Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before you begin reading the story, you need to know who this mysterious vigilante OC is who woud soon meet Gazerbeam/Simon in the ongoing chapters. Let's break it down to a file belonging to the one and only Seraphim.

S.I.G.I.L. File Description

Name: [REDACTED] {Adriane (Addy) Apostol}

Age: Early 20s

Rank: A-Ranked Vigilante (Elite level)

Code Name: Seraphim

Aliases: Dollface (Formerly, National Alias), Seraphim (International Alias)

Classification: Project Angelus - PAS: 12 (Project Angelus Subject: 12)

Affiliation: Faction Purgatorium, Team Sacrilegus (Disband)

Power Level: 100

Strength: 25

Defense: 57

Endurance: 31

Stamina: 22

Intelligence: 62

Creativity: 84

Combat Skill: 68

Agility: 41

Indestructibility: 21

Threat Level: 9.7

Powers:

• Possesses over 40+ unique angelic abilities centered on light, purification, judgment, and soul manipulation.
• Dominant Power - Divine Light Manipulation
• Weaknesses - Smoke (Commonly, a literal association to cloud from angels and heaven), Afraid of loud conflict, Hatred, Corruption, Moral Decay, and the Defilement of her Purity. All abilities stem from a divine core of Purity.
• Highly emotional; sensory empathy lets her sense emotions, which can empower or destabilize her.
• If provoked emotionally or spiritually violated, Seraphim may enter forbidden states. These forms override moral inhibition and bring forth cataclysmic destruction. Possess forbidden abilities in the 40+ powers.
• Not to be perceived as a weapon, entity, or deity. But as a cataclysmic anomaly. Ignorance, arrogance, or underestimation of her capabilities will lead to extinction-level consequences. Handle with reverence, caution, and distance.

Personality and Notes:

• Known for her shy, introverted, soft-spoken, compassionate behavior. Never initiates conflict unless cornered.
• Often dependent on bodyguards or trusted partners (requires higher intelligence and experience, both in battle and social situations). She thrives under gentle support.
• Emotionally Unstable and mentally chaotic. Requires strong emotional attachments (mainly through trusted partners) to be under control. Your words and intentions matter; ignorance and dismissal would be your downfall. 
• Secret Identity - Freshman College Student
• Possesses brilliant creativity but poor logical and social function. Often distracted or overwhelmed.
• Despite her frailty, she is a deeply tactical soul, weaponizing her emotions, empathy, and powers in divine conflict.
• Moral alignment is Neutral Good, driven by compassion yet unbound by conventional law or mercy. While compassionate, she enforces justice through merciless means against those she deems Sinners. Each act is marked by white Sampaguita flowers and her luminous insignia, symbolizing judgment delivered before dawn.
• Former Partners: A total of 10 former partners in justice - Cherubim (10th partner), Psycho Rabbit (9th partner), Wild Dog (8th partner), Corazon (7th partner), Fallout/Kuro (6th partner), and five unknown partners (1st to 5th partners).
• Current Partner: Gazerbeam, the 11th partner in justice, Divus (the 12th secret partner)

Team Affiliation: Sacreligus (1937–1946)

• Focus: National Threat
• Members: Nephalim (Juanito Dakila Evangelista), Thrones (Ciandrei Morales Benedicto), Dominions (Ismael Nazareno), Powers (Dante Vera Cruz), Virtues (Giselle Medina Del Rosario), Virtus (Ivory Maribel O. Del Rosario), and Seraphim (Adriane Apostol).
• Relations - Sibling Team Trope
• Leader: They share leadership, but led different Factions.
• Roles: 

○ Nephalim (Warden) - Military Executor and Bodyguard of the 2nd President of the Philippines.

○ Thrones (Archivist) - Government Scholar, Educator, Archivist, and wartime chronicler. Author of the "Gospel of Decay" and the "Uprise and Fallout of Dugsalan" (Unpublished due to the books label ban. Destroyed under government orders).

○ Dominions (Reconstructor) - Flood & Disaster Prevention Commander. Lead leader of the reconstruction program.

○ Powers (Commandant) - Lieutenant Colonel of the PDF (Philippine Defense Force), and Military Political Figure.

○ Virtues (Enchantress) - Cultural Icon, Diplomatic Figure, Cultural Ambassador, and Performer.

○ Virtus (Avenger) - Resistance Agent and Protector of Women and Children.

