Elira stopped going to briefings first.
No announcement.
No argument.
She just… missed one.
William noticed immediately.
“She’s late,” he said.
An aide checked. “No response.”
They waited.
Elira arrived forty minutes later, hair still damp, eyes hollow.
“I overslept,” she said.
No one believed her.
Then she stopped doing interviews.
Her media handler called daily.
Elira stopped answering.
“Health reasons,” William told reporters.
It wasn’t a lie.
Just incomplete.
She trained harder.
Longer.
Until her muscles shook.
Until her vision blurred.
Until medics had to pull her off the floor.
“You’re burning out,” one warned.
“I know,” Elira replied.
“Then stop.”
She smiled faintly.
“I can’t.”
At night, she sat on her balcony and watched the city.
Not the lights.
The dark spaces between them.
The places where people still struggled.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Xior’s choking the economy,” she murmured once.
No answer.
“Tancred’s scaring everyone.”
Silence.
“William’s drowning.”
Still nothing.
“And I’m… here.”
Messages piled up.
Requests.
Pleas.
Threats.
Thank-yous.
Accusations.
She stopped opening them.
Her apartment began to feel smaller.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Walls closer.
Ceilings heavier.
Breathing harder.
The first breakdown happened in a supermarket.
A woman recognized her.
“Why weren’t you in Sector Five last week?” she demanded.
Elira froze.
“I—I was in Seven.”
“My brother died,” the woman snapped.
People stared.
Phones rose.
Elira left her cart and walked out.
Didn’t eat that night.
The dreams started soon after.
Always the same.
She stood before a gate.
Alone.
No monsters.
Only endless screaming behind her.
She tried to move.
She never could.
William called.
She ignored it.
Tancred texted.
No reply.
Xior sent one message.
If you need shelter, it exists.
She didn’t answer.
She took longer routes home.
Changed schedules.
Stopped wearing recognizable clothes.
Became invisible.
The panic attacks worsened.
Hands numb.
Heart racing.
Vision narrowing.
She learned to hide them.
In bathrooms.
In stairwells.
In empty corridors.
One evening, she stood before her mirror.
Studied herself.
Dark circles.
Bruises she didn’t remember.
Eyes too old.
“I’m twenty-three,” she whispered.
It felt like a lie.
The incident happened on a Tuesday.
No gates.
No disasters.
Just rain.
She was walking home when she saw him.
A boy under a bridge.
Shivering.
Holding a broken drone.
No shelter badge.
No food.
Elira knelt.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He flinched.
“Are you… her?”
She froze.
“…Yes.”
He stared.
“My mom said you’d save us.”
Her breath caught.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t understand.
That night, she packed.
Not carefully.
Not completely.
Essentials.
Clothes.
Documents.
Cash.
A burner communicator.
She deleted most contacts.
Except three.
William.
Tancred.
Xior.
She stared at their names.
Then powered the device down.
She left before dawn.
No escort.
No announcement.
No note.
At a transit hub, she bought a ticket under a false name.
Boarded a freight-adapted carrier.
No one recognized her.
For the first time in years, she was anonymous.
William discovered it at noon.
“She didn’t check in.”
He called.
No answer.
Security searched.
Nothing.
Her apartment was empty.
No struggle.
Only absence.
Tancred learned an hour later.
He punched a wall.
It collapsed.
“Find her,” he snarled.
Abyss networks activated quietly.
Xior approved it without comment.
Xior stood alone in the observation chamber.
“She chose distance,” he murmured.
Altes looked at him.
“Will she return?”
Xior didn’t answer.
Elira watched the city fade from the carrier window.
No cameras.
No cheers.
No accusations.
Only clouds.
For the first time since her awakening, no one needed her.
The relief felt like guilt.
The guilt felt like freedom.
She didn’t know which would last.
She pulled her jacket tighter and closed her eyes.
And the world, for a while,
lost its light.
