Smoke curled into the blood-red dusk over the ruins of downtown Arkenvale. Sirens wailed in the distance, muffled beneath the weight of destruction. Cars lay upturned like dead beetles. Glass glittered like ice across the shattered pavement. And at the epicenter of it all, two figures clashed with a fury that split the sky.

Aetherion, guardian of Arkenvale, stood with his cape torn, blue suit scorched and bleeding light. His eyes, pale as starlight, locked on his enemy—Nyxshade, the hooded phantom of vengeance, encased in obsidian armor and smoke.

Every blow from Aetherion sent shockwaves through the ground; every strike from Nyxshade shimmered with void energy, leaving trails of darkness in the air.

“You’ve killed too many,” Aetherion gasped, holding his side where a rib was surely broken. “This ends tonight.”

“It ended the moment you chose the city over truth,” Nyxshade hissed, their voice distorted and masked. “You never asked who I was beneath this hood, did you?”

Aetherion surged forward, hurling his last strength into a punch that cracked Nyxshade’s chestplate—but the villain caught his wrist mid-swing. The two froze in the center of the battlefield, struggling silently, power grinding against power.

Then Nyxshade whispered, “You should have listened, once… long ago.”

Aetherion’s eyes widened—that voice.

A knife of shadow stabbed through his abdomen. His breath hitched.

He collapsed.

The superhero of Arkenvale hit the ground hard, his limbs twitching, breath faltering. Blood seeped into the dirt beneath him, a crimson sun blooming in the rubble.

Footsteps approached.

Boots stopped inches from his face.

A gloved hand reached up… and drew back the hood.

Underneath the mask, beneath the villainy, stood Elias. His eyes were wet with rage and sorrow. The man Aetherion had loved in secret. The man he left behind every time duty called.

The breath in Aetherion’s lungs caught fire with recognition.

“Elias…” he rasped, a soft, broken smile spreading over his bruised face. A single tear fell from his eye, cutting a path through ash and grime. “I… I was hoping it wasn’t true. But seeing you… one last time… I’m glad…”

He reached up weakly, pulling off his own mask.

Beneath it, Elias saw Calen—the man he had loved with his entire soul, the man he had sworn revenge upon without ever knowing who he truly fought.

Calen’s voice trembled. “I’m glad I at least get to tell you goodbye.” His chest shuddered. “I love… you.”

The light in his eyes dimmed.

Calen’s hand fell.

Silence returned.

Elias stood over him, the world dissolving into stillness. The air no longer roared. The ground no longer shook. The war was over.

But it was the wrong victory.

His knees gave out as he dropped beside Calen’s body, blood on his hands. He pressed his forehead to the hero’s chest, hoping—desperately, pathetically—that there might still be a heartbeat.

There wasn’t.

He had fought for vengeance.

He had fought for truth.

But he had killed the only person who ever truly loved him. And all because they had kept their masks on… even in love.

All because neither of them had spoken.

All because of silence.