak between them.
Then Isla asked, "Do you think you'll make it back?"
He didn't answer right away.
"...I'm going to try."
"Try harder than usual," she said, her voice catching slightly. "Because this whole mysterious-hero, guilt-laden burden crap? It's overrated."
Castor turned to face her properly now. Her face was a blend of concern, frustration, and quiet sadness.
"I'm scared," she admitted, stepping closer. "Not just for you, but for what happens to all of us if you don't come back. Misha, Snowflake… me."
He exhaled and lowered his gaze. "I'm scared too."
She nodded. Then, gently, Isla placed something in his hand—a small patchwork keychain, sewn together from blue, grey, and black thread. Something homemade.
"I made it before we left for Orlandis," she said. "Didn't know if I'd give it to you. But now feels like the time."
Castor turned it over in his hand. It was stitched in the shape of a tiny cube—like the ones they used to trap monsters. His heart tugged.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Just don't die," she whispered, stepping back. "It would piss me off."
Back in his room, Castor sat cross-legged in the dim light of a desk lamp. The Aegis Shield leaned against the far wall—massive, ancient, and silent. Its surface shimmered faintly under the light, reflecting something more than just metal. Legacy. Fate.
He pulled out a notepad and scribbled notes—Ethan's last words, Medusa's possession, possible locations where the final confrontation might occur. His mind shifted into planning mode, parsing threats, variables, scenarios.
He checked his gear: the Aegis Shield, a weapon necessary to take down Medusa. A hacking ring Snowflake lent him that could disable city surveillance if needed, a dose of adrenaline injection—just in case. Flash bombs, etc.
Then he pulled out something personal: a photo.
It was old, creased from being folded too many times. Ethan, Misha, and Castor—grinning outside their shared lab space, years ago. Ethan's eyes were full of life. Misha was mid-laugh. And Castor… Castor looked free.
He stared at it for a long time.
"I'm going to bring you back, Ethan. Or I'll go down trying."
The night was silent, but it hung heavy with tension. Clouds drifted lazily across a pale moon, casting fleeting shadows over the crumbling remains of the school. It had once been a place of childhood and learning, but now it stood gutted and hollow, as if the building itself had witnessed something monstrous and dared not speak of it.
Castor stepped through the shattered front doors, his hood pulled over his head, the Aegis Shield strapped to his back like a silent guardian. His boots crunched against broken tiles, echoing faintly through the skeletal halls. Dust swirled with every movement, and the air carried the faint, bitter scent of charred wood.
He didn't hesitate. Not anymore.
Inside the old auditorium, at the heart of the school, stood Ethan Walker. Or at least, what remained of him.
He looked human in shape—same height, same stance—but there was something off. His skin carried a faint, unnatural pallor. His eyes glowed like embers beneath the hood of his jacket. And his smile was too wide, too calm. Medusa was in control now, wearing Ethan's body like a trophy.
"You came," Medusa said, voice rippling with a dual-tone that didn't belong to any one person. "Just like I hoped."
Castor met her gaze coolly, resisting the instinct to flinch. He'd prepared for this. Weeks of research. Days of internal torment. And now, the Aegis Shield—a relic of legend, real and tangible in his grip—was his only weapon.
"I'm not here to play games," Castor said. "Let him go."
Medusa chuckled, her voice laced with disdain. "Let him go? You don't understand, do you? Ethan was already broken. I gave him purpose. I gave him clarity. I showed him who the enemy truly is."
"And who is that?"
"You."
The word hung in the air like a dagger.
Castor's jaw tightened. No more talk.
Without warning, Medusa lunged.
She was fast—inhumanly fast. One blink and she had closed half the distance, her fists raised like iron hammers. But Castor was already moving. With the precision of someone who had studied every corner of this encounter, he yanked the Aegis Shield from his back and angled it to reflect her gaze.
A shockwave of psychic force exploded outward the instant Medusa looked into the mirrored surface.
She screamed—no, he screamed, because for a split second, Ethan's voice cracked through. The shield had worked.
But it wasn't enough.
Medusa recoiled, shaking her head violently before her expression settled once more into that cruel calm.
"Clever," she hissed. "But tricks won't save you."
Castor had no intention of trying.
He slammed a smoke bomb to the ground.
A dense cloud burst outward, swallowing the stage in gray fog. Medusa's eyes scanned the area wildly, searching through the haze. But Castor had already repositioned. His mind, honed through endless simulation, was playing three moves ahead.
She stepped forward—and her foot slid violently out from under her.
The oil.
Castor had scattered it earlier, lining the floor in key areas. Medusa fell sideways, off balance, just as he hurled the lighter from the sleeve of his coat.
The flame soared.
In an instant, the oil caught fire.
A wall of flames erupted around her. For a second, it worked. Her jacket ignited. Her hair smoked. She stumbled back, momentarily blinded.
Castor didn't celebrate.
Because he knew what came next.
Medusa shrieked—and then vanished.
He barely had time to raise the Aegis Shield before her fist smashed into it like a meteor. Castor was flung back, crashing into the broken remains of the front row seats. The breath was knocked out of him, and pain bloomed across his chest.
She was faster now. Stronger. The fire hadn't slowed her—it had awakened her.
Medusa launched forward again, teeth bared in a feral grin. "You're more than human, aren't you?" she said, weaving through smoke and flame like a ghost. "No normal boy reacts like that."
Castor's fingers found the flash bombs in his belt pouch.
He threw one to the left, then right, then center.
Three bursts of blinding white light exploded in sequence.
Medusa screamed again, this time truly disoriented. Castor rolled away, coughing from the smoke, and leapt to his feet. His reactions were sharper than any average fighter's. His instincts, something subconscious, guided him to dodge a wild punch that could have turned his skull to pulp.
He slashed through the thick smoke with his shield, charging forward, pushing Medusa back with a feint and a swipe. Then he landed a solid hit—shield-first—into her side.
She staggered.
But not for long.
In a blur, she retaliated.
Her fist slammed directly into Castor's chest.
The impact was sickening. The wind flew out of his lungs. He felt something crack. His body lifted off the ground and crashed through the remnants of a teacher's desk. He lay there, vision flickering, the world spinning.
Blood filled his mouth.
Medusa stepped closer, boots crunching over debris. "You're not normal," she said again, more curious now than angry. "What are you?"
Castor couldn't answer.
His hand trembled on the floor, trying to push himself up, but every muscle screamed in protest. The shield lay a few feet away, flickering with some strange, ancient energy.
He looked up, barely conscious.
And in that moment—he saw it.
A memory.
Two boys laughing in a sunlit field. One chasing the other with a toy sword. They were younger then—innocent. Ethan's smile had been genuine. They had no powers, no curses, no gods in their blood.
Just dreams. Stupid, simple dreams.
Castor's hand closed into a fist.
He couldn't pass out. Not now. Not here.
He forced himself to his knees. Blood dripped from his lip. His limbs shook. But his resolve was absolute.
He stood.
"I'll save you…" he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I'll save you, Ethan Winters."
Medusa paused. For the first time, her smile faltered.
Because something deep inside that stolen body twitched.
Something remembered.
And Castor… was not done yet.