○ Seraphim (Nurturer) - Humanitarian relief agent, Public Morale figure, and public symbol of “hope.”

• Notes: Seven selected vigilantes in Project Angelus were assigned by the second president of the Philippines to form a special military group named Sacreligus. Seven members are from the same nation together, hereby selected as saviors of the nation since 1937.
• Disbandment: After the war, the new Philippine government blamed the Sacreligus for the failures, casualties, and scandals of the occupation. Their powers were seen as a “threat to democracy” and “evidence of unnatural tampering.”

List of Powers (35%) :

Warning Note: Several abilities remain Limited, indicating unstable or incomplete control due to physiological and psychological constraints. However, the Forbidden abilities present severe existential hazards, capable of mass destruction and metaphysical distortions. Activation, whether intentional or reflexive, cannot be reliably contained or neutralized. Observers are advised to maintain maximum distance and avoid emotional or spiritual provocation. Ignorance or underestimation of the subject’s power may result in irreversible annihilation.

• Divine Power (Seraphim Level)
• Healing (Limited)
• Spirit Manipulation
• Aura Manipulation (Limited)
• Soul Manipulation
• Divine Light Manipulation
• Flight
• Holy Fire Manipulation
• Holy Water Manipulation
•  
• Holy Chain Manipulation

○ Chain Creation

• Divine Judgement
• Empathy Manipulation

○ Sadness Inducement

• Plant Manipulation (Limited. Only made her flowers)
• Creation Power (Limited)
• Psychic (Limited)

○ Telepathy

○ Trauma Manipulation/Mental Inducement/ Metaphysical Trauma (Forbidden)

NOTE: Seraphim’s character is based on the Silver Surfer (Which, by the way, is my favorite since childhood). So essentially, she is the Silver Surfer in the Incredible Universe. But you’ll soon see references to that in further chapters. Also, this chapter would add additional information about Seraphim once each chapter is out. Due to the file being protected by S.I.G.I.L. under confidential reasons (aka spoilers and foreshadowing)

Author's edit: Hiya! I've been editing and changing Seraphim's S.I.G.I.L. file because it needs to be as characteristically accurate as possible. Note to those who are wondering, this is not an NSA file because Seraphim is from another agency (will be revealed in future chapters) before the actual timeline where the story starts.

Chapter Text

August 13, 1953

In the dark hours of the night, criminals and supervillains roam the city of Metroville, causing chaos and violence among its citizens. Superheroes would patrol and protect against the evil lurking in the shadows by bringing justice to the light.

Gazerbeam is one of the few Supers who is appointed to nightly patrol by the NSA.

Stakeout has been a common duty for Gazerbeam. Patrolling solo instead of collaborating with fellow colleagues or his usual super friends who stick with him. Gazerbeam can handle himself just fine. Stakeout isn't boring to him. Patience and observance are the key components when patrolling the streets and alleyways.

Nothing special so far, he knew better to be wary on the late-night roads or not mind the cold breeze that sent shivers even through his protective super suit. Gazerbeam is currently on top of one of the rooftop buildings for a better view from a distance. Why did he need to go up there? He doesn't know, and perhaps he had hoped it would give him a better view to adjust his inability to focus in the darkness. Unfortunately, another disadvantage is going down the building, delaying his time to run before it's too late, since he can't fly like some of his colleagues. Simon wonders why the NSA agents assigned him to nightly patrol solo instead of being paired with Mr. Incredible or Gamma Jack.

Gazerbeam sighs in disappointment and boredom over this waiting game, but he is a diligent and dedicated man, reminding himself that this is how superheroes work. Gazerbeam should have brought a fresh newspaper after finishing his last one, filling in the crossword until he completed it. Contemplating hopping into another building or roaming the street with his iconic chopper motorcycle, he had kept after the disbandment of the Thrilling Three, hoping to seek any criminals too slippery under his watchful eye (or laser eyes). Until Gazerbeam's life is about to change with a single vague light from above.

Gazerbeam swore through his visor helmet that he saw something glowing above the dark sky, and it was moving randomly fast. He couldn't make out what it was out there. He assumed it to be the lights of an airplane, but it flew randomly than symmetrically. He thought it could be a supervillain flying by or some possible threat. It is enough for the laser-eyed hero to decide to investigate this unknown light. He took his time running down the long stairs to descend to the ground floor and exit out at the back door, where his chopper was waiting and ready for its rider to hop on. He gripped the handlebars of his chopper motorcycle tightly, powering the engines as he sped through the dimly lit streets of Metroville. The glowing light above remained elusive, darting between clouds like a will-o'-the-wisp. He squinted, trying to focus through his visor to get a clearer look, but dared not concentrate too hard lest he end up blazing a trail of destruction down the city streets below.

