I sank onto the weathered bench, its familiar creak blending with the soft murmur of the river. The question I posed to the empty space beside me—“Mind if I join you for a bit?”—was more out of habit than hope. It had become a ritual, a small act that made the weight of everything feel just a little lighter.

Morning light filtered through the willow’s branches, casting delicate, shifting patterns of gold and green across the ground. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the crisp scent of water and freshly cut grass. The park was still wrapped in that early calm—the kind that only exists before the city fully wakes, when the world seems suspended in a fragile, quiet peace.

It was Edith who had first brought me here, years ago. She told me how this spot had been their refuge. This bench, this tree, this view of the river—it was all part of a routine she, George, and a young Maggie had shared. Whole afternoons spent under the shade, tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks while Maggie’s laughter filled the air, pure and unfiltered. Those memories were woven into the fabric of this place, lingering like distant echoes.

Now, it was just a quiet corner of the park. Edith’s stories lingered here like morning mist, caught in the branches of the willow. Stories of a man who didn’t need superpowers to be a hero. George had kept the neighborhood grounded when everything else seemed to be crumbling. I’d never met him. He’d passed long before I stumbled into this city, trying to decide if it could ever really be home. But I felt like I knew him through Edith’s fond recollections, Maggie’s laughter as she shared tales of his quirky habits, and the reverence in the way neighbors still spoke about him, as if he were just out for a walk and would be back any minute.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” I murmured to the empty space beside me. “People remember the big names—the superhumans, the villains, even the monsters that tore through here. But no one talks about the local heroes. The ones who kept the neighborhood running while the rest of us were too busy trying to save—or wreck—the world.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips.

“You’d probably tell me to quit whining and do something about it. Knock a little sense into me.” I chuckled softly at the thought. “If only you’d been around back then. Maybe things wouldn’t have spiraled so far.”

The river shimmered in response, sunlight dancing on its surface like a thousand tiny mirrors. A few ducks paddled by, leaving delicate, fan-shaped trails in their wake. The park was waking up around me—joggers setting their pace, footsteps blending with the hum of cyclists weaving through the paths. A couple of dogs tugged at their leashes, noses twitching with the promise of adventure in every scent. Their excited barks punctuated the morning calm, scattering it with brief bursts of joy.

“Anyway,” I murmured, leaning back against the bench, gaze drifting lazily over the water. “Maggie’s been doing great, you know. You’d be proud of her. She’s turned that market into something really special. Always adding something new—fresh produce, more handmade goods… She’s even putting up with my soaps and candles, though I think she does it just to have something to laugh at.”

I smirked, picturing Maggie’s expression the last time she rolled her eyes at one of my ridiculous product names. She always pretended to hate them, but there was a twinkle in her eye, like she was holding back a smile.

“Edith says Maggie got her stubbornness from you. Guess that’s why she’s managed to keep everything running strong, no matter what gets thrown her way.”

I let out a slow breath, feeling the familiar calm of this place wrap around me like a gentle embrace. Talking to George like this—pretending he could hear me—was like borrowing strength from a past that wasn’t mine. It kept me grounded, gave me something to hold onto when the present felt too fragile. It was one of the few places where I felt like I could truly breathe.

“Morning, Dave!” A familiar voice called out, pulling me from my thoughts.

I glanced up to see Mikey, the coffee vendor, pushing his cart down the path. The wheels squeaked softly in the morning stillness. He waved, his apron smeared with the usual stains of half a dozen spills and his face creased in a genuine, welcoming smile.

“Hey, Mikey.” I nodded back. “Starting early today?”

“Yeah, you know how it goes.” He shrugged, parking his cart a few steps away. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, making me realize just how long it’d been since my last cup. “Your usual? Dark roast, right?”

“Yep,” I replied. “The darker, the better.”

Mikey nodded, already reaching for a cup. “Just black?” he asked, then raised a brow with a teasing grin. “Or are you feeling fancy today? I’ve got a splash of vanilla syrup if you want to sweeten things up.”

“I’m sweet enough already,” I quipped.

