Chapter 23 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Zane The streets were quiet now. Not peaceful—just quiet. Like the city hadn’t decided whether to breathe again. I walked with my hands in m

Zane

The streets were quiet now. Not peaceful—just quiet. Like the city hadn’t decided whether to breathe again.

I walked with my hands in my pockets, ribs aching with every step. My coat was ruined—sleeve half-gone, cuts along the hem, one shoulder charred. My boots left faint mana traces on cracked stone, each print glowing before it faded behind me.

My communicator buzzed.

I didn’t check it right away as I was still in shock that such a large crisis was taken care of. Me and my siblings, we made it out. Alive. But not untouched. I needed a moment to let the fear and worry leave me.

I took a breath and I finally glanced at the screen.

PrincessFlyer: Sooo… should I be calling you “Mr. SwordStorm” now, or is “Zane” okay?

I stopped walking. Stared at the message. Then typed:

SwordWannabe: You figured it out.

Her reply came fast.

PrincessFlyer: You literally go to my school. It was only a matter of time. Now let’s see if you can figure me out. If you do, I will buy you a meal. Though I have to admit, I am more than a bit cross with you. You’ve been holding out on me. You fought a Death Knight with a sword that was clearly Willborn and show far more power and polish than you did in the arena. I watched the whole thing in awe. If you were trying to impress me, you really don’t have to try so hard. Also—pretty sure you adapted my Ashglass footwork without permission. So there is that.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

SwordWannabe: Technically, I improved it.

PrincessFlyer: Sure you did. I am glad you’re ok. You realize how stupid that was right. What kind of idiot run towards a Wilf Rift? You could have died.

She was not wrong.

SwordWannabe: Had to be done. Honestly I wasn’t expecting to survive. I was justing to stop that thing until someone else could fight it.

PrincessFlyer: I am looking at your face on my projection right now. Its all over the news.

SwordWannabe: I am sure I look quite dashing. Don’t stare too much it will probably make you blush.

PrincessFlyer: Right. Who is causing who to blush. I’d bet my allowance that my legs are your screen saver.  Stop dodging. What you did… that was really stupid.

SwordWannabe: Yes, yes it was but I don’t regret it.

PrincessFlyer: You’re really frustrating. Still, you’re not what I expected.

SwordWannabe: What did you expect?

PrincessFlyer: I don’t know. Some general’s son? Tower-born prodigy? An SSS-class heir with secret bloodline magic. Not a quiet guy with bad posture, a grocery list in his coat pocket, and siblings who adore him. (I don’t actually know if you have a grocery list; I am not a stalker.) I’ve seen you at school. You’re… quieter in person. More guarded. But kind. Focused. I also saw your sister shove a civilian out of the way during the second wave. She’s awesome. I love her.

I blinked.

SwordWannabe: You saw my siblings?

PrincessFlyer: Everyone saw your siblings, Zane. Me and the rest of the world have seen the footage by now. I am just glad you are okay. I think I get you a little better now.

A pause. Then—

PrincessFlyer: Is that why you didn’t want to meet? You’re clearly responsible for your brother and sister. I watched your brother’s interview. Is he okay by the way? He looked pale.

Of course Jordan gave an interview. Hopefully it wasn’t THAT kind of episode. That is the last thing we needed.

My fingers hovered over the console. Started to type. Stopped. Typed again.

SwordWannabe: It’s complicated.

PrincessFlyer: Life is complicated. But that didn’t answer the question.

I stared at the blinking cursor.

SwordWannabe: Life on the outside is hard. I enjoy our friendship. I didn’t want to make it messy. Everything else in my life is messy. Our time together wasn’t.

PrincessFlyer: I don’t mind messy.

I let out a slow breath. Tension I didn’t know I was holding bled off my shoulders.

SwordWannabe: What does that mean?

PrincessFlyer: Just what I said.

I read it twice. Out loud, before I realized.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I still don’t know what that means.”

I tucked the communicator into my pocket. Didn’t know what this was. Still don’t. But maybe that’s okay.

The screen buzzed again before I could take another step.

New Message: Agent Sera Valen – Internal Rift Response

I sighed. “Of course she has my number.”

Sera Valen: Nice moves today, Myles. Report pending. The higher-ups are asking all sorts of questions. Might want to consider what that looks like for your future. Don’t make me chase you. P.S. Yes, I look this good all the time. It’s okay to stare.

I frowned. What a strange thing to say. There was a link attached. Also strange. I tapped it against my better judgment.

Her profile exploded onto the screen like a fashion holo gone rogue.

TowerNet Verified – Agent Sera Valen - Combat Specialist. CEA Strike Division.

Or, based on these images: Model-slash-Harbinger-of-Death.

The first shot: standard-issue bodysuit. Tactical jacket slung casually over one shoulder. Just enough unzipped to hint at armor-plated curves. Bronze skin, flawless. Violet eyes that looked straight through the lens.

I scrolled.

Second: a gala. Plum dress, asymmetrical shoulder, heels sharp enough to duel with. Her lips were painted a dark red that probably violated mana codes in at least three districts.

Third: a combat sim. Sleeveless compression top, hair whipped back into a brutal ponytail, arms glistening mid-strike. Mana barrier behind her exploding like it insulted her ancestors.

Last: rooftop gala. Night skyline. Black velvet gown. Slit high, back low, laced in crystal thread. Pose perfect. Expression unapologetically lethal.

My brain stalled. I exhaled. “What are you, a solider, a cop or a model? How odd.”

I looked again at the pictures.

“Yeah… she really does look like that all the time.”

Then the screen blinked again.

Sera Valen: Still reading? Careful, Myles. Keep staring like that and I’ll have to classify your taste as a controlled substance.