As he chased the mysterious apparition, Gazerbeam couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. This was no ordinary supervillain or wayward aircraft. No, this felt different. More ethereal. More... Divine. He shuddered at the thought, pushing it aside. Divine? Hardly. Gazerbeam/Simon J. Paladino was no religious man, despite his name. Still, he couldn't deny the sense of unease that crept up his spine as he pursued the glowing light.

Would you be mine? Would you be my baby tonight?

Could be kissing my fruit punch lips in the bright sunshine.

Cause I like you quite a lot, everything you got, don't you know?

It's you that I adore, though I make the boys fall like dominoes.

Suddenly, without warning, the light stopped moving. It is over 12 minutes of chasing the light, and now it hovered in place, pulsing gently as if beckoning him closer. Gazerbeam slowed his bike to a stop, staring up at the light with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He has his beliefs on superstition during his career as Gazerbeam. While he sometimes believes or not, this is entirely new to discover. Who knows, his curiosity pushes him to investigate the closed park in the heart of Metroville. He reached up, slowly removing his helmet slightly to get a better look, when suddenly, the light began to grow brighter. Softer. More intense as it descends in the middle of the park.

He parked his motorcycle hidden somewhere on the sidelines of the empty street before entering the park by climbing over the fence. Luckily, there are no innocent bystanders nearby, and he wonders where the guards of the Metroville Park are to leave the main gate lock and unguarded. Honestly, this park needs better protection and security.

Entering the park, he located the unknown light descending deep within the dark woods of the park. Further, he goes deeper and deeper, passing by towering trees as his red-tinted visor glistens in the reflective light. The brighter it gets, the closer Gazerbeam approaches the alienated light, so surreal and beyond his thinking. He should have called someone about this unknown anomaly arriving at the heart of Metroville Park, but he can't right now without investigating first to ensure it is a threat or not.

Kiss me in the D-A-R-K, dark tonight,

D-A-R-K do it my way.

Kiss me in the P-A-R-K, park tonight,

P-A-R-K let them all say.

The radiance becomes blinding, and he shields his vision with his arm as he slowly approaches a nearby tree that casts a shadow to reduce the blinding light on his face. The light is dazzling and unforgivable until it slowly dims down to the brightness that he can peek behind the tree he was hiding from. Just as he inspects the unknown light, what Gazerbeam did not expect was meeting a being of white. Or rather, a person whose light powers faintly glow on a perfect brightness that does not harm the vulnerable eyes upon gazing on it.

There stood a feminine figure with multiple angelic wings, six pairs of wings on her back, clad in a white and pink attire, a hood, and a pale mask. Strange, this is no ordinary villain nor a hero, judging by the appearance of this newcomer.

The low-heeled, knee-length boots with white stockings over her slender legs. Below her boots, patches of white and pink flowers magically grow underneath the grass, like a phenomenon of a fairytale. Gazerbeam was in awe, questioning in his mind what power she possessed. He watched the female stranger turn her side and reach out her hand where a single glowing butterfly landed on her gloved fingers.

A female vigilante, alone and beautiful in the darkest night, the moon basks in its lunar glow below her like a spotlight or a veil of light. She wore a unique attire, unlike the tight-clad supersuits of superheroes with malfunctioning capes and boots or the chaotic and dangerous attire of a villain. She wore a unique design that is neither side, but distinct, to be a vigilante. White and pink with the design to appear angelic, feminine, and with a hint of a mysterious warrior. The pale mask and hood concealed the very face of the mysterious vigilante, which gives off anonymity, an impression of someone breaking the stereotype archetype of superheroes and supervillains. How foreign. How oddly unique. He never met someone, another superhuman with otherworldly powers, whose very existence was placed in a neutral position. But Gazerbeam cannot move or speak; he is enchanted by the beauty and this power that left him frozen in place.

