By the next morning, Vale realized something had changed.
People no longer looked at him the same way.
Before, when he walked through District Seven, refugees greeted him with cautious relief. Soldiers nodded in gratitude. Merchants scowled but kept quiet. He was the man who held monsters at bay, the stranger who stepped in when violence threatened civilians.
Now—
The looks were mixed.
Some still hopeful.
Some fearful.
Some openly resentful.
Vale noticed it first while crossing the central square with Lyn, heading toward a ration station rumored to still have supplies. Lines stretched across the plaza, civilians waiting for portions that grew smaller each day.
As Vale passed, whispers followed.
“That’s him.”
“The Protector.”
“He stopped soldiers yesterday.”
“He helps merchants.”
“He protects them.”
Vale frowned slightly.
Behind him, Lyn muttered:
“…That sounded bad.”
He didn’t respond.
Because she was right.
Ahead, a woman stepped out of line suddenly, blocking his path. She clutched a thin child against her hip, eyes ringed with exhaustion.
“You,” she said.
Vale stopped.
“Yes?”
Her voice trembled with restrained anger.
“They say you help people.”
Silence spread around them.
Eyes turned.
Vale answered carefully.
“I try.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Then why are we still hungry?”
The square fell quiet.
Vale studied her.
Honesty or comfort?
He chose honesty.
“Because food is limited.”
Murmurs spread.
The woman shook her head.
“No. Because merchants hide food. Because soldiers take food. Because Authority users fight over food.”
She stepped closer.
“And you protect them.”
Silence thickened.
Vale spoke calmly.
“I protect civilians.”
She gestured wildly around them.
“We are civilians!”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Vale exhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
“Then why do things get worse?”
There it was.
The question people asked when hope faded.
Vale held her gaze.
“Because fixing one fight doesn’t fix everything.”
Silence followed.
Then someone muttered from the crowd:
“Maybe he’s part of the problem.”
Lyn stiffened beside him.
Vale ignored it.
The woman stared a moment longer, then stepped back into line without another word.
But the damage lingered.
Whispers followed Vale as he walked away.
Protector.
Fraud.
Merchant puppet.
City soldier.
Enemy.
Lyn kicked a loose stone angrily.
“They’re idiots.”
Vale shook his head.
“No.”
“They blame you for things you didn’t do.”
“That’s how fear works.”
Silence stretched.
Then Lyn muttered:
“I liked it better when monsters were the only problem.”
Vale almost smiled.
“Me too.”
By midday, rumors spread faster.
Vale felt it across districts.
He passed soldiers arguing with civilians, merchants reinforcing storefronts, and refugees trading accusations about who caused food shortages.
And everywhere—
His name surfaced.
Sometimes praise.
Sometimes blame.
He entered Enforcer Headquarters under tense silence. Officers hurried past without their usual nods, focused on rising unrest reports.
The commander stood over the war table again when he arrived.
She glanced up.
“You’re popular.”
Vale crossed his arms.
“So I’ve heard.”
She gestured toward scattered reports.
“People think you control Authority conflicts.”
He frowned.
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“I stop them.”
“Yes.”
She met his gaze.
“Which means they think you choose winners.”
Silence stretched.
Vale exhaled slowly.
“Not intentional.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Because perception mattered more than intent.
She continued:
“Some districts now believe you protect merchants.”
Vale blinked.
“What?”
“You prevented riots from looting warehouses.”
“Prevented civilians from getting killed.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Silence followed.
She tapped the table.
“Others believe you’re anti-military.”
Vale frowned.
“Why?”
“You stopped soldiers from suppressing riots.”
Vale rubbed his temple.
“So whichever side loses blames me.”
“Yes.”
Silence settled.
Then she added quietly:
“And some people think you should lead.”
Vale froze.
“What?”
Commander shrugged.
“Protector figure. Neutral. Strong.”
Vale stared.
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms.
“But desperate cities believe strange things.”
Vale turned away slowly.
Because that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Authority and politics mixed badly.
Behind him, she added:
“Stay careful.”
He nodded slightly.
“Always.”
Outside headquarters, Lyn waited with arms crossed.
“Well?”
Vale sighed.
“I’m apparently the city’s favorite villain.”
She blinked.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Then Lyn smirked slightly.
“Better than being forgotten.”
Vale shook his head.
“Forgotten people survive longer.”
They walked in silence for several minutes before another disturbance caught attention ahead.
Shouting.
Crowds gathering.
Vale sighed.
“Again?”
Lyn groaned.
“Of course.”
They pushed through the crowd.
At the center stood a young Authority user surrounded by cheering civilians. Electricity crackled faintly across his hands as he shouted passionately.
“…they starve us while elites eat!”
