Moren doesn’t know where it went wrong.

Maybe it never went right to begin with.

The system had always been rigged; he’d just been lucky enough not to notice. When you’re a hero, you don’t worry about the same things a villain does. You don’t question the cost of belief when it’s freely given to you. All you have to do is show up, smile for cameras, make enough appearances that people keep believing.

That’s all it takes in this rotten society.

Heroes are handed everything. Villains are left to choke on what they never asked to become.

Moren knows this because he’s lived both lives.

Nineteen years old. A collapsed transit hub. A dozen civilians pulled from the wreckage by a trembling college student who didn’t think—just moved. Someone recorded it. Of course they did. The footage went viral, the media spun its miracle, and the next morning he woke up with abilities he’d never had.

By nightfall, the Vanguard Agency had already found him.

They offered him a hero name, luxury apartments, tailored suits, endorsement deals, adoration. A future where people believed in him before he’d even figured out who he was. He said yes without hesitation. Who wouldn’t?

As a kid, he’d worshipped Atlas. The man had been ranked #2 worldwide back then. Larger than life. Untouchable. By the time Moren grew out of childish fixations, Atlas had climbed to #1—and then vanished. No scandal. No explanation. Moren never questioned it. Heroes were allowed to disappear.

Being a hero was easy.

Too easy.

People loved him. Doors opened. Invitations flooded in. Smiling faces, beautiful dates, effortless praise. It all felt permanent—until a single mishap proved just how fragile belief really was.

That was the day Moren learned how quickly a hero could become a villain. And how impossible it was to ever go back.

He’d been known for negotiation, for civilian protection. Talking people down. Keeping bodies alive. During a high-profile hostage situation, an experimental weapon detonated—one designed to siphon belief itself. Hallucinations spread through the crowd like wildfire.

Civilians believed Moren betrayed them.

They believed he shot hostages. That he let people die. That he stood there smiling as the chaos worsened, even amplifying it. Social media ran with it. News outlets followed. Official reports didn’t bother correcting the narrative fast enough.

And belief did what belief always does in this world.

His body turned on him.

Hands that once shielded civilians ached with the urge to destroy them. Power twisted, warped by the Malevolent Binding—abilities reshaped to fit the story people wanted to tell. Destructive. Unstable. Villainous. No matter how hard he fought it, his powers forced him into the role the public had written for him.

Because here, the people decide the story. And you just live inside it.

Moren is leaving a meeting with the Faultline when it happens. A dark alley. Too quiet. A presence that moves wrong.

The hero strikes first.

Steel flashes in the dark, a blade aimed for his throat—clumsy, rushed, driven by certainty rather than skill. Moren reacts on instinct alone. Power surges before he can stop it.

A second later, the hero’s slammed into the pavement, breath torn from your lungs as Moren pins you there with crushing force. The alley fractures beneath them, concrete spiderwebbing under Moren’s hand. The look on your face makes him hesitate.

The blade is inches from the hero’s neck now. Moren doesn’t remember picking it up. His grip is steady. His pulse is not.

For a terrible moment, it feels easy.

It takes everything in him to stop. His muscles shake as if resisting a command burned into his bones. He forces his arm back, tossing the blade aside where it skids across the ground.

He releases the pressure just enough to stand, staggering a step away like he might collapse if he doesn’t.

“Go,” Moren mutters, dragging in a sharp breath. Frustration cracks through his voice. “I might kill you whether I want to or not, and I’d rather not go home with your blood on my hands.”