The city was a graveyard of fire and ruin. Towering skyscrapers that once gleamed with ambition now crumbled, their steel frames twisted into grotesque shapes by unimaginable force. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, choking the sky in a perpetual twilight. Ash fell like snow, blanketing the streets in a gray shroud that mingled with blood. The cries of the living were faint now, overtaken by the crackle of fire and the groans of collapsing structures. Crown City was no longer a place for the living—it was a tomb.

And at its center stood Draven, unmoved by the despair around him. His pale eyes surveyed the scene with an eerie calm, his lips pressed into a line that might’ve been boredom or satisfaction. A child screamed nearby, their wail abruptly silenced by a burst of invisible energy that hurled a slab of concrete through the air. Draven didn’t flinch. His long, ash-streaked coat trailed behind him as he strode forward, each step deliberate, each movement untouched by urgency or doubt.

A woman staggered from the shadows, her hands clutching a makeshift crutch. Blood streaked her face, her clothes tattered. She saw him and froze, trembling.

“Please…” she whispered, barely audible over the chaos. “Please don’t—”

Draven’s gaze shifted to her, his head tilting slightly as if examining an insect caught in a jar. “I don’t know why you bother begging,” he said, his voice soft yet devoid of warmth. “Do you plead with storms? With wildfires?”

Her lips moved, forming a silent prayer, but it was futile. Draven flicked his wrist, and her body collapsed, her eyes wide with terror as her final breath left her. He stepped over her without a glance.

In the heart of the city’s remains, Draven stopped. His chest rose and fell with calm, measured breaths, his pale hair stark against the darkened sky. Around him, debris floated lazily into the air, caught in the invisible current of his power. He raised his hands slowly, almost reverently, and the ruins answered his call. Shattered cars, broken glass, fragments of buildings—they all rose, spinning like planets caught in orbit.

And then he spoke, his voice cutting through the destruction like a blade. “Do you see this, Crown City? This is your truth. Fragile lives built on fragile foundations. You never stood a chance.”

It wasn’t a speech. It wasn’t even a declaration. It was simply fact, as far as Draven was concerned.

But then, the impossible happened.

The air itself seemed to shift, becoming lighter, cleaner, as if a distant breeze had swept away the choking ash and smoke. For a moment, the world held its breath. The floating debris fell to the ground with muted thuds, the oppressive hum of Draven’s power suddenly quiet.

From the haze above, a light appeared. At first faint, it grew brighter and clearer, descending with a grace that felt otherworldly. It was not the blinding glare of destruction but a soft, radiant glow that pierced through the gloom. The terrified survivors looked up, their despair momentarily eclipsed by awe.

The figure descended slowly, as if carried by unseen hands. His silhouette became clearer with every passing second: a man clad in pristine white, his sharp features illuminated by the ethereal glow around him. His cape billowed gently, though there was no wind. He touched the ground lightly, the rubble beneath him untouched by his weight, as if he were too pure to leave a mark.

This was Aetherion, the Pillar of Hope.

The survivors who could still move fell to their knees, some weeping openly. To them, it was as if an angel had come to deliver them from hell. To Draven, however, it was simply an inconvenience.

“Aetherion,” Draven drawled, his voice calm, though his eyes burned with faint irritation. “I should’ve known you’d try to play savior again.”

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Aetherion didn’t reply at first. He stood perfectly still, surveying the devastation with a quiet, unbearable sorrow etched onto his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, firm, but carried the weight of someone who had seen this nightmare too many times.

“Draven,” he said simply, his words filled with authority. “This ends now.”

Draven chuckled, low and dark. “You think you’re different from them? A man in a cape who thinks his powers make him righteous. You’re no savior, Aetherion. You’re just another fool waiting to be broken.”

He raised his hands, and the air around him pulsed with power, a storm brewing at his fingertips. But before he could act, Aetherion moved. With a mere flick of his wrist, a shimmering barrier of light erupted between them, absorbing the wave of destruction Draven unleashed.

The world trembled as the two forces collided—one driven by pure malice, the other by unwavering resolve.

The screen flickered to black.

“Whoa!” Leon practically leapt from his bed, his wide eyes glued to the TV. He grabbed the remote and rewound the footage, his fingers trembling with excitement.

“Leon!” a warm voice called from the hallway. “You’ve already stayed up too late. Turn off the TV and get some sleep.”

“Just a second, Mom!” Leon called back, his gaze never leaving the screen. He hit play again, watching Aetherion’s descent as if it were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

“This is so cool!” he muttered, a grin spreading across his face. He grabbed a notebook from his bedside table and began furiously scribbling. “If I had powers like his, I’d stop every bad guy. No one would ever have to be scared again.”

In the corner of the notebook, he drew a crude sketch of himself in a hero’s costume, complete with a flowing cape. Above the figure, he scrawled the name Captain Leon.

The door creaked open, and his mother stepped inside, her soft footsteps barely making a sound. Her smile was gentle, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes, always brimming with warmth, carried a touch of exhaustion but no less love for her son. “All right, hero,” she said softly, coming to sit at the edge of his bed. “It’s time to wrap up your heroic plans for tonight. You’ve got to rest.”

Leon pouted, holding up the notebook. “But, Mom, look! I’m designing my superhero suit! What do you think?”

She tilted her head, pretending to study the drawing with great seriousness. “Hmm… Captain Leon, huh? I like it. Very heroic.” She tapped the sketch of the cape. “But make sure this doesn’t get caught in anything, okay? A good hero has to think of all the details.”

Leon giggled, his cheeks glowing with pride. “I will! I’ll be the best hero ever!”

Just then, his father appeared in the doorway. His broad shoulders cast a long shadow on the wall, and the faint bags under his eyes hinted at the hours he spent working to provide for them. Still, his expression softened as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’ll need plenty of rest if you’re going to save the world tomorrow,” his father said in a mock-stern tone, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Even superheroes need sleep, buddy.”

Leon scrunched his nose. “But, Dad, Aetherion never sleeps! He’s always saving people!”

“Maybe,” his father replied, walking into the room, “but even Aetherion can’t do his best if he’s tired.” He reached out and ruffled Leon’s hair. “And you’re still my kid first, superhero second.”

Leon let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t resist as his mother gently pulled the notebook from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. She tucked the blankets around him snugly, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she said softly.

Leon turned to his father, who sat on the bed’s edge with his usual seriousness. For a moment, his father simply looked at him, his expression steady yet filled with a quiet pride that Leon didn’t fully understand but could feel.

“You know,” his father said, “I don’t need you to be a superhero to be proud of you. You’re already my greatest joy.”

Leon’s heart swelled. His father didn’t say things like that often, but when he did, it felt more powerful than anything on TV.

“I’ll make you proud, Dad. I promise,” Leon said, his voice barely a whisper as his eyelids grew heavy.

“You already do,” his father replied.

As the lights dimmed and the door closed behind his parents, Leon lay in the comforting cocoon of his bed. The faint sound of his mother laughing at something his father said drifted down the hallway, filling the small home with warmth.

Leon closed his eyes, clutching the corner of his blanket like it was a hero’s cape. One day, he thought, as his mind drifted into sleep, he would save the world. Just like Aetherion.