We moved to a more private location… his base if you will.
I didn't sit.
Neither did he.
That was the first concession neither of us was willing to make.
Aurelian stood at the edge of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed in the way only someone certain of their position could afford. Behind him, the city he ruled unfolded in clean lines and controlled motion—not a tyrant's monument, but an experiment sustained by will and power.
The Saint of Mercy stood a step behind him.
Seraphine.
Seeing her still did something to me, even now. Not pain—something quieter. Like an old scar responding to weather that no longer existed.
She was smiling.
She always did when she saw me.
"Before you speak," I said calmly, "understand this—whatever theory you're building, whatever future you're arranging… it does not touch Lina. And it never touches my mother."
Aurelian's lips curved slightly. Not mockery. Appreciation.
"Still placing anchors before arguments," he said. "You haven't changed, Wisdom."
{"what is that supposed to mean?… oh, i see, he too can recall a bit from his past life.. no wonder he is this cautious while dealing with me— unlike that big idiot, Blake Rogers."}.
"I have," I replied. "I've just learned what's worth burning the world for."
Seraphine's smile softened. She looked away, just briefly.
Aurelian turned, pacing slowly. "You assume I intend harm. That's the government's thinking, not mine."
"You don't need to intend harm," I said. "You only need to be willing to accept it as collateral."
He stopped.
Then nodded once.
"Fair."
He turned back to me fully now, eyes sharp, voice steady.
"All Saints are awake," Aurelian said. "Every one that matters."
He lifted a finger.
"Will—Eli Origami. Awake, aligned, conflicted."
Another finger.
"Courage—Blake Rogers. Awake. Loyal to a fault."
Another.
"Mercy—Seraphine Grimes. Awake long before any of us."
Another.
"And Justice," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Me."
His gaze locked onto mine.
"And Wisdom," he finished. "You."
The room felt heavier—not with pressure, but implication.
"All accounted for," he continued. "All restored. All stabilizing the world in our own way."
I didn't respond.
Because we both knew what was coming.
"There is only one unaccounted variable left," Aurelian said quietly.
"One Saint whose return has not been confirmed."
He took a step closer.
"The Saint of Truth."
Seraphine's breath caught.
I felt it instantly—the microscopic shift in probability, the way the future tried to branch around a single name.
Aurelian watched my face carefully.
"And the troubling thing," he went on, voice thoughtful rather than accusatory, "is that you didn't react with uncertainty."
I met his gaze evenly.
"You reacted with restraint."
Silence.
"That suggests," he said, "that you already know."
I smiled faintly.
"Or that you're overestimating yourself."
He chuckled. "You've never lied well to other Saints."
Then—casually, deliberately—he added:
"And lately… I've had the sense that there is more to Lina than meets the eye."
The word landed wrong.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Just… wrong.
Something in me tightened—old instinct, old reflex, the kind that once decided wars before they began. Futures flickered reflexively, collapsing at the edges.
I forced them still.
I kept my expression neutral.
Seraphine noticed anyway.
Aurelian noticed everything.
"I don't mean that as a threat," he said immediately. "Or an accusation."
"Then don't say her name," I replied, voice calm enough to be dangerous.
The air between us thinned.
Seraphine stepped forward instinctively. "Aurelian," she said softly.
He raised a hand—not to stop her, but to acknowledge her concern.
"You misunderstand me, Neo," he said. "If Lina were ordinary, she would be invisible to the world by now."
I said nothing.
"She isn't," he continued. "And yet no system flags her. No pattern retains her. No future settles around her presence."
His eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but fascination.
"That only happens in two cases," he said.
"Either someone is actively shielding her…"
He paused.
"…or Truth is beginning to wake up."
The room went very still.
I took a slow breath.
Then another.
"You're making an assumption," I said evenly. "And assumptions are how Saints die."
Aurelian smiled wider.
"Spoken like Wisdom."
I stepped closer—not threatening, not aggressive, but undeniable.
"You want unity," I said. "You want the old world back. Saints ruling together, deciding the shape of humanity."
"Yes," he said simply. "Because we are better suited to it. Especially for what's to come."
"What are you talking about?"
"We just have to be together." He stated clearly again.
"And you think I'd risk her to achieve that," I continued. "Risk anyone I refuse to abandon."
His smile faded—not in anger, but in understanding.
"No," Aurelian said quietly. "I think that's exactly why you're dangerous."
Seraphine looked between us, eyes shining with something like hope—and fear.
"You always chose people over outcomes," she said softly. "Even before."
I met her gaze.
"And you always believed that was a flaw."
She shook her head. "No. I believed it was why they killed you."
Silence fell again.
Aurelian exhaled slowly.
"Then let me be clear," he said. "I won't touch Lina. I won't touch your mother. Not directly. Not indirectly."
I watched him carefully.
"But Truth doesn't stay hidden forever," he continued. "And when she wakes fully, the world will feel it—whether you want it to or not."
I nodded once.
"That's why," I said, "I'm here."
His eyes sharpened.
"Not to join you," I continued. "Not to oppose you."