“Suit yourself.” He chuckled softly, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into a cup. As he handed it over, his gaze drifted to the empty space beside me. “You know, I still half expect to see George sitting there sometimes. It’s… strange, not having him around.”

I paused, letting his words settle in. “Yeah?” I prompted gently, taking a careful sip. It was hot, a little too bitter, but somehow perfect.

Mikey nodded slowly, the years weighing heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah. He used to come by every morning—never missed a day. Always brought that old thermos of his. I’d fill it up for him, just plain dark coffee, same way you like it. No sugar, no cream—nothing fancy.”

I felt a tightness in my chest as I glanced at the empty space, imagining George there, thermos in hand, watching the sunrise like it was a private show just for him. “Sounds like he was someone special.”

“He was.” Mikey’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Not because of what he did, but because of how he did it. He’d sit here, sip his coffee, and then head off like he had all the time in the world. But it wasn’t just a routine. It was… I don’t know, like he was checking in on everything. Making sure it all stayed the way it was supposed to be.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a guy without a title.”

Mikey let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You have no idea. People leaned on him for just about anything. If someone needed help moving a couch up three flights of stairs, George was their guy. If Mrs. O’Leary couldn’t get her stubborn old dog into the vet’s office, George would show up, leash in hand. Kids forgot their bike locks? George would watch over their bikes until they got back. He was… everywhere, doing all those little things you never think twice about until they’re gone.”

He hesitated, the humor fading from his eyes. “And then one day, he just didn’t show up. No warning, no goodbye—just… gone. Like a light switch flipped off, and the whole neighborhood dimmed.”

I stared down at the dark surface of my coffee, a sudden heaviness settling in my chest. “I guess that’s why people still talk about him, like he’s still here.”

Mikey nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “Yeah. You never really know how much one person can keep everything together until they’re not there to do it anymore.” He blinked a few times, swallowing back whatever memories were threatening to surface. Then he managed a faint smile. “Anyway, I should get moving before the morning rush hits. Let me know if you need a refill, alright? First one’s always on the house.”

“Thanks, Mikey.” I watched as he pushed his cart down the path, stopping occasionally to chat with early morning joggers or a couple of vendors setting up their stalls. He left me alone with the quiet murmur of the river and the lingering scent of coffee.

I turned back to the water, letting the memory of George—faint though it was—wash over me. It was one of the few places where I felt like I could truly breathe.

Meridian was a fitting name for the river. It wound through the city like a network of veins, its countless channels threading through every district, connecting everything and everyone. People said it was like the meridians in the body that carried vital energy—a lifeline running through Zenith City. The river’s aura stretched far beyond the park and riverwalk, its calming presence threading through every channel, creek, and hidden branch. No matter where you stood along its winding path, you could sense its steadying influence—stronger near the main channels, more subtle in the smaller streams—quietly cooling tempers and easing tensions. The air along the river felt heavier, pulling the tension out of you before it could surface. Arguments fizzled, tempers cooled, and fists unclenched. That quiet influence kept the riverfront one of the safest places in the city, even though it lay between districts where chaos was as common as sunrise.

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I’d seen the river’s calm aura work its magic more times than I could count. Just a few weeks back, a couple of supers let a street brawl spill over into the riverfront. It started like these things always do—shouting, posturing, the whole chest-thumping routine. One of them looked like he was about to set the whole park on fire, and the other shimmered like he’d stepped straight out of a chrome factory. They circled each other, hurling insults that could’ve peeled paint, until they stumbled a little too close to the river’s edge.

That’s when it happened—their aggression just… deflated. The walking flame-thrower’s fists, which had been radiating enough heat to make the air ripple, cooled down to barely a flicker. The shiny guy? His metallic sheen dulled, like a chrome bumper left out in the rain too long.

It was almost funny, watching them fizzle out like that. One second, they were ready to level half the park, and the next they were just standing there, looking around like they couldn’t remember what they’d been mad about. No smashed benches, no screaming—just the river’s soft ripple, like it was chuckling softly to itself.