Unfortunately, he mentally cursed himself when his eyes built up heat to instantly blast his laser beams for focusing on the lone vigilante way too long. Immediately, she dodges his beam, but she gasps behind her mask, realizing she is no longer alone. She turned directly at the source of the surprise attack, disturbing her time of solitude. There stood the laser-eyed hero, encountering the angelic vigilante.

Gazerbeam froze like a deer in the headlights as the mysterious figure turned to face him, her wings fluttering slightly in the moonlight while curled protectively like a shield. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, utterly enchanted by the vision before him. She was breathtaking, ethereal, like something out of a dream. No, a prayer.

Surprise at his presence, Gazerbeam finally found his voice, though it came out as a hoarse, gentle whisper.

"Halt! My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

He stepped out from behind the tree, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. He kept his laser vision averted, not wanting to risk harming this angelic being again. Gazerbeam's heart raced as he took in her unique attire, the white and pink fabric shimmering in the moonlight, the pale mask and hood concealing her features. She was a vigilante, yes, but one unlike any he had ever seen.

"I mean no harm. I come in peace."

Gazerbeam made a peace gesture as he took a tentative step closer, his boots stepping into the field of flowers as he noticed the flowers blooming beneath her heels where hr approached. A field of flowers bloomed near her. He had heard of plant manipulation, but this was something else entirely. Gazerbeam's brow furrowed slightly as he studied her, trying to understand the source of her power. He had so many questions, but he knew he had to tread carefully. This was no ordinary encounter. He got distracted when the lone vigilante leaped behind her with her fluttering wings, distancing themselves as she telepathically spoke through his mind.

"Stop."

She activated a radiant light at Gazerbeam. Her gloved hand stunned Gazerbeam with a blazing flash of light in front of him. He reacts quickly to shield his eyes. The force of it momentarily blinded him despite his helmet; the visor on his helmet does not help him because her light rivaled his laser vision. Blinked, his visor flickering as he tried to regain his bearings. Gazerbeam stumbled back slightly as the telepathic command rang in his mind, before he stopped where he was standing from approaching her. The communication through telepathy unsettles the laser-eyed hero, who feels utterly familiar with Everseer's telepathy.

Does this stranger have more than one superpower, just like Meta-Man? Perhaps, but it is possible. He had met several Supers and Supervillains with multiple powers; it's common sense in the world filled with superhuman people, so she is no exception. The mysterious angelic vigilante is no ordinary vigilante; that much was clear. One with powers beyond even the most gifted of meta-humans. Gazerbeam's curiosity only grew at this discovery, his mind racing with possibilities. Just what was this young woman capable of?

The lone vigilante does not attack him, only in self-defense due to wariness of his presence. He understood the warning, and he wisely stayed where he stood with enough distance. Once Gazerbeam makes clear he has no hostile intention against her, she extinguishes her light powers, tilting her head as she takes in Gazerbeam's appearance. Inspecting and judging his being to determine if he is a friend or a foe to her. Seeing no ill intentions by reading his soul with one of her powers. Gazerbeam's soul is bright, filled with the sense of justice and nobility. Like a bright star. Except she also saw a hint of loneliness and tragedy that carries burdens and shame. It made her heart sympathize with him in the same situation as her.

She cocked her head to the other side, curious yet intrigued by the the stranger in a tight-clad black suit and helmet averting his red-tinted gaze to the field of flowers. While her pale mask is blank and expressionless, the dark eye sockets don't convey any emotions that Gazerbeam could not interpret. And yet, she understood to conclude that he is no foe when he apologized for accidentally shooting his laser beam and respected her personal space. So she lessened her guard, yet kept herself wary towards the laser-eyed hero.

"Don't come any closer, noble hero. Who are you? And why have you come?"

The angelic being was aware that he was a superhero. Gazerbeam's iconic supersuit said it all. She even called him noble, which is both a praise and an understatement because she has read his soul. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, taking a step back to put more distance between them as ordered. Gazerbeam tilted his head slightly, his expression one of genuine inquisitiveness as he met the vigilante's gaze. He couldn't see her eyes through the mask, but he could feel the weight of her stare, the intensity of her presence.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Miss. I am Gazerbeam, a Super of the NSA. I followed a mysterious light that appeared in the sky. I find it suspicious and came all this way to investigate."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. Gazerbeam made a quick glance at the angelic woman who held guard when interacting with him. Her powers fascinate Gazerbeam. She would be a fine superhero if she joined the NSA. However, he must remind himself that this stranger's attire means she is already one or maybe something more. Cold sweat under his helmet to make sure he takes this encounter as gently and carefully as possible. There is no point fighting her if she hasn't done anything when appearing in Metroville.

