The transition from a 25th-level Sovereign to a regular man was not a graceful descent; it was a physical and mental crash. For weeks after giving back the Seal, Einstein felt the "Phantom Limb" of his power. He would reach for a coffee cup and expect it to fly into his hand, or he would stare at a locked door for a second too long, waiting for the atoms to dissolve.
But the world didn't care about his loss. The city of London continued to breathe, oblivious to the fact that its "Anchor" had stepped down.
Einstein sat in the breakroom of the boutique firm, stirring a cup of instant noodles. His back ached from a long morning of filing physical paperwork—a task he insisted on doing himself. He was relearning the value of time when it wasn't a resource he could manipulate.
"You're doing it again," Felicity said, leaning in the doorway. She was wearing a simple blazer, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked less like a corporate titan and more like the woman he had first met years ago.
"Doing what?" Einstein asked, blowing on his noodles.
"Staring at the wall like you're trying to calculate the trajectory of a star. You're a consultant now, Einstein. Your biggest battle today is convincing the local florist that 'fuchsia' isn't the same as 'magenta'."
Einstein laughed, and to his surprise, the sound was light. "I'm just enjoying the silence, Felicity. My head used to be filled with the vibrations of every bank transaction in the Northern Hemisphere. Now... it's just the sound of that leaky faucet."
The Shadow of the Past
The peace was interrupted by the chime of the office's front door. It wasn't a client.
A man in a sharp, grey suit walked in. He looked like a standard auditor, but his eyes had a sharpness that didn't belong in a boutique firm. He looked at Einstein, then at Felicity.
"Mr. Jacob," the man said, sliding a business card across the counter. [INTERNATIONAL ASSET RECOVERY UNIT].
Einstein felt a flicker of the old coldness in his gut. "The money is gone, Agent. The accounts were closed by the Orion Syndicate before they... exited the market."
"We aren't here for the money, Mr. Jacob," the agent said. "We're here for the Legacy. After the 'Pacific Anomaly,' a lot of people started looking into your family history. They found records of a grandfather who shouldn't have been able to fight the way he did, and a mother who disappeared into thin air with billions."
The agent leaned in closer. "The world is a very small place now. People are scared. They saw the sky turn purple. They saw a man standing on a rooftop in a blue light. They want to know if that man is still around."
Einstein stood up. He didn't have his Sovereign aura. He didn't have the Sun-God Seal. But he still had the Presence of a man who had looked a god in the eye and told him to leave.
"The man you're looking for is gone," Einstein said, his voice steady. "He was a debt collector. The debt is paid. If you're looking for someone to blame for the purple sky, check the weather reports."
The agent stared at him for a long beat, searching for a spark of the golden light. He found nothing but the honest exhaustion of a man working a 9-to-5 job.
"I hope for your sake that's true," the agent said, pocketing his card. "Because there are others who aren't as polite as the IARU. The power vacuum you left... it's attracting vultures."
The Vultures Arrive
That evening, as Einstein and Felicity walked toward their modest car in the parking garage, they found themselves blocked. It wasn't the Council or the Architects. It was a group of eight men in heavy tactical gear, led by a face Einstein recognized from his "unproductive" years.
It was Bradley Jr.
He looked different. His face was scarred, and he carried a high-tech pulse rifle that looked like it had been salvaged from the ruins of the Himalayan Spire.
"I spent a year in a private military hospital because of you, Jacob," Bradley spat. "My father is in prison. My company is a charity hub. You took everything from me because you had a 'secret.' Well, word on the street is your secret is dead. You're just a man again."
Bradley raised the rifle, aiming it at Einstein's chest. "I want to see if you bleed like a delivery boy."
Felicity stepped in front of Einstein, her arms spread wide. "Bradley, stop! He has nothing left! Leave him alone!"
"Move, Felicity," Bradley sneered. "Or I'll see if your 'benefactor' can save you from a pulse-slug at point-blank range."
Einstein gently moved Felicity behind him. He looked at the eight armed men. He felt the weight of his own mortality. He had no 25th-level shields. A single bullet would end the legend of the King of the North forever.
But Einstein didn't look afraid. He looked Disappointed.
"You think power comes from the Seal, Bradley?" Einstein asked, walking forward until the barrel of the rifle was pressed against his forehead. "You think I was dangerous because I could fly?"
"Shut up!" Bradley shouted, his finger trembling on the trigger.
"I was dangerous because I was willing to sleep on the floor for five years to protect what I loved," Einstein said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "I was dangerous because I knew how to survive on a sandwich and a dream. I am a Jacob. And a Jacob is never 'just a man'."
Einstein didn't use a Sovereign strike. He used a move his grandfather had taught him when he was six years old—a simple, human Disarm.
In a blur of motion that owed everything to muscle memory and nothing to magic, Einstein twisted the rifle's barrel, struck Bradley's wrist, and delivered a sharp elbow to his chin. Before the other seven men could react, a series of red dots appeared on their chests.
From the shadows of the garage, Rhea and four members of the Vanguard emerged. They weren't using glowing swords or energy blasts. They were using high-caliber tactical rifles.
"The King might be retired," Rhea said, stepping into the light, "but the Guard is still on the clock."
The Final Dismissal
Bradley lay on the concrete, clutching his jaw, looking up at the rifles pointed at his head.
"You... you still have them?" Bradley wheezed. "How? You have no money! You have no power!"
"They aren't here for money, Bradley," Einstein said, looking down at him. "They're here because they believe in the world we're building. Something you wouldn't understand."
Einstein looked at Rhea. "Don't kill them. Call the police. Tell them you found some trespassers with illegal military-grade hardware."
"Yes, sir," Rhea said, her eyes twinkling with a bit of the old fire.
The True Horizon
As the police sirens echoed in the distance, Einstein and Felicity drove away. They didn't head for a palace or a fortress. They headed for a small, two-bedroom apartment they had just put a down payment on.
"You're still pretty fast for a consultant," Felicity said, resting her head on his shoulder.
"It's the coffee," Einstein joked.
They reached the apartment. It was quiet. It was small. There was a pile of laundry in the corner and a leak in the bathroom that Einstein would have to fix with a wrench tomorrow.
He stood on the small balcony, looking at the stars. They were just stars now—not a Syndicate, not a threat, just beautiful lights in a vast, indifferent universe.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened the banking app one last time.
Current Balance: £45.50
He had been paid for his first week as a consultant. It was the hardest-earned money he had ever made. He felt a sense of accomplishment that $10 trillion could never buy.
He closed the app and deleted it.
Einstein Jacob walked back inside, closed the door, and turned off the light. He wasn't the King of the North. He wasn't the Sovereign of Reality.
He was a husband, home at last.