Chương 120: Act 2, Chapter 72: An echo

19th December (Friday), around noon I teared up again as I blinked out of that weird trance, which probably was the result of his and my Authority tangling inside that artificial brain. The feeling he left in me stuck around: warm and fierce. That kid, that painful, lovable idiot, had loved. He loved his brother. He loved me, in the messy, earnest way people sometimes love before they learn better. Even as his consciousness faded, he hoped his brother and I would change for the better.

"I'm sorry, Malik," I said, looking down at his body beside Nick and Liora. The little dragon lay curled along him as if trying to warm him back to life.

"I can't make that wish come true."

"What wish?" Nick asked, voice raw, eyes rimmed red.

"He loved his brother. Can you believe that?" I told him, and then I walked him through the last day of Malik's life.

"That… that still doesn't explain what wish you can't grant, Alexa."

"I won't let Rhythm live," I said, flat and terrible.

"Would you?" Nick flinched.

"I… I don't know. I was about to hunt him down and butcher him a few minutes ago." He looked back at Malik's wrecked face.

"But he loved him. Brothers fight. Maybe this one went too far because of the power they were given. Maybe he didn't mean to kill him. You said Malik seemed shocked when he broke his brother's neck."

"Magic warps things," I said.

"But Rhythm pummeled him in pure rage. And before that he had chances to stop, to reconcile, and he threw every one away. In my book, he's irredeemable." Nick didn't answer. He just sank into silence, staring past Malik's still body, lost somewhere deep inside his thoughts. We sat there for several long minutes, both pretending and hoping that this was just a nightmare. That maybe Malik would twitch, laugh, and echo himself back into life through some clever trick of his powers. But he didn't.

"What are we going to do with him?" Nick finally asked.

"Rhythm? I'll—""No. Not him. Malik. We can't leave him here. And we'll have to tell his grandmother."

"Oh. Right." I exhaled slowly.

"Yeah, we'll have to take him back."

"It'll raise questions. The police, the state he's in… Bonnie can't see him like that."

"Who?"

"His grandma, Alexa. Bonnie. She doesn't deserve to see his face mangled like that."

"In my opinion, it's better than not seeing him at all. Better than wondering if we lied to her," I said quietly.

"And as for the police, they can kiss my ass. Dozens of people saw what happened, and Reality didn't step in to censor any of it. It'll probably rewrite their memories, spin some cover story, and call it a day."

"You think that means we're in the clear? We still have the body."

"We'll take him to his grandmother, hold a quiet funeral, and then say he went missing. Let the police make sense of it. It's not some TV show, Nick. They don't solve every case cleanly, or at all." He frowned, shaking his head.

"I know, but it still feels wrong."

"Let's just do it, Nick," I said softly. He didn't argue this time. Instead, he bent down and carefully lifted Malik's body into his arms. The motion was gentle and reverent. Liora looked at me, his small head tilted, colors dimmed in mourning.

"Lio," I told him quietly, "our friend died today. We have things to take care of. I'll see you tonight." He nodded once in human-like manner, then darted away into the air, vanishing beyond the Domain's main building's edge. I stepped closer to Nick, laid a hand on his shoulder, and willed us both and Malik's body, out of my Domain. The world blinked and we were back, standing in the quiet, echoing training hall beneath Nick's house. We walked side by side up to the stairs, each step dragging behind the last.

The air between us was heavy, too full of what had just happened, too aware that every step forward was one closer to goodbyes being in the past and not in the future. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was the kind that stays in your chest, the kind that squeezes your throat when you try to breathe.

"My phone's buzzing," Nick said suddenly, his voice brittle and tired.

"It's in my right trouser pocket." I reached for it carefully, trying not to jostle Malik's arm where it hung limply in Nick's grasp. The screen lit up— Dad. I swiped to answer.

"Dam? Where are you?"

"Alexa," came his voice through the static, low and uneven, "I lost you guys at some point, but I saw the wreckage."

"Yes. It's best if you come home, Dam."

"I'm on my way. I followed the guy from the basement for a while. Lost Malik's scent at the wreck site, so I guessed you took him. You have him with you?"

"Yes, we do," I said softly, praying he'd leave it there.

"He died, right?" My throat tightened.

"Yes." There was a pause, just air, faint crackling through the line, and the weight of understanding pressing down on both ends.

"I thought so," Dam said finally.

