The city glowed like a stage waiting for its star.
Zephir walked through the crowd barefoot, his crimson crown spinning above his head like a living star.
His smile was that of a child finally coming home after a long punishment.
But no one smiled back.
Ahead of him, his family stood in silence.
His father, Adrian, stepped forward wearing a reinforced uniform, a high-tech rifle designed to kill mages in his hands.
The weapon's blue light reflected off his tired face.
—Zephir… —his voice trembled slightly— I will put an end to this. I should've done it years ago.
Zephir tilted his head, confused.
The blast crossed the air like lightning.
He raised his blade and split the energy in two; the explosion painted the square in a storm of red light.
—Thanks… for not forgetting me, —he said with a broken smile.
Before he could take another step, Nova, his sister, appeared in a flash of silver speed and kicked him in the chest.
Tears streamed down her face as she shouted,
—We're not making that mistake again!
Zephir fell to his knees, staring at them — the people he loved and the ones who feared him.
Still, he smiled, wiping a tear from his cheek, not sure if it was his or hers.
—Looks like I'll need to fight to win back my place… —he joked softly, clinging to the optimism that had always defined him— I just hope my room still has my stuff.
Zephir wiped the dust from his chest, still smiling faintly.
The red aura around him pulsed once — then exploded outward.
From his back burst crimson wings, vast and radiant, feathers like ruby shards.
His brothers didn't hesitate.
Icarus, wreathed in fire, launched first — a blazing comet with fists burning white-hot.
Kael followed, each step freezing the ground to glass.
And Noel, ever the tech-savage, filled the air with drones and homing missiles.
Zephir laughed as the sky turned against him, his wings cutting through the swarm in fluid arcs.
He moved like an old winged mecha from an ancient anime — majestic, relentless, and absurdly human.
For a heartbeat, he thought he could still make them remember.
Then a railgun round tore through his shoulder.
It wasn't a warning shot.
It wasn't restraint.
The impact spun him midair, a trail of blood spiraling like petals.
His father reloaded, cold and methodical, aiming for the chest.
Zephir gasped, clutching the wound.
His crimson light flickered, uncertain — like hope itself.
He looked at them, at the faces once filled with love, and whispered between shaking breaths,
"Hey… that wasn't kind. That's not fair…"
The words trembled with disbelief. His voice broke.
"Are you… trying to kill me?"
Zephir knelt in the dust, bleeding, struggling to make sense of what was happening.
The silence is overwhelming; some truths are spoken even in the absence of words.
Adrian approached slowly, the sound of his boots echoing in the ruined square. He raised his rifle, resting its barrel gently against Zephir's forehead. The metal was cold—like the quiet embrace of death itself.
"Son…" Adrian's voice trembled, heavy with something that sounded like regret. "Every choice we make in life— even the ones we don't— shapes our future. Maybe you just had bad luck this time."
He sighed, finger tightening on the trigger.
"Don't move. Don't make this harder than it already is."