The safe house was quiet, the air thick with the weight of their conversation. The battered map lay sprawled across the table like an accusation, its jagged edges curling in the dim light. Around it sat The Vanguard, their expressions varying between exhaustion and guarded resolve.
The muted television flickered in the corner, broadcasting yet another speculative report. Words like "saviours" and "tyrants" flashed across the screen, accompanied by images of cheering crowds juxtaposed with rubble-strewn streets.
Shadowleaf, perched on the windowsill, broke the silence. "You're all acting like this is normal. Like this is just another mission." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness. "It's not."
Swift Angel turned from the doorway, his wings casting long shadows. "You're right. It's not. But it's necessary."
Fantasia leaned against the wall, her glowing blue skin casting faint reflections on the chipped plaster. "Necessary doesn't mean easy," she said, her voice cool but quieter than usual.
Shadowleaf glanced at her. "You don't even have a stake in this. You could have left years ago."
Fantasia's eyes flickered, her usual composure cracking for just a moment. "I stayed because I couldn't leave. My ship was damaged when I arrived. By the time it was repaired…" She paused, her gaze hardening. "By the time it was repaired, the war had already begun. I saw what this world was becoming. I couldn't walk away."
Shadowleaf softened slightly. "But why fight for us? For people who aren't even your own?"
Fantasia's gaze met hers, and for once, her voice held a trace of vulnerability. "Because I've seen what happens when a planet falls. I've seen what it looks like when there's no one left to fight. I wasn't going to let that happen here."
Dark Ant adjusted the strap on his armour, his movements deliberate. "She's right. We're here because no one else can do this. No one else will."
He pulled back his mask, revealing the scars that criss-crossed his face like jagged fault lines. "You think I wanted this? That I wanted to be a part of this team? Before the bombs, I was just some kid trying to survive Manchester's gang wars. The only lesson life taught me was that the strong take, and the weak suffer."
He leaned back against the wall, his voice growing harder. "This plan—it's not about power. It's about making sure no one has to live like that again. Not here. Not anywhere."
Shadowleaf frowned. "And you think ruling the world is the way to do that?"
"I think it's the only way," Ant replied without hesitation.
World-Shaman leaned back in his chair, his cigarette balanced between his fingers. He took a long drag, the ember glowing faintly. "I envy you lot, you know. You've got reasons. Traumas to pin all this on."
Shadowleaf narrowed her eyes. "And you don't?"
Shaman exhaled smoke, watching it curl into strange, impossible shapes. "Oh, I've got trauma, love. Trust me. Try having reality snapped in half the day the bombs fall. Try having conversations with your dad's corpse for a week before you realise the stench isn't grief—it's rot."
Fantasia looked at him, her glowing eyes narrowing. "You've never told us that."
"Didn't think it'd liven the mood," Shaman said with a bitter smirk. "But that's the thing about power. It doesn't ask. It doesn't care. It just shows up, wrecks your life, and leaves you holding the pieces."
He crushed the cigarette in an empty mug. "So yeah, maybe ruling the world's a bad idea. But hell, it's not like we've got a better one."
All eyes turned to Swift Angel, who had remained silent, his gaze fixed on the crumbling cityscape outside. His wings twitched slightly, a subtle sign of the tension he worked so hard to hide.
Shadowleaf's voice softened. "Angel, you've always believed in something bigger than this. Why now? Why us?"
Angel turned slowly, his grey eyes heavy with something between resolve and regret. "Because I used to believe in systems. Governments. Institutions. I thought they were there to protect people, to keep the world safe."
He stepped closer to the table, his wings folding tightly behind him. "But they failed. Every single one of them. They let the bombs fall. They let the world burn." His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "I'm not willing to let that happen again."
Shadowleaf searched his face, her expression unreadable. "Even if it means becoming the very thing we're fighting against?"
Angel didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was low and steady. "If it means saving the world, then yes."
Shadowleaf shook her head, her fingers tightening around the arrow she'd been fletching. "That's the problem. You think saving the world is worth any cost. But what if the cost is us? What if we lose who we are?"
Fantasia scoffed softly. "And who are we? Heroes? Mercenaries? Rebels? The world doesn't care what we call ourselves. It cares about results."
Shadowleaf's voice rose, her frustration spilling over. "And what happens when the results don't match the promises? When we can't fix everything we've broken? What happens then?"
The room fell into an uneasy silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The lines between them had always been blurred, but now they felt like fault lines, cracks that could shatter the team entirely.
World-Shaman broke the tension with a faint grin. "Well, isn't this a cheery little powwow? Someone should make a toast. Or get the drinks."
Fantasia shot him a glare. "We're not joking about this."
"Oh, I'm deadly serious," Shaman said, leaning back in his chair. "But if we're going to argue about saving the world, we might as well enjoy the ride."
Swift Angel placed both hands on the table, his gaze sweeping across the team. "We don't have to agree on everything. But we have to trust each other. Because if we fall apart now, we'll be the ones who let the world burn again."
The words hung in the air, unchallenged but not entirely accepted. Outside, the ruins of the world waited, and the Vanguard's fragile unity felt as precarious as the shattered skyline.