But even the calm here couldn’t keep everything in check. There were still scars—cracked stones from stray blasts, jagged marks along the river’s retaining walls where someone had been hurled through them. A reminder that peace was never absolute.

After a few more minutes of taking in the scene—the river, the park, the small moments that made up this quiet corner of the world—I sighed and pushed myself up from the bench, brushing imaginary dust from my jeans.

“Alright, enough stalling. Dr. Shaw’s not gonna be thrilled if I show up late again,” I muttered, casting one last look at the bench and the old willow tree that towered above it, standing guard over this little patch of tranquility.

“Catch you later, George,” I added softly, before turning and starting down the path.

The riverfront stretched out like a watercolor painting, greens and blues blending softly beneath the morning’s golden light. I let myself fall into an easy rhythm, footsteps keeping time with the gentle murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of metal as vendors set up their makeshift stalls. The river itself shimmered beside me, a quiet current flowing through the heart of the city, drawing everything into its peaceful embrace. There was a sense of order here, a kind of harmony that seemed almost magical, as if the chaos beyond its banks couldn’t quite breach this serene little bubble.

It wasn’t the fastest way to Dr. Shaw’s office in the Steel District, but taking this detour? Worth every extra minute. Starting the day with this calm made the city’s chaos feel like a distant hum. The other routes were quicker—through the morning rush, past honking horns and construction clatter, a stream of people too preoccupied to even look up. But they set the wrong tone, like priming a grenade and praying it wouldn’t go off before noon. Walking along the Meridian? It was like slipping beneath the surface of a still pond—the city’s roar muffling into a tranquil lull that let me actually breathe. A quiet reprieve before plunging into the frenzy of the Steel District.

Besides, Dr. Shaw always seemed to know when I skipped it. Maybe it was the way I held myself—more tightly wound, ready to spring. I’d sit down on her too-comfortable couch, and she’d barely look up from her notes, one eyebrow lifting in that subtle, all-knowing way.

“Did you skip the river today?” she’d ask, and I’d feel like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner.

Every time, I’d fumble through an excuse, and every time, she’d just nod slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she delivered her standard reminder: Routine’s not just about getting from point A to point B, Dave. Sometimes, it’s about what you take in along the way.

She wasn’t wrong. But then, she rarely was.

I glanced out at the shimmering water, the sunlight breaking into rippling bands of gold and silver.

Yeah, this was definitely worth the extra time. If nothing else, it made me feel like I wasn’t just another cog being wound tighter and tighter by the relentless machinery of the city. Here, at least, I could pretend I was more than that.

The archway ahead loomed like a sentinel at the edge of the riverfront, its ancient stone bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. A polished metal plaque at its base read Steel District—the letters gleaming like a freshly buffed shield, standing against the encroaching chaos that awaited beyond. Bright late-summer blooms lined the path leading up to the archway, a final burst of color and life before the harsh, metallic world on the other side.

I slowed my pace, letting my gaze linger on the weathered stone—the threshold where the calm of the Meridian ended, and the raw energy of Zenith City began. Crossing through always felt like passing through an invisible barrier, stripping away the riverfront’s tranquility, replaced by something electric and unwelcoming.

The change hit immediately—the clean scent of water and grass vanished, replaced by the sharp tang of exhaust and sterile ozone. The air grew colder, like stepping into a room where you’re not wanted.

I took a deep breath as I stepped through the archway, the softer scents of the river instantly giving way to a metallic tang. The serenity of the riverfront clung to me like a coat I wasn’t ready to shed.

The Steel District rose around me, an urban jungle of glass and steel. Skyscrapers jutted out of the ground like the fangs of some great beast, their mirrored surfaces reflecting the city in harsh, angular fragments. The air buzzed with a low, electrical hum, refracted a thousand times over by the towering facades.

The air buzzed with a charged energy—thick, oppressive, and pulsing with the desperation of thousands clawing their way up the corporate ladder. Every building seemed to strain upward, reaching, clawing at the sky as if each were locked in a never-ending struggle to outdo its neighbors. And at the heart of it all, casting a shadow over everything, stood Kane Industries.

