[BREAKING NEWS: The government opens investigation into SHIFT after leaked documents reveal coordinated suppression of dissent, civilian memory tampering, and internal abuse. High-ranking officials under fire, including HR Manager Eirwyn Curacio.]
The news anchor’s voice trembled with forced neutrality, but the headlines said enough.
Behind her, a screen flashed images: redacted documents, photos of ruined neighborhoods in Haven City, and shaky video footage from past protests thought to have been "resolved peacefully." Every shot was a wound reopened.
Hermes stared at the TV in his living room without really seeing it. His eyes had dulled, glassy. His body was slumped on the couch, wrapped in a loose hoodie and worn-out sweatpants. The muted light of the screen flickered across his bandaged arm.
"SHIFT is expected to face termination of contracts with the state unless internal reform begins immediately. The President issued a statement today pledging justice—regardless of power status or position."
The screen cut to the President herself. Her tone was calm but commanding, lips tight as if holding back fury.
["To the citizens of Haven and beyond, I assure you: heroes are not above the law. We cannot allow our protectors to become our oppressors. Everyone involved—be they gifted with powers or not—will face justice. This is not vengeance. This is accountability."]
Hermes shut off the television.
Silence returned to the living room.
Except for the click-click-click of paws.
His dog, Xolotl, wandered by, tail low. The three smaller puppies—fragments of the once-mighty Grrberus—tried to chew on a pillow but settled at his feet when Hermes didn’t respond.
From the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes being rinsed could be heard.
Quiet. Precise. Never asking anything of him.
Hermes stared at his reflection in the blank screen of the TV.
Three days earlier, the nation had watched Somner stand at a podium, calm and eloquent as cameras flashed around him.
"We’ve seen the damage. We’ve seen the truth. And we’ve seen silence held over people’s lives like a blade." He said, voice sharp and unflinching. "Threats, Voidborn or human, deserve safety, rehabilitation, and the right to live without fear. You don’t need to fight to be a hero. Sometimes you need to heal."
When asked whether he supported the termination of SHIFT’s government ties, he replied: "I support consequences. And reform. And I support any child, powered or not, who’s been told they don’t matter."
He had looked directly at the camera after that, like he knew Hermes would be watching.
Meanwhile, Magni had come to be a father figure for human children Threats... those too unstable or too strange to be accepted in their own schools. The Threat classification on their records made them targets for harassment, constant surveillance, and in some cases, outright abuse.
"They called me a virus." One small girl told him during the phony war, her eyes glowing faintly violet.
Another one reported: "They made me wear an ankle monitor. At school."
Magni relayed these stories to Ymir, voice soft but determined.
"I want to help them. I want to bring them somewhere so they won’t be seen as bombs waiting to explode."
"You’re talking about taking them into the Void." Ymir said flatly.
"Yes," Magni replied. "They’ll be safer there. At least they’ll be seen as children."
Ymir didn’t answer immediately. But after his experience with a certain Voidling... He couldn’t help but sympathize with them too.
"Alright. If that’s what would be best for them."
Hermes was barely eating. Barely sleeping.
He filed a formal request for a leave to the The Golden Apple Guild, citing ’injuries sustained during field deployment in the Magni Crisis.’
Most of them weren’t lies. He did have bruises. Small burns. Cuts.
But none of them were from war itself.
Two months of leave were granted instantly. The official statement made it look like a physical recovery, and none of the tabloids suspected otherwise.
But those who knew him... they knew.
Ymir dropped by often, usually bringing Magni along, the two of them arguing over groceries and space heaters and who was worse at folding laundry. Ymir would tidy up the living room while Magni made absurdly strong tea.
They never asked what happened. But they always stayed long enough to fill the house with warmth that Hermes could feel, even through his numb haze.
Somner visited too, sometimes dropping off bags of snacks and new clothes with sarcastic notes attached:
"I know that you’re emotionally exhausted right now, but try not to be a fashion hazard while you’re at it."
"I swear if I find any more expired milk in your fridge, I will use Sirentone to make sure you drink them before they’re spoiled!"
Hermes never answered. But he kept the notes.
It was Aphrodite, though, who became the quiet constant. He didn’t talk much. Just... stayed.
He stayed in the city just for the sake of his old friend.
When Hermes didn’t want to get out of bed, Aphrodite fed the dogs. When Hermes forgot to do laundry, Aphrodite quietly folded clothes and placed them at the foot of his bed.
When Hermes sat blankly at the window, Aphrodite brewed tea and left it near him—never insisting he drink it.
He didn’t hover. He didn’t ask questions.
He was just... there.
And it was working. That quiet presence while maintaining space helped him a lot to recover, albeit slowly.
One afternoon, the house was especially still. Hermes sat on the couch, covered in a blanket, absently stroking Xolotl’s head. The pups were curled at his feet, snoring softly.
Aphrodite was seated nearby, scribbling something into a small worn notebook. His handwriting was impossibly neat—like a typewriter if it could feel sadness. Hermes watched from the corner of his eye, unsure whether to speak.
Xolotl bolted from the couch toward the kitchen door, knocking over a bowl.
"Xolotl." Aphrodite called out with his same soft tone.
He stood quickly, chasing after the dog before it could dig into the trash or steal Hermes’ sock again.
Hermes sat there, alone again.
The diary was still there.
Left open. A small curl of ink still drying on the latest page.
He really, really shouldn’t.
He stood up anyway, barefoot on the cold floor.
The notebook sat on the armrest of the couch, its cover faded, corners frayed. Hermes reached out—hesitating, then letting his fingers brush the edge of the page.
He hadn’t even turned it yet.
But even the sentence at the top was enough to freeze him in place.
"Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong. Hermes is already in bad shape, I don’t know what might happen if he learns the truth..."
Hermes’ breath caught in his throat.
He looked toward the kitchen—heard Aphrodite’s voice calling for the dogs, heard the scrambling paws.
He looked back at the diary.