"May I ask who you are, stranger? If you'll permit me, I'd like to know more about you and your abilities. The world could use a hero like you, I believe. Although I understand your wariness. You have every right to be cautious of a stranger approaching you in the dead of night."

"...Seraphim..."

The lone vigilante stood still, her pale mask hiding her expression. So her name is Seraphim. He'll remember her once he reports back to Headquarters. Her shoulders tensed, flinching at something he said. Then, her voice echoed not through sound—but through thought.

"A Hero... No..."

The word struck her like a curse. Gazerbeam blinked, surprised by her reaction, watching as she shook her head. Her posture remained tense—guarded, cautious, and stern—yet beneath that steel was a quiet melancholy.

"I am no hero... Not anymore," her telepathic voice continued. "I'm nothing but a lone vigilante. Your curiosity is admirable, noble hero, but I'd rather walk alone than side with the corrupt or the blind."

Gazerbeam studied her carefully. Her words revealed more than she intended—hints of a past tied to something, or someone, she no longer trusted. Whatever it was, Seraphim had severed that bond. Now, she stood alone, and that was all she chose to be. It painted a picture of a complex individual with a history he could only begin to imagine. He has to admit, it is true. Gazerbeam, although working for the NSA, has questionable intentions in the agency he cannot voice out about their decisions for the Supers. But it is not a bad superhero agency; he knows it well after working for them. He nodded slowly, his expression softening with understanding.

"I see. A lone vigilante, you say. One who has... Seen the darker side of those they once fought alongside."

Gazerbeam's voice was low, thoughtful. He never thought she was a vigilante. The possible chance he could assume is that she could be either the good or the bad. But he is aware when dealing with vigilantes. They work in the shadows, a gray world between the bright justice of heroism and the dark injustice of villainy. NSA has some vigilantes in the agency, but nothing special about them until he encounters Seraphim, a vigilante who had been through one under complex circumstances unknown.

"You've had your share of disappointments and betrayals. And so, you choose to operate independently, to trust only in your own judgment and abilities."

Gazerbeam took a step closer, his gaze intent on the hooded figure. Wise and careful with his words, he picked the right cards to gain Seraphim's trust.

"I can understand that sentiment, Miss. Even among the NSA, there are those who would seek to control, to manipulate... To use 'heroes' as little more than puppets for their own agendas." He paused, his tone sincere. "But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I wish only to learn from you, to understand your perspective... And perhaps, to forge a partnership based on mutual respect and trust, not obligation or coercion."

Curious—yet strangely at ease—Seraphim felt the calm aura radiating from Gazerbeam. For a moment, she almost considered trusting him. But hesitation held her still. He was a Super from the National Supers Agency—and she knew exactly what that meant. The NSA was something she could never trust.

Before either could speak further, a deep boom shattered the quiet of Metroville Park. The ground trembled as smoke rose in the distance.

Both turned sharply toward the sound.

Trouble.

Gazerbeam's instincts flared. His body tensed, ready to rush in and save the day—but Seraphim moved first.

Six radiant wings burst open behind her, their light slicing through the shadows. With one powerful motion, she soared into the sky, gliding toward the chaos in the city.

"Wait!"

Gazerbeam shouted, but she was already gone. Cursing under his breath, he sprinted toward the park's edge, vaulting over the iron fence to reach his hidden chopper bike. The engines roared to life as he sped off, eyes locked on the trail of light she left behind.

He couldn't shake the thought—what was happening while he was distracted by this mysterious vigilante? He had a duty to the mission... Yet something about Seraphim pulled his focus away.

Still, there was no time for regret. The city was burning and whoever was behind it would face his lasers.

And perhaps, fate had decided he'd face Seraphim again sooner than he thought.

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play.

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Whistle all you want, but I'm not gonna stay.

As he raced towards the scene, Gazerbeam couldn't help but marvel at the sight of Seraphim streaking through the sky ahead of him, her wings leaving a trail of glowing light in her wake. She moved with a grace and purpose that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a true agent of divine retribution.

Gazerbeam's mind raced as he closed the distance, trying to formulate a plan. He didn't know what they were venturing towards, but he knew that with Seraphim's powers and his own, they could face whatever threat awaited them. He just prayed that they wouldn't be too late to make a difference.

