Trapped In Don's Web

For a long time, no one spoke.

The Guardians stood in the chill of dawn, staring at the jagged mouth of the Hollow Mountain, its dark silhouette now softened by golden light. The rain had stopped, but the scent of scorched earth and ash lingered. Birds began to call across the valley—a timid return of life to a place that had nearly seen its end.

Elena released a slow breath, her fingers still wrapped around the broken shard of Vex's blade.

It felt… strange.

Not victory. Not relief.

Just quiet.

Luca stood beside her, his gaze far away. The blood on his armor had dried, flaking off in the wind. His jaw was set, but his hand hadn't let go of hers since they left the mountain.

Ayla approached from behind, her arm in a makeshift sling, her face bruised but alert. "We've cleared the last cultist perimeter. No signs of stragglers. The valley's clean."

Calen limped over, rifle slung across his back. "Riven's requesting evac ships for retrieval. Medteams are twenty out. We're to return to Eldoria for debrief."

Elena nodded.

But she didn't move.

She was still staring at the mountain, her thoughts caught in the ghost-thin space between then and now.

Vex's voice lingered in her mind: "It was never about power. It was about proving I was right."

And maybe, in some twisted way, he believed that. Maybe he thought the fire he unleashed would burn away the corruption, that chaos would bring clarity.

But all it brought was pain.

Luca squeezed her hand gently. "You okay?"

"No," she answered honestly. "But I will be."

They boarded the shuttle in silence.

From the skies above, the Hollow Mountain looked less like a fortress and more like a scar—one that would never quite heal. Yet, for the first time, it no longer loomed like a threat. It was a monument to survival. To choice. To the line Elena had drawn in fire and blood.

The line that said: no more

Back at the De Rossi estate in Eldoria, the war room was dim and quiet when they returned. The usual hum of holograms and chatter was replaced with a heavy stillness. Not grief—but reflection.

The Guardians gathered there, tired but whole.

Riven appeared on the central display, his synthetic voice tinged with exhaustion. "The override worked. The relic's core was neutralized before it could send a full burst through the Crimson Network. The ritual was incomplete. We stopped the awakening."

Adrian leaned forward, arms crossed. "And Vex?"

"Gone," Elena said. "Not dead. But broken."

Calen glanced her way. "Should we go after him?"

She shook her head. "No. Not yet. He's lost everything now. His followers, his relic, his stage. Let him sit in the ashes he made. He'll resurface—when he's desperate. And when he does…"

"We'll be ready," Luca finished.

Riven blinked. "I also decrypted the last file Vex left behind. The one labeled TRUTH. It's not a weapon. It's a memory."

He projected it without waiting for a command.

The screen flared to life.

A grainy recording appeared—years old. A room Elena remembered from her childhood: her father's study, warm with amber light. Dario Moretti sat at his desk, leaning forward with tired eyes and grease-streaked fingers.

"Cassian," he said—the name Vex had abandoned. "If you're watching this, it means I failed. I couldn't pull you back. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. Maybe I tried too hard. But I see now what I refused to admit back then…"

His voice cracked.

"You were always meant for more. But I never imagined it would cost us this."

The image trembled slightly.

"I hope my daughter never sees this. I hope she never has to look into your eyes and wonder where the boy she once knew went. But if she does… tell her the truth."

He leaned closer, and the screen dimmed slightly with his shadow.

"I loved you like my own. But I will not let you burn the world to prove you mattered."

The recording ended.

No one moved.

Elena sat still, her hands folded in her lap. The flicker of the recording still danced in her eyes.

"It was always personal," she murmured.

Luca turned to her. "So what now?"

She stood.

Her voice was quiet, but clear. "Now we rebuild.

In the days that followed, Eldoria pulsed with new life.

Crimson Eclipse cells across the region went silent. Some surrendered. Others fled into the dark corners of the world, waiting to rise again. But the network had fractured. The Guardians had struck harder than any enemy before.

Elena spent those days walking through the city—through the districts Vex had tried to set ablaze. She watched children play in alleys again, markets return, and murals be painted over with color and hope.

And one night, she returned to the same cliff where she once stood before the Solari mission.

Luca joined her.

They didn't speak at first. The wind carried the scent of flowers, not smoke.

"Elena," he said after a long while. "You know he'll be back. Maybe not for a long time. But he will."

I know," she replied.

"But this time," she added, "he won't find me afraid. Or angry. He'll find me ready."

He nodded. "And not alone."

She smiled.

They stood side by side as the city lights shimmered below them.

A new day rising.

And somewhere, in the shadows of a fractured world, the last ember of the Prophet flickered quietly… waiting.

But the fire no longer belonged to him.

It belonged to the ones who refused to burn.

To the ones who rose.

The next morning, Elena stood in her father's old study.

The room hadn't changed much since his death—wood-paneled walls lined with star charts, relics from past missions, and the faint scent of old paper and oil lingering in the air. A small box sat on his desk, untouched for years.

Inside it were photos.

She lifted one.

Her father, smiling beside a young Cassian—Vex before the mask, before the ideology. They looked like family.

She set it down and closed the box.

The memories didn't sting the way they used to. They didn't paralyze her.

But they weighed.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

Luca stepped in quietly, holding two mugs of dark tea. "Didn't think you'd sleep."

"I did," she said, surprising herself. "A little."

He handed her a mug. She took it.

They stood in silence for a while, sipping slowly, surrounded by the ghosts of legacy.