I fumbled the communicator. Hard. My ears burned.

There were monsters in the world. But this woman? Might’ve just of topped the list.

By the time I opened the door, I already knew Lila was waiting for me. The lights were on. The wards were humming with her mana signature—overcharged, sharp, and unbalanced.

I stepped inside slowly.

Jordan was asleep. I could feel it—his core dim but stable, his breathing soft through the wall of his room.

Lila stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes burning. A mana kettle steamed behind her, long forgotten.

“Hey,” I said, gently closing the door behind me.

“You fought a Death Knight,” she snapped. “By yourself.”

So. No warmup tonight. Well I knew this was coming.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” she shouted, and the mana flared again, sharp and brittle. “You could’ve waited. Called someone. Pulled back.”

“There were civilians. I hadn’t acted people would have died.”

“And we were there.”

Her voice cracked on that last word, and she looked away, blinking hard. I didn’t move. Just let the silence settle between us until she was ready.

“I get it,” she said finally. “You’re the protector. The big brother. But why is it always you who has to step in front of the blade? Why does it always fall on you to fix it, to save us?”

I walked to the counter. Sat on the stool. My ribs ached, but I kept my tone even.

“Because I’m your big brother, Lila. I will always be here. Always in front of both of you. Dad isn’t around. Neither is Mom. But I always will be.”

She turned to me, eyes wet but blazing.

“You’re not our dad, Zane.”

That hit harder than it should have. But not unfairly.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I am not trying to replace them. I am just—”

“I’m not saying it because I’m ungrateful,” she continued. “I know what you do for us, Zane. I love you. Jordan loves you. We know that you’re thrown into impossible situations. And I know what you did today is because you felt that you had no choice. I know you picture us in every person that you see—every woman or child who is in danger. I know that you carry the burden of our dead parents and that you hate yourself because you couldn’t save Mom or Dad. But that isn’t a burden you should have to carry, big brother, and it breaks my heart every time I see you sacrifice for it.”

I tried to answer. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say.

Her fists trembled. “You should be able to go to college. To eat something hot and fall asleep in class. Go to clubs and dance. Sneak off and make out with someone just because you want to. But you cannot because you have to provide for me and for Jordan, and because you’re waiting for the next crisis and the next disaster. For the next Rift to break open under our doorstep.”

Again I didn’t answer. But I smiled—small. Soft.

“I want you to be able to do these things. Be my big brother, not my father, mother, and provider.”

I looked at her. Really looked. At the girl who had been forced to grow up alongside me. Too fast. Too early. And yet still here, standing, defiant and radiant and furious because she loved me more than she knew how to say.

“You should be able to date whoever you want,” she muttered. “To make out with girls and cry over dumb breakups and come home drunk and safe.”

“You’re really fixated on the kissing part,” I said gently.

“Don’t deflect.”

“I am not. I will find something to kiss. Would that help?”

“You’re missing the point.”

I stood, stepped over, and pulled her into a hug. She resisted for half a second. Then clung to me like a dam breaking.

“I’m just tired, Zane,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said.

“I want you to live.”

I nodded against her hair.

“I’m trying,” I said. “I promise.”

And for once, I meant it. She didn’t let go for a long time.

Eventually, she pulled back. Wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie and crossed her arms again like nothing had happened.

“I made tea,” she muttered, gesturing toward the still-steaming kettle.

“It’s boiled down to mana paste,” I said.

“Whatever. Drink it anyway. It should help with your mana recovery.”

I gave her a crooked smile. “Bossy.”

“You’re the one who nearly died. You will let me mother you or so help me I will kick you so hard it will send you into next week.”

She walked back toward her room, and I knew she wouldn’t say another word tonight—but I also knew she’d hover near Jordan’s door for the next four hours, pretending she wasn’t checking on him.

I waited until she was gone before I moved.

Jordan’s room was dim—just a soft glow from the ward crystal on his nightstand, flickering gently. He lay curled up under the covers, face slack, breathing too shallow. Not dangerous, but not comfortable either.

I crouched beside the bed.

His mana signature was still twisted. This system sickness flared up every once in a while. This seemed to be a particularly bad episode. Jordan trooped on. He hadn’t told me how much it hurt, but I knew. I always knew.

I placed my hand over his chest.

“Eva,” I whispered. “Can you soften the stream and density of the power?”

She didn’t joke this time.

[Divine Core accessible. Stable output within personal transfer range. No risk of overdraw.]

“You sure?”

[He’s your brother, Zane. I will not let him suffer more than necessary, and I swear to you I will find a way to beat this.]

I smiled. “You always say that.”

I closed my eyes. Breathed in. And let go.

The warmth rose from behind my belly—not like fire. Not like battle. Not like chaos or glory or rage. This was… different. Gentle. Steady. I didn’t need to shape it. I just needed to care.

My hand pulsed once. A quiet ripple of golden light spread through my palm and into Jordan’s chest. It threaded into his core—seeking out fractures, unraveling the cold-stuck mana inside him. Not burning it away. Cradling it.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The broken city. The pressure. The titles I hadn’t earned. The sword I didn’t understand. None of that mattered.

This was what I was made for. Not to destroy. To heal.

Jordan sighed in his sleep. His breath deepened. His body relaxed like a knot finally let go. The glow faded.

I stayed there, hand still resting gently on his chest, until the mana thread fully settled.

[Vitals normalized. Mana flow stable. He’ll sleep clean tonight.]

I nodded. “Thanks.”

[You did that.]

I stood slowly, my legs stiff from crouching too long. Jordan didn’t stir. But just before I left the room, he whispered—barely audible, half-asleep.

“Thanks, Brother…”

I paused in the doorway. And smiled.

“Always, kid.”