“I’m trying,” he says. “To show him the man behind the cape.”
“Too little too late?”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m still here.”
That’s the thing.
Heis.
No guns. No syndicate armor. No bravado.
Just this man.
Rough around the edges.
Showing up.
And it’s a start.
But it’s not forgiveness.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 42
JAV
Iwalk the halls of the orphanage in the early morning light. The windows are fogged where breath and hope have met the cold glass. The scent of warm pancakes and cleaning bleach drifts from the kitchen. Children’s laughter echoes in the distance, bouncing off painted walls with murals of alien sky-cities and dragon-winged heroes. I’m wearing plain clothes today—old denim, a faded grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. No armor. No mission. Just work.
It’s strange. Everything I did for so long was about strategy, control, fear. Now I’m unclenching my fists and patching a leak in the bathroom plumbing. The pipe drips slowly, water pooling in the basin until I wrench it loose and twist a new coupling into place. My knuckles scrape raw. I taste the metal tang of the wrench handle. I hear the drip, drip, drip stop. Silence follows.
I replace the pipe cover and stand back. A wave of something passes through me — relief? Maybe. A quiet satisfaction. The kind of thing I used to think I’d never feel. I wash my hands, and the water rushing over my skin feels like redemption. Cold, sharp, refreshing. I look at my reflection in the glass of the medicine cabinet. The scar on my jaw, the tired eyes. I’m still Javthe war-machine. But I’m trying to be someone else. Someone better.
Later I stepinto the math classroom. The chalkboard is dusty. The kids are already seated, chairs scraping. I grab the chalk and write a problem:7x + 4 = 39. I wait for the silence to settle. Then I say softly, “Who’s brave enough to tame the dragon today?” They giggle. Little ones raise their hands, shy. We work the equation together. I point to each child: “Well done, Malik. Good job, Isla.”
Hands go up. The air smells of sweat, crayons, and morning syrup. I smile. And when a girl named Lyna scores the correct answer, she laughs and throws her arms up. I feel something warm in my chest, like I didn’t know I had a heart but maybe I do.
After class I sit with some children on the mat and tell them a story: “Once there was a planet made of glass. And monsters lived in the cracks. But a team of children from all corners of the galaxy came. They were small. Often underestimated. But inside them, they carried hope and friendship. They held hands and looked into the darkness and they said:We will not be afraid.” I watch their eyes widen. I watch them imagine. I watch their hope. And there’s a dagger inside me, because I knowmychildren didn’t have that at one time. Not real hope.
It’s midday. I wander outside for air. The sun’s high and hot, the concrete outside the building shimmering. I catch a glimpse of the apartment block where Kairo and Ben live off in the distance. I pause. For a moment I want to walk over. I want to knock on her door. But I don’t. Because I haven’t earned the walk. Not yet.
Instead I turn my back and keep walking. I step across the yard where the younger kids play with hover-balls. Theirlaughter sounds like the echo of something I almost lost. I stop to rescue a ball that flew into the flowerbed. Purple petals crunch under my boots. The flowerbed smell: earth, sun-warm, crushed green stems. I pick the ball up and toss it back.
“Thanks, Mr. Kuraken!” the kid shouts.
“Any time,” I say, nodding.
I walk away, and the weight of the name ‘Mr. Kuraken’ sits heavy.
Later in the afternoon, Garkin shows up. He’s wearing a grin that doesn’t fit the scar on his cheek. He strolls in through the front gate like the king of downtime.
“You know,” he says, hands in pockets, “you’re officially the boss around here. The warlord turned plumber, teacher, myth. You built this whole thing.” He claps me on the shoulder. I flinch just slightly — habit. Then relax.
I laugh, not loud. “Boss. That’s… new.”
He paces. “Terribly bored, too. You ever think about flipping the empire back on? Might be fun.”
I shake my head. “Not today. I fix leaks. I teach kids. That’s enough war for one lifetime.”
