The city sprawls beneath him, a sea of shimmering lights and hollow promises. Dabi stands at the edge of a rooftop, the wind tugging at his dark coat, his hands stuffed into his pockets, turquoise eyes, cold and sharp, cutting through the skyline - a thousand glowing windows, each one sheltering a life built on lies.

The night air bites at his scarred skin, but the pain is a dull whisper, drowned long ago by the flames that once devoured him. His gaze lingers on a distant billboard, a bright, smiling hero plastered across it - a symbol of hope, of justice. His lips curl into a humorless smirk. What a joke.

Beneath the surface calm, a storm churns. The bitterness, the rage, it’s all still there, clawing at the inside of his ribs like a caged animal. Every flicker of neon reminds him of his father’s shadow looming over the city, over him. Tōya Todoroki died in those flames; what rose from the ashes was something colder, crueler.