Sunlight burned through the last of his dreams.
Warm.
Steady.
Sol's eyes opened to a slant of light cutting across the attic ceiling. For a few seconds he lay still, listening to dust hiss in the beam and the faint murmur of life below.
Then he exhaled and pushed himself upright.
"…What's the plan now?"
His voice came out rough, like it hadn't been used in years.
Rooftops. Gunfire. Light carving holes through armor. Running until his lungs felt like they'd rip.
The memories came back in jagged flashes.
The exhaustion lingered in his muscles—but beneath it, something else thrummed.
Energy.
Light.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood.
The difference hit him immediately.
His body felt… aligned. No aches. No off-balance sway. Every shift of weight rolled cleanly from heel to toe, like his joints had been oiled, his tendons pulled to perfect tension.
He curled his hand into a fist.
Muscles bunched beneath his skin—not swollen or bulky, just dense. Coiled. Efficient.
He stepped forward and pushed his palm lightly against the wall.
The wooden frame creaked.
Sol blinked.
"…That was light."
He tried again, more carefully. A casual hop sent him higher than he expected, forcing him to grab a ceiling beam with both hands to keep from hitting his head. He hung there for a heartbeat, then dropped back to the floor with a soft thud.
Strength.
Speed.
Coordination.
All turned up past human limits.
Not monstrous. Not godlike.
But undeniably superhuman.
"Strong enough to lift a car…" he murmured as the realization settled.
Another sensation crept in.
Or rather, the absence of one.
He frowned.
"…I'm not hungry."
Hours since he'd eaten anything real. A full day of fighting and running.
He should have been starving.
Instead, warmth spread through him wherever the sun touched his skin. His body drank it in without effort, the way lungs drew air.
Understanding clicked into place.
His body was processing light itself.
As long as he absorbed enough sunlight…
Food and water weren't necessities anymore. Just… optional.
A strange discomfort twisted in his chest.
"…Am I still human?"
The thought hung there longer than he liked.
He shook it off and reached for a small shard of broken glass lying atop a nearby crate.
He hesitated only a moment, then dragged the edge across his palm.
A thin red line split his skin.
The sting was sharp but distant, like it belonged to someone else.
He watched.
The cut bled.
Then slowed.
Then, little by little, the skin closed, the raw line knitting into a faint, fresh pink.
Not instant.
Not dramatic.
But steady. Sure.
A smile tugged at his lips.
Healing.
Something in his mind tugged back.
He pulled up his status.
[Age: 16 (Remaining Lifespan: 5 months and 24 days)]
He froze.
Five months.
Not ninety days. Not a number barely over three digits.
Months.
A long breath escaped him. His shoulders loosened in a way they hadn't since the first time he saw his lifespan ticking away.
"…Good."
Relief. Small, but real.
Then his brow knit.
He remembered the reports from the lab. The lines he'd skimmed about his own flesh.
"They merged ability-user tissue… seeded cancer cells… tested rejection…"
Now he had accelerated healing. Enhanced strength. A body that felt more solid than ever.
So why wasn't it wiping the cancer out?
His gaze slid down the panel.
[GoL Ability: Body of Light (1/100) — Level 1]
He'd used it. Absorbed sunlight. Felt its effects.
And yet—
No experience had moved.
"…How do you level this up?" he muttered.
The system, as usual, refused to answer.
After a moment, he let out a breath and dismissed the panel.
Later.
Below, muffled through floorboards and old insulation, came the sounds of an ordinary evening.
Footsteps. A kettle clinking against a stove. Quiet voices. Someone laughing softly at something on a screen.
The family living here had no idea a wanted Rogue had slept above their heads all night.
Sol stayed still on the attic boards.
Then—
A ripple flickered across his perception.
Subtle. Easy to ignore.
He almost did.
People were always moving. Cars driving. Heat sources passing in and out of Spatial Shift's extended range.
Normal background noise.
But the irregularity remained.
He focused.
Space painted itself in his mind—white paths, black obstructions, moving silhouettes where warm bodies walked.
Most moved along predictable lines.
A small cluster did not.
They lingered around the house. One leaned near a streetlamp. Another stood by a shopfront. Two more pretended to check their phones across the road.
Standing.
Not going anywhere.
And every so often…
Their attention flicked toward the building.
"They're watching," he thought, tension creeping up his spine.
Plain clothes. No obvious weapons. No neat formation.
Which just made it worse.
"Enforcers?" he whispered.
He dismissed it just as quickly.
If it were the Agency, they'd already be kicking in doors. Flooding stairwells. Locking down every exit.
They wouldn't wait politely on the sidewalk.
He reached for space, trying to teleport out.
Nothing answered.
The connection didn't snap.
It… slid.
Like his hand had gone numb and couldn't quite find the shape of a door he knew was there.
The air around him felt subtly wrong.
Thicker.
"Shit."
Spatial Shift was there—he could feel the ability—but something beyond him held the space itself rigid.
Locked.
He didn't waste another second.
He lunged for the window, shoulder slamming it open. Glass rattled. Cool air rushed in.
He jumped.
He hit the yard hard enough to crater the thin layer of dirt and grass, knees bending, weight rolling smoothly forward into a sprint.
He didn't wait to see if anyone had noticed.
Instinct was screaming now.
His new body responded like it had been born for this.