Crowd roared approval.
Lyn muttered:
“Oh great. Revolutionary.”
Vale stepped closer.
The young man noticed him instantly.
Recognition flashed.
Then hostility.
“There he is!”
Crowd murmured.
Vale crossed his arms calmly.
“Hello.”
The young Authority user stepped forward.
“You protect them.”
Vale sighed internally.
“Protect civilians.”
The young man scoffed.
“Merchants aren’t civilians.”
“Neither are rioters.”
Crowd murmured uneasily.
The young man pointed dramatically.
“People need leaders who fight back.”
Vale frowned.
“Against who?”
“Oppression!”
Silence stretched.
Vale gestured around.
“Oppression looks different when monsters surround the city.”
The young man faltered slightly.
Then shouted louder.
“People are hungry because elites steal!”
Crowd cheered.
Vale exhaled slowly.
Demagogues thrived in desperation.
He answered calmly.
“And riots make food appear?”
Silence.
The young man hesitated.
Then electricity crackled brighter.
“At least we fight!”
Vale shook his head.
“You fight civilians.”
Crowd murmured uncertainly now.
The young Authority user clenched his fists.
“You’re afraid of change.”
Vale answered quietly.
“I’m afraid of collapse.”
Silence stretched.
Then someone in the crowd shouted:
“Fight him!”
Lyn groaned.
“Not again.”
Vale sighed.
“No.”
He turned away.
The young Authority user shouted after him:
“You’ll be on the wrong side soon!”
Vale didn’t look back.
Because arguments weren’t the real danger.
Desperation was.
And desperation was spreading.
That evening, Vale climbed onto the warehouse roof again.
The city glowed under torchlight.
But noise felt sharper.
Arguments everywhere.
Distrust growing.
Lyn joined him quietly.
“You’re thinking too much.”
Vale stared toward distant walls.
“Yes.”
She sat beside him.
“Say it.”
Silence stretched.
Then Vale answered quietly:
“The hunter doesn’t need to attack.”
Lyn frowned.
“What?”
Vale gestured toward the city.
“We’re destroying ourselves.”
Silence followed.
Wind drifted across rooftops.
Below, shouting erupted somewhere over stolen rations.
Lyn whispered:
“So what do we do?”
Vale exhaled slowly.
“Survive.”
Silence stretched again.
Then Lyn muttered:
“I hate this part.”
Vale nodded.
“Me too.”
Because monsters were simple.
But people—
People were complicated.
And complicated problems killed cities slowly.
And somewhere beyond walls—
The hunter waited patiently.
Because prey tearing itself apart required no effort at all.
Night deepened, but the city did not quiet.
Vale remained on the warehouse rooftop long after Lyn climbed back down to sleep. Below him, District Seven shifted restlessly, refugees turning in uneasy dreams or arguing in hushed tones over dwindling supplies. Fires burned low in barrels, casting flickering shadows across weary faces.
He watched people move through torchlight and thought about the woman in the ration line.
Why are we still hungry?
It was a fair question.
He had stopped monsters at the gates. Broken up riots. Halted Authority battles that would have destroyed entire streets. And yet, things still grew worse.
Because survival wasn’t victory.
It was maintenance.
And maintenance never satisfied anyone.
A stone clattered somewhere below. Two men argued over stolen bread. A child cried. Somewhere else, someone laughed too loudly—desperation disguised as humor.
Vale exhaled slowly.
Protector Authority stirred faintly beneath his exhaustion, reacting to tension like a wound reacting to cold air. The power didn’t simply defend people. It demanded responsibility.
And responsibility didn’t come with applause.
Behind him, footsteps sounded softly.
Vale didn’t turn.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Lyn climbed up and dropped beside him, arms wrapped around her knees.
“People arguing again,” she muttered. “Someone accused Marrow’s hunters of stealing supplies.”
Vale frowned slightly.
“Did they?”
“No.”
Silence stretched.
“But people don’t care about truth anymore,” she added quietly.
No.
They cared about blame.
Lyn glanced sideways at him.
“You’re going to burn out.”
Vale shrugged.
“Probably.”
She frowned.
“That wasn’t a joke.”
He gave a tired half-smile.
“Neither was that.”
Silence settled again.
Below them, two civilians nearly came to blows before others dragged them apart.
Lyn sighed.
“You can’t fix this alone.”
Vale nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“But you’re trying anyway.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Then Lyn muttered:
“Idiot.”
Vale didn’t argue.
The assassination attempt came at dawn.
Vale had just descended from the rooftop when the first arrow struck.
It slammed into the wooden pillar beside him, splintering the surface inches from his head.
He reacted instantly, Authority flaring as his body moved before conscious thought caught up.
Second arrow followed.