"There was too much blood, and brain matter… but I hoped I was wrong." His voice faltered, breaking in half for just a second.

"I'll be home shortly. Half an hour at most." The call clicked off. I looked down at the phone for a moment longer than I should have, then slid it back into Nick's pocket.

"Let's go upstairs," I said quietly.

"Dam will be here in thirty minutes tops."

"He knew?" Nick asked, his voice barely above a whisper as we reached the bottom of the staircase.

"He smelled what was left of Malik at the site," I said.

"He followed the other guys, but… yeah. He knew."

"Okay." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. He said it like the word was made of lead. Then he adjusted Malik's body in his arms, the boy's weight seeming to double with every step, and followed me upward. I reached the door first, opened it, and held it wide so Nick could pass through, Malik still cradled against him. Light poured over us as the door opened, flooding the hallway in gold.

It streamed through the wide windows, a soft warmth that didn't belong to the season. A sun too stubborn to leave, lingering long past its due as winter crept closer. On any other day, it would have been beautiful, a quiet promise of calm. But today, even that light couldn't reach us. It couldn't pierce the weight pressing down on our shoulders. Ariana was pacing in the common room, her movements sharp and restless. When she saw us, she froze mid-step.

Her eyes went first to Nick, then to what he carried and her breath caught. Nick couldn't hold it anymore. The sob that broke from him wasn't just grief; it was defeat, raw and human. I wasn't used to seeing men cry, not really. Peter used to, when we were small and the world still allowed such things. Jason had too, once, not so long ago and that time it was because of me. But this… this was different. This was a man mourning the life he couldn't save.

Ariana crossed the room in a heartbeat and wrapped them both in her arms, her hands trembling as they brushed Malik's ruined face. She winced, just slightly, but didn't look away.

"My poor children," she whispered, her voice breaking as she pulled back just enough to cup Nick's face in her palms.

"My poor, poor children." Then she turned to me and did the same. Her hands warm against my cheeks, gentle in a way that undid every wall I'd built to keep myself together. I hadn't expected it. The word child struck somewhere deep and tender, in a place I didn't know was still open. Tears welled again before I could stop them, spilling quietly down my face. Why was I so fragile now? Was it the other me, or was it this… This impossible feeling of belonging, of being seen, of family found where I never expected it?

I didn't know. I just let the tears fall.

"I couldn't save him, ma…" Nick whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

"I tried, I tried. We both did… what do we do?" Ariana's gaze flicked from him to me, seeing the same despair mirrored in both our faces. Without a word, she pulled me close. Her embrace was soft but unwavering, like she was trying to hold together what the world had just broken. When she turned her face back to her son, her voice came low, trembling, but strong in the way grief sometimes is when it refuses to yield.

"I love you both," she said.

"We'll get through this, okay? We have Bonnie to think of. She won't take it easily." She released me, brushed my shoulder once, and then looked back to Nick.

"Put him on the couch." Nick obeyed at once. He moved with a reverence that felt sacred, each motion deliberate, careful, like the world itself might shatter further if he faltered. He laid Malik down gently, his jaw set, his breathing uneven. The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke on.

"I'll call her," Ariana murmured.

"No, ma. Please." Nick's voice wavered, but his eyes stayed fixed on the still body before him.

"Father's on his way. Wait just a few more minutes." Ariana looked at him for a long moment, and something in her expression softened. A realization maybe, that this grief wasn't just hers to bear. That she could not take this pain from him, only share it. She nodded slowly.

"Alright. We'll wait." I sank into the couch opposite Malik's, my body hollowed out by the weight of everything that had just happened. Nick joined me, his hands clasped tight, his knuckles pale. Across from us, Ariana stood motionless. Her face calm, her posture unshaken, though her eyes told another story. I'd always thought of her as kind, capable, the heart of this strange, stitched-together family. But fragile somehow, gentle, not forged for moments like this.

Yet now, standing in the quiet light of the room, she seemed carved from something older, harder, and infinitely stronger. Not just loving. Unbreakable. Life, however, wasn't done with us yet. Reality, in all its quiet cruelty, had one more twist to give. Bonnie somehow found her way to us on her own. She wandered in through the kitchen door, the one that led from the yard and the little guest house where she and Malik had been staying these past few days.

From her angle, she couldn't yet see him, hidden by the high back of the couch. She stopped when she saw us, three still figures, in silence heavy enough to drown in. Her frail hands fidgeted at her sides.

