Next Step

The morning felt wrong.

Alex turned the metallic fragment of Vault's pole over in his hands. It wasn't much—just a broken length of alloyed steel, smooth at the break, humming faintly with residual energy. He spun it slowly, watching the way the light caught its edge. It had become a habit now, this silent ritual of memory.

Alex sat alone at his desk, the familiar hum of his dispatch equipment offering no comfort. The fragment of Vault's pole lay in front of him—cool, metallic, still carrying faint traces of static. He hadn't moved it since returning from the facility.

Bliss sat curled by the window, her usual calming aura barely noticeable today.

Vault was gone.

Not just returned to the portal like most of his summoned heroes. Gone. Disappeared after fulfilling a promise. A promise to protect.

Alex clenched his jaw, replaying the final moments. The strike. The sacrifice. The way Vault had shielded him without hesitation. And then… nothing. Just the fading shimmer of departure.

It hurt—more than he expected. Vault had been his first summon, his first success, and in many ways, his first real proof that he could make a difference.

But beneath the grief, a strange calm settled in his chest.

Vault had left on his own terms. Not broken. Not lost. But fulfilled.

Alex could still hear his final words: "Maybe now, I can let go."

A life undone by guilt, now given peace through one final act of purpose.

That thought didn't erase the ache… but it made it bearable.

He brushed his fingers over the pole fragment and whispered, "Thank you. I hope you found what you were looking for."

He stood slowly and moved toward the corner of the room where the summoning mug sat on its pedestal. One of the smaller, odder artifacts he'd brought into this world, the mug produced a different flavor of coffee every morning and evening.

Today's brew was smoky—like toasted almonds with a hint of burnt sugar.

He took a sip, and for the first time that morning, he felt the weight in his chest ease slightly.

A soft knock sounded.

Agent Yurei entered, carrying a sleek glass case, gloved hands steady as ever. Inside was a cube—smooth, white, and glowing faintly with a rainbow sheen that shifted as she moved.

She set it gently on his desk without a word, then placed a neatly bound folder beside it.

"This came directly from the Mayor," she said. "A personal gift. He's been following your progress."

Alex blinked in surprise.

Yurei gestured to the folder. "Everything we know about the artifact is in there. Effects, risks, and usage data from our limited tests."

Attached to the front of the glass case was a note, styled like a game item:

---

[Support-Class Artifact: Mindcube of Clarity]

Type: Cognitive Booster / Summon Enhancer

Function: Increases the precision and control of Hero Summons.

Effect: Twisting the cube daily encourages new pathways of thought, mildly enhancing mental regeneration over time.

Caution: Excessive use may lead to hallucinations, spatial disorientation, or loss of cognitive cohesion during active summons.

---

"He wanted you to have every advantage," Yurei added softly. "Said heroes like you don't come around often."

Then she left.

Alex stared at the artifact, the cube glowing gently like it was waiting.

He exhaled slowly, reached out, and placed his fingers on the cube's cool surface.

A faint hum vibrated through his skin. The cube shifted slightly under his touch, its rainbow sheen pulsing with rhythmic light. Then, unexpectedly, he felt a pull—like something inside him responded.

A jolt ran through his head.

He staggered back.

The cube vanished—not with a flash, not with a portal shimmer, but with a silent collapse inward, like it had folded into nothingness.

Alex pressed a hand to his forehead. A warmth lingered behind his eyes. His thoughts felt sharper, more structured.

"…Did it go into my mind?"

As odd as it was, he could still feel it—dormant, resting in some corner of his psyche.

And with it, a subtle mental restoration, like a gentle breeze clearing cobwebs.

He sat back down, whispered, "Let's see if you live up to the praise."

His headset buzzed to life, the sharp tone of priority override flashing across his desk monitor.

"Dispatch, we've got a collapse on the east express overpass. Multiple vehicles trapped. Structural integrity unstable. Civilians in critical condition."

He stood at once, pushing aside the file and grabbing his headset.

"Understood. Preparing hero deployment."

He called on Zipline first. Her newly upgraded gear shimmered as she stepped from the portal, her skating suit reinforced with the metallic weave that now shifted effortlessly into shields and ramps.

"East overpass," Alex told her. "Speed and cover. You'll be clearing trapped vehicles while I coordinate support."

Zipline didn't wait. She nodded sharply and skated into the slide chute, disappearing in a blink.

Alex paused, surprised by the steadiness in his mind. Despite the earlier stress, Bliss's aura and the mental training seemed to be helping.

He focused inward.

He felt it—a reserve. Not large, but enough. He could summon one more.

He summoned Fixer next.

The mechanic stepped through the portal, tall and broad-shouldered, a worn utility jumpsuit clinging to his frame. A metal visor flickered across his eyes, cycling through diagnostics, and his arms were encased in heavy gauntlets—steam-hissing, gear-lined, and pulsing with quiet power.

Without waiting for instruction, Fixer cracked his knuckles and muttered, "Yeah… this one's bad," as he stepped into the slide and disappeared.

Alex blinked, mid-sentence. "...Okay then."

Moments later, on the drone feed, Fixer dropped beside Zipline on the broken overpass and immediately got to work—slamming his gauntlets into the road, triggering a cascade of micro-repairs along fractured concrete and twisted rebar. As he moved, damaged structures reformed in real time, reshaped by bursts of kinetic energy funneled through his mechanical arms.

Then a tremor hit.

A heavy transport truck teetered off the edge of the overpass, screaming metal threatening to shear clean off.

"Zipline, can you—?" Alex started.

"Too heavy. I need backup or I have to let it go!"

Alex hesitated, hand hovering over his summoning terminal. His energy reserve was already being taxed.

But he couldn't let those people fall.

He focused.

As Zipline finished evacuating the last civilians, she looked toward the portal slide, gave Alex a quick salute, and vanished in a shimmer of light—returning to the summoning realm willingly to free up his mental capacity.

The portal swirled.

Shield Maiden stepped forth, her shield already raised.

"Transport truck. Top of the bridge. We need force redirection and stabilization."

No words—only a nod.

She charged into the slide.

Alex leaned forward in his seat, breathing fast, hands trembling slightly.

On the drone screen, Shield Maiden emerged beside Zipline. She slammed her shield beneath the truck just as it tipped, absorbing the downward force and sending a shockwave through the crumbling bridge. Fixer reinforced the edges just in time.

Zipline raced onto the truck's roof, pulling civilians out through the skylight, handing them down to Shield Maiden one by one.

Within minutes, the truck was secured and the overpass stabilized enough for a proper evacuation.

"Mission complete," Fixer said, wiping his brow.

Shield Maiden nodded lightly as gesture that every thing is done.

Alex went back to his office.He slumped into his chair, eyes closed.

Something felt different now. After this mission—after watching Zipline take initiative, Fixer ignore instructions and leap into action, and Shield Maiden move with quiet determination, never speaking a single word since her arrival—he realized he was starting to get a better grasp of who they were.

Not just their abilities, but their personalities. The subtleties. The habits. The way they approached danger. He hadn't noticed it before, but each summon brought with them more than power.

They brought themselves.

Alex's gaze drifted back to Vault's relic resting on the desk. His fingers hovered above it.

If summoning items consumed his mental energy… what would happen if he channeled that energy into a relic left behind?

The idea struck him like a current.

Maybe… just maybe… there was more to his heroes than even he understood.