The lunchroom buzzed around his hyper-sensitive ears. Laughter, trays clattering, the occasional shout from across the tables, but where Ruben sat, it all felt distant, like background noise from a life he wasn't really living.
He sat alone at a corner table, half-heartedly picking at the edge of his bread roll, his tray untouched. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry. Just distracted.
Then she appeared.
Ana Grigori.
She sat down across from him without asking. Just dropped her tray and settled into the opposite seat like she'd rehearsed it. No greeting. No explanation. Her food remained untouched too.
Ruben blinked, stiffening slightly. Out of all the people in the school, Ana was the only person other than Corbin who knew. About what happened to him. About his overdose. And they hadn't spoken since.
And now, here she was, across from him at the table.
He glanced at her tray, then back at her. Her expression was unreadable. Her eyes, usually sharp, were dulled down to something neutral. She just stared at her water bottle like it might do something.
What am I supposed to say?
Ruben shifted in his seat. He didn't know if this was going to turn into some kind of confrontation, or worse, something emotional. The silence stretched. It pressed against his shoulders. Tightened his chest.
She ambushed me. That was the only way he could describe it. She just sat there and now… he was locked in this moment with no script. Nothing to fall back on.
Ana finally broke the silence.
"You alright?"
The question was too simple. It felt like a trap.
Ruben gave a quick smile, not fake, but it was rehearsed. "Yeah. I've been fine."
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
He added, casually, "I don't even think about it, honestly. Doesn't really pop up anymore."
There was a pause. Her gaze lingered just long enough that the smile slipped from his face. His shoulders lowered slightly.
She knew.
Of course she did. I couldn't get past that Ego.
The truth was, he did think about it. Not the same way as before. The urge hadn't come back. But when it did try to surface, it didn't tempt him. It repulsed him. Like tasting something spoiled you once thought you craved.
Ana's eyes softened just a little, like hearing that silent truth, even without him saying it, gave her some quiet reassurance. The corners of her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but was holding it back.
"This'll probably be the last time we see each other."
Ruben nodded once. The food court might have been loud, but in this corner, it felt like only their table existed.
She had already told him that she never planned on becoming a Paladin, she didn't have the power for it. And she just didn't like the fight they had to put up with.
Plus she wanted better control of her Ego.
Ruben sat back a little, fingers drumming lightly against the plastic of his tray. Then he glanced down. "I'm sorry."
Ana blinked, caught off guard. "For what?"
"For how I treated you," he said. "Back then. I ignored you. I acted like your feelings didn't matter. Like your problems were less than mine and I am sorry for that."
He swallowed. "I'm glad we got to speak before you left for your new school and I went off for Paladin trials. Even if it was only this on such a sour note."
Ana stared at him, completely still. Then she looked down, a flush of pink creeping into her cheeks. Her eyes shimmered.
She looked away, lowering her head slightly, a curtain of dark hair shielding part of her face. Her voice cracked when she spoke.
"I'm sorry too," she whispered. "I didn't try to help you. I saw how bad it was getting and I just… let it happen. I didn't try because it was easier not to. Because watching you be miserable made me feel less alone."
Her breath hitched. "And when it happened, when you dropped, I couldn't stop thinking that it was my fault. That if you'd died, I'd have to carry that."
Ruben's chest ached. He wanted to say something to make it better, but everything felt too small for the moment.
Instead, he said softly, "I'm not dead. So it's fine."
Ana wiped at her eyes quickly, pressing her palm against her cheek. "That's not the point.
"It is," he said. "You don't have to regret anything. Not anymore. From this point on, we don't say 'I wish.' And we shouldn't 'regret'. We just do what we can. And when it's over, we accept that we did it because we thought it was fine at the time."
Ana looked up at him. And this time, the tears didn't fall. They just sat there, held in the corners of her eyes. Her lips trembled slightly, then she gave a small nod.
They didn't say anything after that.
The tension slipped from the table like steam off of warm food. They both leaned back a little. Breathed a little easier.
Somewhere across the cafeteria, a tray clattered on the floor, followed by laughter.
Ruben glanced at Ana. She wasn't smiling, exactly, but she looked lighter. Softer around the edges.
They both sat like that. Distant from the noise and having peace for the moment.
***
"So… what do you think of that?" Ruben asked, grinning as he tilted his head back and let out a short laugh.
He had just told Dario that he has competition in Corbin saying he is going to eclipse him. And that he would rise higher, and burn brighter than anyone before him. Ruben had delivered the story with enough edge, as if testing the waters, waiting for a reaction.
Dario blinked once, then tilted his head with the slow, theatrical delay of a stage performer preparing a punchline. And then…
He howled.
It wasn't just a chuckle or a laugh. It was a full-bodied, from the gut eruption that echoed off the glass panels of the high atrium surrounding them. His laughter spilled through the open rooftop space like it had been caged all week and was finally free.
Ruben couldn't help it. He joined in, his shoulders shaking, his grin widening. It was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. And yet, Corbin had been so serious about it, even now, he was off training on his own.
