Some days, I forget the light ever hurt.
The glow in my chest doesn't pulse like it used to. Now it's a hum in the background, like the city's own breath echoing in my bones.
Echo jokes, I'm part generator now.
She's not entirely wrong.
The city isn't perfect.
The League's remnants still try to hold the borders.
Some Hollow signs still flicker on alley walls before vanishing again.
But for the first time in my life, people aren't asking whether someone is powered.
They're asking what they're building.
The Divide still exists.
It's not an army anymore.
Not a rebellion.
It's something quieter. Something harder.
A bridge.
A place for the in-between.
Reese runs training programs out of the old warehouse. Half code, half combat. He's already grooming the next dozen leaders—none of them want the spotlight. That's how I know they're ready.
Delryn teaches, too. History. Strategy. Mistakes. She doesn't sugarcoat anything. She never did.
Synn patrols the outer rings. Keeps the shadows from coming back in. She doesn't trust peace. But she respects it.
Echo… she's still here.
Closer than ever.
But also more herself than I've ever seen her. Still sharp. Still quiet.
Still watching the sky like it might blink.
We built something real.
Not a system.
Not a kingdom.
Just space.
For people to heal.
For people to choose.
For people to be.
Sometimes I walk the perimeter at night.
Just me.
No guards. No lightshows.
And when I get to the edge of the old Origin site—now sealed, silent, cold—I listen.
The hum is still there.
Still soft.
Still steady.
Still me.
I don't know how long I'll hold.
A year.
A decade.
Forever.
Doesn't matter.
As long as the world stays upright, I'll keep balancing it.
Because once upon a time, I was the spark.
Then the fuse.
Then the anchor.
Now?
Now I'm just the quiet.
And sometimes…
That's enough.