Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Weight of Aspirations

Firebrand stood at the edge of a ruined overpass, the wind carrying ash and the faint hum of distant voices from the Vanguard of Avalon's camp. His flames flickered erratically, reflecting the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

Swift Angel approached, his wings folded tightly against his back. The once-pristine feathers were frayed, a symbol of his growing weariness.

"You're restless," Angel said, his tone neutral but probing.

Firebrand glanced at him, his golden eyes glowing faintly. "You're not?"

Angel sighed, leaning against a rusted railing. "Always. But standing here sulking won't change anything."

"I'm not sulking," Firebrand snapped, though his tone betrayed a flicker of doubt. "I'm... trying to figure out why I'm still here."

Angel nodded knowingly. "Arthur has that effect. It makes you question everything you thought you believed."

Firebrand's flames burned brighter. "He's naïve. All this talk of hope and justice—it's not enough. Not for this world."

"And yet," Angel said quietly, "you haven't left."

Firebrand's flames dimmed as he stared into the distance. "Because part of me wants to believe he's right. That we can do better. Be better."

Angel turned to him, his grey eyes unreadable. "Then why fight it?"

"Because being better doesn't win wars," Firebrand replied. "Being better doesn't protect people. Strength does."

"And what's strength worth," Angel asked, "if it destroys everything it's meant to protect?"

For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a shroud.

From the camp below, Ironheart and Gentle Illusionist observed the two men in silence. The glow of Firebrand's flames and the faint shimmer of Angel's wings made them appear almost otherworldly.

"They're something else, aren't they?" Gentle Illusionist said, her tone equal parts admiration and detachment.

Ironheart nodded, her steel skin catching the firelight. "The Superhuman. It's something to aspire to be."

Gentle Illusionist smirked, leaning back against a crumbling wall. "Nietzsche would have been thrilled. He is our Übermensch, standing right in front of us."

Ironheart's tone grew more contemplative. "If you think about it, the aspiration of any woman should be to give birth to a Superhuman like them. Something stronger, better, more perfect."

Gentle Illusionist tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "You think so? That's a little reductive, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Ironheart replied. "But in a world like this, where power defines survival, creating something stronger could be the greatest gift a woman could give."

Gentle Illusionist shrugged, her smirk returning. "Or the greatest curse. Strength like theirs doesn't come without a cost."

Back on the overpass, Firebrand turned to Angel, his flames flaring again. "You think Arthur's vision is enough to keep us together? To keep this world from tearing itself apart?"

Angel's gaze didn't waver. "I don't know. But I do know that if we don't try, we're no better than the chaos we're fighting against."

Firebrand scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You've got your wings and your righteousness. People look at you and see a saviour. They look at me and see a monster."

Angel's wings shifted slightly, his tone softening. "Maybe. But the monster you think you are isn't who I see. And I don't think it's who Arthur sees either."

For a moment, Firebrand was silent, his flames flickering uncertainly. "I'm not sure I can be what he wants me to be."

"You don't have to be," Angel said simply. "Just be what the world needs you to be."

As the two men descended from the overpass, the camp below stirred with activity. Arthur stood near a makeshift map table, his calm presence anchoring the group. Alora and Christopher flanked him, their expressions a mixture of weariness and resolve.

Firebrand and Angel exchanged a glance before joining the group.

Arthur's gaze settled on them, his voice steady. "We face many battles ahead—within and without. But together, we can be more than warriors. We can be a light in the darkness."

Firebrand crossed his arms, his flames dim but present. "We'll see."

Angel nodded silently, his wings folding tightly against his back.

Gentle Illusionist watched from the side-lines, her lips curving into a faint smile. "The Superhumans, brought low by a dreamer with a sword. Who would've thought?"

Ironheart chuckled softly. "Maybe that's the point. Even the strongest need something to fight for."