They were sitting in what Dario had always called, 'The Sky Room,' a circular balcony observatory sealed off by glass walls and a massive domed ceiling. The stars blinked overhead, faint and cold and far too many for any one man to count. Through the transparent dome, the full scope of the night sky stretched out, unmarred by clouds or pollution, magnified by the quiet hum of the barrier field filtering the light.
Eventually, Ruben's laughter faded into tired breath. He leaned back in the lounge chair and wiped at his eyes. "Don't you think he stands a chance at taking your spot."
Dario didn't answer right away.
His laughter tapered into silence, and his body shifted, no longer leaning forward, no longer boisterous. He sat still, head tilted upward toward the stars.
"I hope he can." He said.
The words came out quiet. Not sad. But not lighthearted either. They felt… heavy.
Ruben glanced at him. There was something there, not regret exactly, but weight. Like Dario had carried too many titles, too many expectations, and the thought of someone surpassing him wasn't a challenge to his ego, but maybe relief.
But Ruben didn't press on. Because Dario didn't give him the chance. His gaze fell back to him, a faint smile still hovering at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were sharp now, sharp and searching.
"Why didn't you say that about yourself?"
Ruben blinked. "Huh?"
Dario leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. "Unless you believe you could be Warlord and you're just being clever. Playing the long game. Letting your rival show his hand while you quietly stack yours."
Ruben shook his head. "I don't really care about that title."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Ruben said, more firmly now. "I don't."
Dario gave a slow nod, the kind that didn't confirm agreement, only acknowledgment. Then he looked back up at the stars again, voice casual, too casual.
"Then what's your goal?"
That landed harder than expected. Ruben's shoulders tightened. He didn't like that question, not because it was intrusive, but because he didn't have a good answer. He'd spent the entire day hearing others speak their truths like prophecies. Corbin's ruthless ambition. And Freya being so determined to jump at the chance to find her sister.
And he'd had nothing. Still had nothing.
His jaw tensed. He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Isn't being a Paladin enough?"
Dario didn't respond right away. He reached over to the small wooden table between them and picked up a glass of a dark plum wine, swirling it once before setting it back down untouched. His fingers tapped the rim.
"Sure," he said finally. "Being a Paladin is enough."
Ruben didn't like the way he said it, too easy, too light, like it came with strings.
"But," Dario continued, "being a Paladin is also… a very convenient place to hide."
Ruben's brow furrowed.
Dario looked over at him, his voice soft but steady now, no longer a performer, no longer the laughing legend. "You think Paladin's just fight monsters and save lives. That is just part of it. Being a Paladin means access. Privilege. Immunity. It means having power in ways that go far beyond physical strength."
He tapped his temple lightly.
"Paladins can override many government orders. Enter any zone marked restricted to the greater public. Make decisions that could harm hundreds. Thousands. They are protectors, yes, but they're also weapons. And sometimes, the system points the weapon the wrong way. And all you can do is follow the order."
His voice darkened slightly.
"I've met more Paladins than I can count who had no idea why they were doing it. They passed trials. Got medals. Gave speeches. But when it came time to stand up, really stand up, for something they believed in? They froze. Or worse… they obeyed."
Dario leaned back into his seat again, folding his arms.
"That's what separates the strong from the important. Not technique. Not bloodline. Not even raw power. Its purpose. If you don't have one, someone else will make you follow theirs."
Ruben looked down, fingers twitching against the fabric of his sleeve. The words clawed a little. Because they were true.
"You want to be a Paladin?" Dario asked rhetorically. "Good. Then ask yourself; why? What are you willing to bleed for? What are you ready to die for?"
The words sat in the air like smoke.
Ruben swallowed. "You think I need a reason to survive? Nobody else does."
"No," Dario said. "You need a reason to live. Surviving is easy. Just keep breathing. Living is harder."
He stood, suddenly, the glass untouched. He paced toward the center of the dome, where the stars shone brightest through the curved ceiling.
"I became a Warlord at nineteen," he said without turning. "Youngest in history. Only broken recently by some seventeen year old kid from Albion. Back then I was looked at as some miracle child. People believed I was chosen. Truth was, I had no reason, no goal. I lived as the system's puppet and did things I will regret until the day I die. I found it hard to look at it as doing anything more than my job."
Dario sounded as remorseful as he said, but Ruben couldn't think of anything terrible he could have done. He was definitely the kindest person he had ever been around. Especially for an older figure.
"It was only after I had stopped following that system and living my own way that things felt right. Although that is also when things started getting shaky within my position."
Ruben didn't know what he was talking about now, he only had to chalk it up to it most likely being his position as a Warlord.
Dario turned right around and faced Ruben again. His silver eyes glinted in the moonlight.
"You don't have to want the title. But you better fight for something. Because if you don't, the world will eat you from the inside out. No matter how much power you have humming under your skin."
Ruben nodded, slowly. The words sank in deeper than he expected.
Dario walked past him, resting a firm hand on Ruben's shoulder as he passed.
"Live the life you chose," he said.
Then he was gone, disappearing through the automatic sliding door that sealed behind him with a soft hiss.
Ruben sat alone in the Sky Room, looking up at the stars.