"I… got hungry," Bonnie said softly.

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything important." Her voice was timid, uncertain. It must have been hard for her, being here, surrounded by people and powers she didn't fully understand.

"Oh, Bonnie…" Ariana's voice trembled as she looked from her to the couch where Malik lay. Then she moved toward the older woman, slowly, each step measured as if walking toward a cliff. When she reached her, she wrapped her arms around her and held her close. Bonnie froze at first, confused. Then, after a few heartbeats, understanding began to seep in. Her breath hitched, and the first quiet sob broke through.

"Where… where is he? Is he hurt badly?" she asked, still clinging to hope that there was something left to save. Ariana pressed her forehead against hers, "He's no longer with us, Bonnie. Only his body remains." Bonnie recoiled, disbelief flaring in her eyes. Then, suddenly, she moved. Faster than I thought her frail frame could. She rushed past Ariana, her steps stumbling and uneven, until she reached the center of the room.

Both Nick and I stood instinctively, as if there was something we could do to soften the blow. She glanced at us briefly, then turned toward the couch. The sound that came out of her when she saw him wasn't human. It was something older, rawer, the kind of grief that tore straight through the soul and out into the air.

"Noooooooooooooo!" she wailed, collapsing beside him.

"No! No! No!" Her cries echoed off the walls, filling every corner of the room with pain. She grabbed Malik's arm, lifted it, and let it fall, as if the proof of its stillness might change if she just tried again.

"My boy… my sweet, good boy…" she sobbed, pressing her forehead against his ruined one without hesitation, without fear.

"He was the best boy there ever was. Good heart, pure soul—no, no…" Her voice broke completely as she pulled him closer, cradling him like a child again. Nick sank to the couch beside me, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Ariana stood still, her hands clasped before her, her face pale but resolute, a sentinel watching grief unfold and knowing there was nothing in the world that could soothe it. Bonnie's voice rose again, shaking with anguish that came from somewhere deeper than flesh.

"I can't live without you, my boy… my good boy. Why did it have to be you!? Oh God, why are you doing this to me!?" Her words tore through the air, through all of us. Rending open the quiet that followed Malik's death. She cried like that for what felt like forever. Time stretched thin and meaningless under the weight of her grief. None of us moved, none of us spoke. We simply listened, anchored by helplessness, as her cries filled every inch of the house. It went on until the door opened, and Dam stepped inside.

Our heads turned toward him in unison. His clothes were torn at the sleeves and legs, his boots gone, but otherwise he looked whole. Though the exhaustion in his eyes spoke of a man who'd seen too much in too short a time. He took in the scene without a word: Ariana standing silent and pale, Nick hunched over with his face buried in his hands, me beside him, still trembling, and Bonnie collapsed beside the couch, her sobs echoing faintly now. Quietly, he crossed the room and knelt beside her.

She muttered something under her breath, too low to make out, still shaking. Dam placed a large, calloused hand on her shoulder. She flinched and brushed it off. He placed it again. She pushed it away once more, but he stayed, patient and unyielding. And set it there again and again until finally, she stopped resisting.

"What do you want?" she asked hoarsely, her voice brittle as cracked glass.

"Can you bring him back?" Dam's face tightened.

"No," he said softly.

"I can't. And I want to apologize. I took him under my protection… and I failed."

"What good are your sorries, man?" Her words trembled, but the fury had burned itself out, leaving only ash.

"Keep them." A silence followed again. Then, quieter, she asked, "Who did that?" It fell to me. Nick looked at me helplessly, and I stepped in.

"Some gangsters," I said, my voice low but steady.

"We were too late to stop them." Bonnie closed her eyes, and for a long moment she didn't breathe.

"God is not fair," she whispered finally.

"I should've been the first to go. I don't want to live in this world if there's no place for Malik in it."

"I know, Bonnie," Dam said gently.

"But we don't get that choice. For what it's worth… your grandson was a good man. A better one than most." She nodded faintly, tears streaking her face.

"Thank you, Damien." Then she lowered her head to Malik's chest, resting it there, as if listening for a heartbeat she knew would never come.

"There's a place," Dam said after a moment, his voice steadying.

"A cemetery for people like him. For mages who gave their lives fighting monsters. I'd like to bury him there, tomorrow." Bonnie didn't hesitate.

"Do it," she whispered.

"He would want to be among the heroes." And for some reason, those words struck me harder than anything else that day. Because she was right. He would.