The heart of Future Pride beats cold.Once the city of dreams — now, a fortress of obedience.The skyline glows with artificial suns, holographic banners fluttering like prayers to a false god: HELIOS CORE.Every corner bleeds blue light. Every whisper is recorded.
From the tallest spire to the lowest alley, the same voice drones from holo-speakers:
"Peace through Order. Order through Helios."
Citizens walk with eyes downcast, guided by invisible boundaries.Every rooftop bristles with surveillance drones — black-winged watchers scanning for "meta anomalies."Every alley hums with Helios scanners, painting the streets with grids of red light.Even the wind carries the static hum of control.
The Brandie Unit, clad in armor that gleams like mirrored steel, patrols relentlessly.They don't wear capes. They wear compliance.Each strike they make is sanctioned. Each death, justified.Their leader, Commander Voss, speaks to the media with a calm smile:
"We don't need heroes anymore. We have Helios."
At the top of the shining Helios Spire, President Gooes meets with the Nation Space Elite, a coalition of off-world defense magnates and orbital engineers.The room glows with holographic projections of planetary grids and weaponized satellites.
"Imagine," Gooes says, his voice smooth, persuasive, "a network that sees every threat before it's born.No chaos. No rebellion. No heroes."
The proposal is simple — and terrifying:A merger between Helios Core's plasma reactors and the Elite's orbital systems — creating a citywide Defense Matrix, powered by controlled plasma energy.
Future Pride will no longer be a city.It will be a weapon.
Behind the glass walls, Marcell Vorn watches silently, his eyes gleaming with hunger.He knows the truth: the only energy powerful enough to stabilize the new reactors… is the one that flows through Ignis himself.
Meanwhile, on the forgotten outskirts of Old Pride, beneath the fractured skeleton of a bridge scorched by lightning, Ronak stands alone.The city glows in the distance — cold, beautiful, and heartless.
His coat flutters in the neon wind. His hands tremble with restrained fire.Each breath carries the weight of ghosts — Urja's wisdom, Saurabh's sacrifice, the cries of a world that once believed.
He watches a massive hologram bloom across the skyline — a propaganda ad depicting smiling children saluting the Brandie Unit.Beneath it, the Helios slogan gleams like scripture:
"Heroes belong to history. The future belongs to Helios."
Ronak's eyes narrow. The golden flame flickers in his palm — faint, but alive.
"If they've forgotten what heroes stand for…""…then I'll remind them."
As the night wind howls, the Great Trio watches from the shadows — silent witnesses to the rebirth of resolve.
Martin murmurs, "He's not the same boy we trained."Lurther's cloak ripples in darkness. "No. He's something else now."Arsenic smiles faintly, silver energy glowing at his fingertips. "He's the balance reborn."
Above the ruins, the flame ignites — gold threaded with white and black.It dances against the storm, defying the artificial glow of the city.It is not just light. It is will.
For the first time in a long time, the air in Future Pride feels alive again.
Somewhere, deep in the city's networks, an old broadcast feed stirs —a forgotten signal labeled "IGNIS PROTOCOL."And through a thousand screens, for just a moment, people glimpse it —a burning phoenix, wings unfurling in golden flame.
The city pauses. The drones hesitate. The silence hums with something long lost:Hope.
The Phoenix has risen again.Unseen. Unchained. Unstoppable.
The world built on control is about to remember what freedom feels like —and what a real hero truly burns for.