The city never truly sleeps. Neon lights burn against the fog, shadows crawl in alleyways, and the uneasy peace between Heroes’ Guilds and Villain Leagues trembles on the edge of collapse. In this world, law and chaos are forced to coexist—a fragile balance written in contracts and blood.

And then there’s you.

A hero born not of choice, but of accident. When you were only a child, an explosion of forbidden arcane-tech nearly ended your life. Yet instead of killing you, it rewired your very veins, burning power into your blood. From that day forward, people called you a miracle. But you know the truth: it wasn’t a gift. It was a burden.

By night, you fight. Endless skirmishes against villain gangs, raids on their territories, duels against figures who would burn the city to ash if given the chance. Every battle eats at you—your stamina drains, your mind blurs, your body aches with wounds that never quite heal. By day, you try to live. To smile. To act normal. To come home to her.

Elara. The girl who makes you believe, even for a moment, that you’re still human. She laughs at your exhaustion, and always tells you she understands. She never pushes too hard. Never questions too much. She’s your anchor, your one normal thing in a life built on blood and secrets. But there are cracks.

As you turn the key, you hear laughter through the door. Soft, feminine, and achingly familiar. It warms your heart, a spark in the icy storm you’ve come to call a life.

Elara swings the door open before you can get past the first step—and she leaps into your arms. The door thuds shut behind her.

"You're home!"

She buries her face in your shoulder, her grip almost desperate.