I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going crazy.
But as I stood in an empty hallway, talking to a man in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel like I was. And yet, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the idea of working with Paragon. It was the antithesis to everything I believed in. He was the antithesis to everything I believed in.
“Speak, Moros. I don’t have time to waste. My mind is strained. My form has weakened.”
“You’re nothing but an overgrown asshole.” I walked past him. I wouldn’t wait for Professor Mystic to get me out of here. And I wouldn’t listen to whatever it was he said. “No different to Jensen or the Houses of Doom. And, frankly, I’m sick of your crap.”
I heard his laugh. It echoed across the room, like he was all around me. Everywhere. In another life, it would have probably terrified me. Now I just found it annoying. I just walked through the maze of hallways until I found an open door leading outside.
“When you need me–and it is only a matter of time–all you’ll need to do is call. Call and reach out. I’ll always be here.”
The laughter faded away as soon as I stepped out of the building. A stone road and cafes, restaurants, and shops–all of them of course swamped with people.
A statue in the middle of it all, taller than any man. A faceless statue made entirely out of stone. It was a man standing up with his hips in the air, a cape draped over him. Almost instantly I recognized it as the first hero.
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A plaque was at the bottom of the statue. The words Eighteen of April, Nineteen Thirty Eight were engraved on it.
The start of everything. Even back before Charles wiped the world’s memories, he had been a mystery. When I was first growing up, he was spoken of like a legend. Barely seen by people–this was an age where even TVs were new and he didn’t stop for photos. So the legend grew. A hero of heroes. Someone not even Paragon could surpass.
And the thing that would bring everything together. I took out my phone and looked at Kent Smith’s email once again. Then a thought popped in my mind. I activated my cell data, typing in Kent Smith April Eighteenth.
Low and behold, an article. Published on April Eighteenth, three years ago. An article that celebrated the eighty years since he first appeared. Remembering the First Hero, by Kent Smith and Lily Long.
Immediately I took the link and shared it with Birgit, Ahmed and Ivan.
I turned around to leave. Professor Mystic would probably teleport us soon. Back to the building, to the hallway. This time without any ghosts of my past. No Paragon to try and confuse me.
Just me.
“Alexander Adamos. Alexander Adamos.” I found myself repeating my name under my breath. Something I’d been doing more and more these past few months in moments like these.
Like it would keep me from being overtaken by Jacob again. It was a stupid fear. I knew that. Jacob and I had made a deal. That was in the past. I was free to live my life. To do whatever I wanted. To help people. In ways both big and small.
Solving Alpha Surge’s murder. Dealing with the Houses of Doom. Meeting with Sadid’s sister. Training the new guy, Amir. Even meeting Birgit’s parents.
Something shifted in me. I looked down. My body was glowing. Ever so slightly. Gold and red. Professor Mystic. A smile fought its way to my lips. Paragon was wrong. And I would prove it. This was just another beginning.
But this time, we were ready for it. All of us.