Dawn broke over Future Pride, slicing through the smog with streaks of molten gold. The city hummed with life — drones whirring, holo-screens flashing, newsfeeds updating faster than the human eye could follow.
And in that light, a new name was whispered.
Ignis.
The ghost of darkness had become the flame of hope.
Under Urja's mentorship, Ronak had learned not to fight his energy, but to flow with it. The elements no longer tore him apart — they danced to his heartbeat. Water cooled his fire. Lightning sharpened his focus. Darkness became his shield, and light, his compass.
When the first crisis struck — a tech core meltdown in Sector Delta — Ignis rose through the smoke like a legend reborn. Flames spiraled around him, controlled, alive, bending away from those in danger. His living fire carved paths of safety, redirecting explosions before they bloomed.
He didn't destroy — he healed.
Within weeks, the city began to change. A storm that threatened the skyways? Ignis calmed it. A power grid implosion? He redirected the surge through his own hands. An airborne tanker aflame? He flew beside it, his aura absorbing the blaze like a sun reborn.
Civilians began to draw his symbol — a phoenix of light, wings spread in flame, rising from the ashes of neon. It appeared on walls, on digital art, in the pulse of street lights.
"Ignis saves again," the headlines glowed.
"The Fire That Protects Future Pride."
The city began to believe again.
But not all stories burn true.
As Ignis' fame spread, so did the distortion.
Corporations offered him sponsorships — holo-suits, branding contracts, even theme music. The same companies that once ignored heroes now saw Ignis as a product — an image to sell hope in high definition.
Holo-net feeds broadcast his rescues with slow-motion dramatics, and every act of heroism became a performance.
"Ignis — the New Face of Tomorrow."
"Powered by ZenithCorp."
Ronak watched his own face flicker across a skyscraper screen — edited, filtered, flawless — and felt a chill.
He had wanted to be seen.
But now, he wasn't sure who they were seeing.
Meanwhile, in the shadows, whispers spread through the underground.
"He's not human."
"That flame isn't natural."
"The ALL IN ONE shouldn't exist again — it'll bring the Collapse."
Some saw him as a symbol. Others, as a threat. And the Department of Meta Affairs fed that fear, releasing reports of "uncontrolled anomalies," hinting that Ignis' power could destabilize the planet's energy grid.
Each rescue brought more eyes — but fewer friends.
Even Urja noticed the change.
"You're saving people, but you're losing yourself," he warned. "Don't let them turn your fire into their fuel."
Ronak stood atop a tower that night, overlooking the neon ocean below. The city shimmered with the glow of his symbol — radiant and false.
He whispered to the wind,
"They see a hero. But I feel like a weapon."
Lightning flashed far off, painting the horizon in silver and violet. Somewhere beyond the city, a new storm was brewing — one unlike any before.
Urja appeared beside him, the old firelight flickering in his eyes.
"This is just the beginning, Ignis," he said quietly. "Every light casts a shadow. And yours... has begun to move."
Far below, in a corporate penthouse, Director Kael of the Department of Meta Affairs watched a feed of Ignis rescuing civilians. His reflection glowed red from the screen's light.
"Let the world worship him," Kael murmured. "The higher he flies, the harder he'll fall. And when he does... the ALL IN ONE will finally be ours."
Above it all, Ignis stood beneath the stars — his flame steady, his heart torn between hope and fear.
He had become the light the city needed.
But every fire, no matter how pure, leaves behind a shadow.
And his was just beginning to rise.