Defensive pressure warped air just enough for the shot to veer wide.
Shouts erupted around him as refugees scrambled for cover.
Lyn ducked behind a crate.
“What the hell?!”
Vale scanned rooftops.
Movement.
There.
A shadow pulling back from the edge of a neighboring building.
He sprinted.
Pain shot through his ribs, but adrenaline smothered it. He vaulted crates, crossed the street, and climbed the external ladder two rungs at a time.
By the time he reached the rooftop, the assassin was already running.
A lean figure in dark clothing sprinted across rooftops with practiced ease.
Vale followed.
Wind whipped past as he leapt between buildings. Below, civilians scattered in confusion while soldiers shouted orders.
The assassin glanced back.
Saw him.
Ran faster.
Vale gritted his teeth and pushed harder, Protector Authority subtly enhancing his balance and momentum. He gained ground slowly.
The assassin reached the end of a roof and jumped.
Vale followed—
—and crashed into them midair.
Both slammed into a lower rooftop, rolling violently. The assassin twisted free instantly, knife flashing toward Vale’s throat.
Vale caught the wrist and slammed it against stone.
The blade clattered away.
The assassin tried to roll free.
Vale pinned them, knee pressing into their chest.
“Who sent you?”
The figure struggled silently.
Vale ripped the mask away.
A young man.
Barely older than twenty.
Eyes filled not with fear—
But hatred.
“You protect them,” the assassin spat.
Vale froze slightly.
“Protect who?”
“Merchants. Soldiers. Authority tyrants.”
Vale frowned.
“You tried to kill me for that?”
The young man’s lip curled.
“You’re their shield.”
Vale’s grip tightened slightly.
“Who told you that?”
Silence.
Then—
Footsteps behind.
Vale turned instinctively.
Too late.
A second figure lunged from behind, slamming into him. Authority flared automatically, absorbing most of the impact, but the distraction was enough.
The young assassin shoved Vale away and sprinted across the rooftop, vanishing into alleys below.
Vale rolled to his feet—
—but the second attacker was already gone too.
Silence returned.
Vale stood alone on the rooftop, breathing hard.
Below, soldiers flooded the street.
Lyn shouted from below:
“Vale!”
He exhaled slowly.
So.
That was new.
The Enforcer commander looked furious when he reported the incident.
“They tried to assassinate you?”
Vale nodded calmly.
“Yes.”
“Inside refugee district?”
“Yes.”
Silence hung heavy.
Officers exchanged uneasy looks.
The commander crossed her arms.
“This city’s losing its mind.”
Vale shrugged.
“Already lost.”
Silence stretched.
An officer muttered:
“Who would even try that?”
Vale answered quietly:
“People who think I’m the enemy.”
Commander frowned.
“Which people?”
Vale met her gaze.
“All of them.”
Silence followed.
Because that felt increasingly true.
She exhaled slowly.
“We’ll increase patrols.”
Vale shook his head.
“Won’t help.”
She frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because anger doesn’t wear uniforms.”
Silence.
She studied him.
“…Be careful.”
Vale nodded.
“Always am.”
Word spread fast.
By afternoon, rumors twisted the story.
Some claimed Vale survived a military assassination attempt.
Others claimed rebel factions targeted him for betrayal.
Still others said merchants hired killers to silence him.
Truth didn’t matter.
Stories did.
And stories grew quickly in desperate cities.
Vale walked through streets feeling eyes on him again.
Different now.
Not hopeful.
Suspicious.
Hostile.
Lyn noticed too.
“…They’re scared of you now.”
Vale nodded.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Then she asked quietly:
“Does it bother you?”
Vale thought about it.
Then answered:
“No.”
She blinked.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then he added:
“It should.”
Because power always frightened people.
And fear kept Authority users careful.
Or at least—
It should.
That night, Vale returned to the rooftop again.
The city stretched beneath him, restless and fractured.
Fights broke out in distant districts.
Soldiers marched constantly.
Merchants fortified warehouses.
Refugees whispered of betrayal.
Beside him, Lyn stared across rooftops.
“You think they’ll try again?”
Vale shrugged.
“Probably.”
Silence stretched.
Wind carried distant howls beyond walls.
The hunter still waited.
Lyn hugged her knees.
“Feels like everything’s about to explode.”
Vale nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Because reputations didn’t fracture quietly.
They shattered.
And shattered cities didn’t survive long.
Below them, arguments flared again.
Someone shouted accusations.
Someone cried.
Someone laughed.
Life continued.
But thinner now.
More fragile.
Vale stared toward distant darkness beyond walls.
The hunter watched.
And waited.
Because prey didn’t fall all at once.
It cracked first.
And this city—
Was starting to crack.
