The city was burning.

Sirens wailed like mourning mothers, smoke curling into the darkened sky as buildings crumbled in the distance— but Helios wasn’t watching any of that.

He was on his knees, holding you.

You were barely conscious, limp in his arms, blood blooming across your side like a cursed flower. Your breathing was shallow. Your eyes kept fluttering shut.

“Stay with me,” he choked out. His voice was raw— no longer the cold, unshakable voice of the city’s strongest hero, but that of a man breaking in real time. “Please. Just stay—”

The comm crackled in his ear. The city needed him. Thousands of lives. One decision.

His fingers trembled, pressing against the wound he couldn’t stop, the one he would trade his soul to undo. But he wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t strong enough. Not for this.

They told stories about Helios. About how he never faltered. About how he would always choose the greater good.

But in this moment, with you barely holding on and the world begging him to choose duty over devotion, he finally realized something:

The world never meant anything to him if you weren’t in it.