"I watched the footage again," she said finally. "Of the Hollow Mountain. Of him. He wasn't just trying to destroy the old world. He wanted to be remembered as the one who dared."

Luca nodded. "He wanted to leave a scar."

"He did," Elena whispered. "But not just on the world. On us."

She set the mug down and turned to him. "There's something else, Luca."

He tilted his head slightly.

She opened the hidden drawer in her father's desk and pulled out a small device—thin, matte black, almost unnoticeable. "Riven found it embedded in the override code I used to shut the relic down. It wasn't placed by Vex."

Luca frowned. "Then who?"

She exhaled. "My father."

The device flickered to life, casting a small light between them.

A soft voice played—Dario Moretti again, this time softer, quieter.

"If you found this, Elena… it means the fire chose you."

Her breath caught.

"I always knew you'd carry more than you should. That you'd try to fix what others broke. That you'd bleed to keep people safe. But don't let your legacy be pain. Let it be truth. Real truth. Not secrets. Not fear."

A pause.

"Protect what matters. And when the time comes, build something better than what I left you."

The recording ended.

Luca looked at her, his voice low. "He believed in you. All the way."

"I just hope I'm enough," she whispered.

"You already are."

They left the study together, walking through the halls of the estate as the sun began to rise again over Eldoria. Outside, Guardians trained. Engineers repaired shuttles. Analysts decoded new transmissions. The city was still fragile—but standing.

Elena passed a group of young recruits. One saluted her. She nodded in return, offering the faintest smile.

The fire hadn't destroyed her.

It had forged her.

And now it was time to lead.

That evening, the estate was unusually quiet.

Rain had returned to Eldoria—not the furious kind that heralded war, but the soft kind that lulled the city to rest. It washed the windows in silver, soaked the gardens until they gleamed like emerald, and turned the air cool and still.

Elena stood beneath the old willow in the De Rossi courtyard, the same one her father had planted years ago. The leaves trailed over her shoulders like a veil as she looked out across the garden.

In her hand was Vex's broken mask.

She hadn't buried it. Not yet. Maybe part of her couldn't. Not because she missed him—but because she hadn't figured out where he ended and where her past began.

Ayla approached from the veranda, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "They're saying you saved the realm."

Elena gave a small, dry smile. "Funny. I don't feel like a hero."

"You shouldn't," Ayla said, stepping closer. "Heroes are stories. You're real. And real people break."

There was silence between them.

"Did you know him?" Elena asked quietly. "Before all this?"

Ayla nodded slowly. "Briefly. I was still in training when he visited Eldoria with your father. He had a kind smile… sharp mind. I remember thinking, 'he walks like a blade.'"

Elena swallowed hard. "He could've been something else. Someone better."

"We all could," Ayla said softly. "But choices make the difference."

Elena nodded and gently laid the mask down on the garden bench beside her. She didn't need to carry it anymore.

She turned to Ayla. "How's the city?"

"Quiet. For now. Adrian's got two new sleeper cells tracked in the southern ruins. Council remnants. We'll sweep them at first light."

Elena exhaled. "It never really ends, does it?"

"No," Ayla said with a shrug. "But neither do we."

The two women stood there for a moment longer, shoulder to shoulder in the rain, the weight of victory pressing softly on their backs.

Then Elena spoke, voice resolute. "Tomorrow, we rebuild. Not just Eldoria—but everything."

Ayla glanced at her, brow raised. "You mean the Guardians?"

"I mean all of it," Elena replied. "No more secrets. No more hidden sanctums and legacy wars. We build something new. Something true."

A pause.

"And this time," she added, "we do it in the open."

From the tower above, the bells rang—not for mourning, but for peace.

And for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a lie

Later that night, Elena sat in her father's study.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden light across the room. She was alone, save for the low hum of the rain outside and the soft ticking of the old clock on the wall. The same one that had been here since she was a child.

A small hologram hovered in front of her—her father's final message, the one Vex had unearthed.

She played it again.

If you're hearing this, then it means I failed to protect what matters. And now, you must.

Elena, I never wanted this life for you. I wanted you to grow up without war in your blood. But I knew you—your fire, your will. If anyone could carry this legacy, it was you."

A pause.

"Don't let it make you hard. Don't lose the part of yourself that believes in people. Even when they fail. Even when they break."

"Because that's where hope begins. In the ashes."

"And if Vex… if he ever comes back, tell him—"

The recording cut off.

Message corrupted.

Elena stared at the frozen image of her father's face. There was a softness in his eyes—a trust that had outlived him. Her fingers brushed the edge of the console, and she shut it off.

Luca entered quietly, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He didn't say anything—just placed it beside her and sat across the desk.

For a while, they said nothing.

Then Elena spoke. "I don't think he hated my father. I think he just… couldn't live in his shadow."

Luca nodded. "He made the wrong choice. But maybe, deep down, he was still trying to matter."

Elena looked at the tea, then at Luca.

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled faintly. "For what?"

"For standing with me when everything else was falling apart."

Luca leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That's what we do, Elena. We hold the line. Together."

She reached across the desk and took his hand.

The fire crackled between them, the shadows on the wall long and soft.

Outside, Eldoria slept.

And for the first time in a long time… there were no alarms, no screams, no battles.

Just peace.

A fragile, flickering thing.

But real.

Elena closed her eyes and whispered, not for Luca, not for the Guardians—but for herself:

"Rest now.

We begin again tomorrow."