The building towered like a dark monolith of obsidian glass, its polished surface swallowing light and distorting the skyline in warped, twisted shards. It loomed over the district like a predator, its sheer height dwarfing even the other skyscrapers around it. The massive silver “K” emblazoned near the top gleamed like an unblinking eye, catching the light and scattering it in every direction—a beacon, or maybe a warning.

Kane Industries wasn’t just a headquarters. It was a fortress. No flashy superhuman abilities needed. Gideon Kane’s influence ran deeper, seeping into every deal and decision that shaped this district.

Even from here, Kane’s presence was inescapable. It bled into the streets, slipped through alleyways, and seemed to weigh on every conversation. His logo marked everything—from office blocks to the reflective sheen of the security drones overhead—branding the district like cattle.

A prickle of unease ran down my spine as I stared up at the building. It wasn’t fear—no, not quite. It was something more insidious, a weight that pressed in on you, making your breath catch and your thoughts slow, like being judged by something far greater than yourself. Just standing there, under its shadow, you could almost feel the tendrils of Kane’s reach coiling around you, measuring your worth, deciding whether you were a threat or just another pawn in his game.

I glanced back at the archway leading to the riverfront. From here, it looked almost out of place—like a portal to a different world, where the rules were simpler and the stakes lower. But that world was behind me now, and the Steel District’s cold, relentless energy was already seeping into my bones, settling on my shoulders like an invisible weight.

“Perfect. From spa day to stress test in under a minute.” I muttered. “Goodbye, calm. Hello, chaos.”

I straightened my shoulders and turned away from the archway, squaring myself to face the towering glass and steel around me. My eyes drifted up to the massive structure of Kane Industries, the monolithic building dominating the skyline like an unholy altar to power and control. Its influence bled into every corner of the district, casting a long, oppressive shadow over everything.

I took a deep breath, the crisp, metallic taste of the Steel District filling my lungs, and forced myself to keep walking. The streets were already bustling with people—professionals in sharp suits moving with purpose, their eyes fixed straight ahead, not a single glance spared for the strangers passing by. Everyone here was on a mission, every step a calculated move in a game that felt too convoluted for an outsider like me to understand.

But that’s how things worked here. Even the pedestrians seemed to know their place in the unspoken hierarchy that radiated out from Kane Industries. Heads down, eyes forward, movements quick and efficient. There was no lingering, no wandering. You either had a reason to be here, or you didn’t belong.

A digital billboard flickered overhead, the words Kane Industries flashing across the screen in bold, silver letters. Beneath it, a slogan scrolled past in smaller text: Power Through Innovation. The kind of slogan you’d expect to see on a motivational poster, but here it felt more like a decree—a reminder that, in this part of the city, power was the only thing that mattered.

A security drone buzzed past overhead, its sleek metal frame glinting in the sunlight. I watched it drift by, its sensors scanning the crowd below with detached efficiency. It lingered for a moment as it passed over me, the faint hum of its engines hanging in the air like a held breath, before it continued on its way, disappearing around the corner of a nearby building.

“Nice to know they’re watching,” I muttered, shaking my head. I glanced back up at Kane Industries, my jaw tightening. The building’s polished surface twisted the skyline into warped, jagged fragments, bending the city around it like reality was struggling to hold its shape.

It felt like the whole district was bending to Kane’s influence—stretched and reshaped, as if even the air itself was acknowledging who was really in charge here. I straightened my shoulders, shaking off the sensation.

Two more blocks to Dr. Shaw’s office. Just a few more minutes, and I’d be in that too-comfortable chair, pretending I hadn’t just been swallowed up by the city’s grip.

I turned away and kept walking, stepping into the flow of business suits and hurried strides. A few pedestrians, noses buried in phones, veered a little too close, and I sidestepped them with ease.

“Not bad,” I muttered, checking my watch with a smirk. “Plenty of time to spare.”

With a casual shrug, I pushed through the glass doors of Dr. Shaw’s building, leaving the chaotic streets behind.

“Now let’s see if I can keep this calm intact a little while longer.” I squared my shoulders, willing the tranquility of the riverfront to stay with me.