I met his gaze fully now, Wisdom to Justice.
"But to decide whether you're part of the future I'll allow… or another variable I'll remove."
Seraphine's breath caught.
Aurelian laughed softly—genuinely this time.
"…There you are," he said. "The Saint I remember."
And somewhere far away—
truth shifted again.
⸻
Aurelian exhaled slowly and let the tension drain from his posture—not gone, just managed.
"For now," he said, turning slightly toward the tall windows, "you should see the city."
I didn't respond immediately.
"Walk it," Aurelian continued, voice lighter by design. "Experience what we're building. No escorts. No observers. Just… look." A faint smile. "Consider it hospitality."
Seraphine glanced at me, subtle, searching.
I understood the play.
De-escalation. Space. A chance to let heat bleed off before it turned into something irreversible.
"Fine," I said at last. "I'll look."
I turned without another word and left the chamber.
The doors sealed behind me with a soft, final sound.
⸻
When the room was empty of anyone but Saints, Aurelian finally let his shoulders drop.
Seraphine didn't move closer. She stayed where she was, hands folded loosely in front of her, eyes still on the place where I'd stood.
"…How did it feel?" Aurelian asked.
She didn't answer right away.
Seeing me again had been a shock—one she hadn't prepared for, despite knowing it was inevitable. Not the title. Not the power.
Me.
"It hurt," she said quietly. "And it didn't."
Aurelian nodded. "And?"
"And I'm glad he's alive," she added. "Truly alive. Not hollow. Not furious. Not… lost."
Aurelian turned to face her fully. "Are you planning to join him?"
Seraphine finally looked at him.
She didn't say yes.
She didn't need to.
Her silence stretched just long enough to be an answer.
Aurelian studied her, then sighed—not in anger, not in disappointment. Something closer to resignation.
"I thought so."
She shifted, expression thoughtful now. "Why didn't you tell him?"
Aurelian raised an eyebrow. "Tell him what?"
"The real reason," she said. "Why you need the Saints together— Why are you letting him think you're an evil genius, wanting to control the world?" Her gaze sharpened. "You're making yourself the villain in his eyes on purpose."
Aurelian turned away again, staring out at the city.
"I didn't tell him because he was angry," he said simply.
Seraphine frowned. "Angry enough to matter?"
"Yes," Aurelian replied. "Angry enough to break something before it was time."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"Neo looked calm," he continued. "But that calm was restraint, not peace. He's still carrying the weight of betrayal, Seraphine. Of abandonment. Of choice." A pause. "If I had told him everything today, he wouldn't have listened."
She absorbed that. Slowly.
"So, you're waiting," she said.
"I am," Aurelian confirmed. "Until all Saints are awakened. Until the board is complete." His voice lowered. "And until he's cooled enough to hear what's coming."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "You're gambling with his trust."
"I'm gambling with everything," Aurelian said. "Because unlike you… Neo remembers too much."
He turned back to her.
"The others will awaken without their memories. Fragments at best. But Wisdom?" A faint, humorless smile. "He's already ahead. Far ahead. That's why I need him."
"And the hate?" she asked softly. "You're giving him something to hate again."
Aurelian didn't deny it.
"If he focuses that anger on me," he said, "he won't turn it inward. And he won't turn it on the world." His eyes darkened. "And when the real disaster arrives—when it's no longer just governments and borders—he'll still be standing."
Seraphine took a step back.
Then another.
She turned toward the exit.
"I hope," she said without looking at him, "that you know what you're doing, Aurelian."
The doors opened.
And closed behind her.
Aurelian remained alone, staring out at a city that believed it was free—
—and a future that was anything but.
⸻
Justice—Aurelian—kept his word.
No escorts.
No watchers that bothered pretending they were invisible.
Just a city, open to the sun.
I stepped into it alone.
And that, more than anything else, unsettled me.
The streets were clean—but not sterile. People moved with purpose, not fear. Bio-marked walked openly among the unmarked, not segregated, not elevated onto pedestals either. No sirens flinching at energy spikes. No hush when power stirred nearby.
Children laughed when a man casually lifted a collapsed vendor stall with one hand. Someone else bent light just enough to shade a café table.
No panic.
No containment teams.
No protocols.
I hated how carefully functional it all was.
This wasn't a tyrant's capital.
It wasn't even a utopia.
It was an experiment.
One that assumed gifted people weren't mistakes to be corrected—but variables to be integrated.
That was the dangerous part.
Because it worked.
Too well.
I could see how someone desperate—cornered by governments, hunted by laws written by the powerless—would look at this and call it salvation.
I stopped at a plaza where a woman with a glowing bio-mark on her neck argued loudly with a bureaucrat.
Not about her existence.
About taxes.
I almost laughed.
Aurelian hadn't built a throne.
He'd built inevitability.
And that was why I couldn't let him decide the future alone.
Because a system that functioned without consent was still a cage—just a beautiful one.
And Lina…
My mother…
This city would swallow them whole if it ever decided they were inconvenient.
I turned away before the thought could settle into anger.
Anger was what Aurelian was waiting for.