Speed tore through his muscles. The fence at the edge of the yard—tall, splintered wood—barely slowed him. One step, and he vaulted it easily, landing in the neighboring alley.
Behind him, one of the watchers touched the side of his collar, eyes following Sol's blur.
"The kid's moving," he said into a hidden mic. "He made us."
No one sprinted after him.
They watched him go.
Then began to drift away, peeling off into different streets, blending into the crowd.
Sol caught that in the corner of his eye.
No chase.
No shouted orders.
Just dispersal.
It scared him more than a squad in full armor would have.
He turned a corner at full speed—
And almost plowed straight into a man standing in the middle of the path.
Impossible.
He hadn't sensed him at all.
"Shit!"
Momentum carried him forward anyway—but instead of crashing, Sol twisted, pivoting on one foot. His body snapped around like a spring.
His heel whipped up toward the man's head.
Impact.
It felt like kicking a steel beam.
The stranger lifted an elbow almost lazily, forearm taking the full weight of the strike.
Sol's eyes narrowed.
He landed lightly and drove a fist forward.
Light snapped to his knuckles in the same instant, compressing into a point so small it almost didn't exist.
BANG.
His punch sank into the man's abdomen.
Air roared outward. The force riding on Celestial Finger detonated point-blank, folding the man around his fist before flinging him backward like a launched cannonball.
He hit the wall behind him hard enough to crack it open, stone and plaster exploding in a rough crater.
Chunks rained down.
[Celestial Finger Experience +1]
Sol's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile.
Then the man moved.
He planted one hand in the broken wall and shoved himself free, shattered concrete giving way under his fingers as if it were soft clay.
He straightened.
No groan. No stagger. No hesitation.
Just movement.
He charged.
Sol's smile died.
Not normal.
He spun on his heel and ran.
Light gathered subconsciously at his fingertips. He flung blind shots down the alley without looking back, white particles lancing past trash cans and along cracked walls.
He didn't wait to see if they hit.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
Then—
Stopped.
For half a second, all he heard was his own breathing and the slap of his shoes.
"Boy."
The voice brushed his ear from the side.
Amused.
"Relax a little."
Every hair on Sol's body stood on end.
He snapped his head around.
The man was right there, running at his shoulder, easily matching his pace. Expression calm. Breathing unhurried.
Like they were two friends out for a jog.
Cold sank into Sol's gut.
He pulled more light in, desperate, fingers tightening as he wound Celestial Finger again—
The world inverted.
Weight vanished.
Then—
BANG.
The impact split through him like a lightning strike.
The ground cracked under his back as he slammed down, vision going white, a crushing blow having smashed down onto his skull from above.
Darkness swallowed everything.
---
The man exhaled once, rolling his shoulder where Sol's initial kick had landed.
"Target secured," he said into his collar, voice steady. "He's out."
Static crackled, then a woman's voice came through clearly.
"Good work. Assessment?"
He glanced down at his torn shirt, the faint smear of blood on his chest where a Light Particle had grazed him. Already, the skin beneath was tightening, slowly coming together as blood returned to the wound, bruising fading.
He flexed his numbed elbow.
"…Better than expected," he said, and there was a hint of a grin in his tone. "I like him."
"Get him to a safehouse," she replied. "Secure restraints. He won't be calm when he wakes."
"Understood."
He stooped, hoisting Sol's limp body over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all, and melted into the warren of side streets.
---
Across the city, in a small, worn apartment that smelled faintly of disinfectant and boiled vegetables—
Soup simmered on an old stove.
Sara stood in front of it, hand moving the spoon in slow, mechanical circles. Steam fogged the chipped tiles above the burner.
The room was cramped but clean. Peeling paint. Second-hand furniture kept in good repair. Children's drawings—lopsided houses, stick figures with bright smiles—covered a section of the wall.
Two kids sat at the wobbly table.
A little girl hugged a threadbare stuffed animal, chin on her arms as she watched her mother.
Her older brother kept glancing between Sara and the silent TV.
She blinked quickly, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.
"Mom… it's okay," the girl said softly. "Brother will come back."
"Yeah," the boy chimed in, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He's… he's got powers. He'll be fine."
Sara's hand shook.
She gripped the spoon harder.
At the hospital, during her shift as a cleaner, the news had been on in the background. People had crowded around the screen.
Rogue sighting. Live broadcast.
Even through pixelation and smoke and blood—
She had recognized him.
Her son.
Her frail boy.
Fighting.
Killing.
"What did they do to you…" she whispered, voice barely audible over the simmering pot.
The last time she'd seen him, he'd promised to help cover her medicine. To find work. To be better.
Then he'd vanished.
Over a year of silence.
Until the whole city saw him.
Her chest clenched, pain as sharp as any scalpel.
Tears burned hot at the corners of her eyes.
She blinked them away.
Knock. Knock.
The sound froze her.
The children went quiet, looking toward the door.
Sara wiped her face quickly with the back of her wrist and walked over on stiff legs.
Their neighborhood wasn't good.
Nobody came here with good news.
"Who is it?" she asked through the wood, voice small.
Silence.
She swallowed and leaned toward the peephole.
Two men stood outside.
Neat suits. Neutral expressions. Hands visible. No overt aggression—and no comfort either.
Before she could step back, one of them spoke, tone even. Controlled.
"Please open the door, ma'am."
He looked straight at the peephole, eyes calm and unreadable.
"We'd like to talk about your son."