It took Gazerbeam three minutes to reach the scene of the explosion—but Seraphim had already arrived. What awaited him was chaos. The bank district was in ruins—smoke, shattered glass, alarms blaring, people screaming. Gazerbeam narrowed his eyes, recognizing the pattern of destruction.

"Bomb Voyage..."

He muttered under his breath. Classic. Explosions, chaos, and a clean getaway. A dramatic French bomb expert's signature. He scanned the area, searching for survivors—wondering, half-annoyed, where the hell was Mr. Incredible? This was his mess. But before he could step in, Gazerbeam noticed something strange. The flames were already dying out—snuffed by waves of shimmering, radiant light.

Seraphim stood at the center of the chaos, her wings spread wide, her glow reflecting off the broken glass like a halo. Every civilian was safe. Not one injured. Bomb Voyage, on the other hand, looked shaken. His bombs fizzled uselessly against her radiant energy. The villain knew defeat when he saw it. With a final, frustrated laugh, he hurled a bomb toward the busy street and fled into the night. Seraphim reacted instantly—extinguishing the bomb mid-air in a blinding flash. The explosion never came. Moments later, Gazerbeam finally arrived, slowing his chopper to a stop beside her. For a brief second, they just stared at one another—an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"The foe is escaping," Seraphim said telepathically, her tone calm yet urgent. "The traffic will slow you down. If you let me, dear hero..."

She didn't finish the sentence—but he already understood.

"Lead the way," Gazerbeam replied quietly. "I'll follow your lead. Together, we'll bring him to justice."

Behind her pale mask, Seraphim smiled faintly. Then she raised her hand—summoning a dazzling light that unfolded into a glowing, solid bridge suspended above the busy streets.

"Follow the light!"

Her telepathic voice echoed through his mind as he revved his engine. The chopper leapt onto the radiant path, racing smoothly over the sea of cars below. Civilians gawked in awe at the sight—Gazerbeam speeding through the night sky, guided by an angelic trail of light.

For once, he could see clearly—her light cutting through the dark, easing his weakness of night vision. As they pursued the fleeing Bomb Voyage, Gazerbeam couldn't help but marvel at her. Seraphim flew with mechanical precision, her six wings moving like clockwork, each beat pushing her faster, steadier. Her power was more than divine—it was otherworldly.

And yet, there was grace in her motion—a dancer's rhythm, a soldier's discipline.

The city roared below them, the villain's taillights gleaming faintly ahead. Gazerbeam tightened his grip on the handlebars, his heart syncing with the pulse of pursuit. Together, they raced toward the chaos, united not by trust—but by purpose.

Tonight, light and laser would fight side by side.

No more skipping rope, skipping heartbeats with the boys downtown.

Just you and me feeling the heat even when the sun goes down.

Gazerbeam felt a surge of awe and gratitude as he tore through the radiant path Seraphim had forged. Her light illuminated the night—soft yet commanding—casting long, shifting shadows across the city below. With traffic no longer a concern, his focus narrowed to one goal: Catching Bomb Voyage.

The glowing bridge carried him forward like a divine current. Gazerbeam couldn’t shake his disbelief at the sheer magnitude of her power. To conjure a floating road of light through midair, to guide them unerringly across the chaos—it defied every law of science he knew.

And yet, here they were: the angelic vigilante and the laser-eyed hero, two beings from opposite worlds united in a shared pursuit.

The wind roared in his ears, blending with the howl of distant sirens. Gazerbeam could feel the pulse of the chase thrumming through his veins. He knew Seraphim's power far exceeded his own, but strangely, he didn't feel small beside her. He felt connected—a kindred spirit found in the crucible of battle.

The villain's car was now only yards ahead.

Gazerbeam twisted the throttle, pushing the engine to its limit. His chopper surged forward, light flaring beneath his wheels. He cast a final glance at Seraphim, who flew parallel above him, her wings cutting the air like celestial blades. He gave her a sharp nod—one warrior to another.

Then, he raised his hand over the side of his helmet. A crimson glow formed at his visor, his laser sight locked on Bomb Voyage's vehicle. A powerful blast instantly cut through the steel and tires of the car Bomb Voyage stole.

The car veered violently. Tires screeched. The car crash at the building, Bomb Voyage jumped out to abandon the damaged vehicle on time. The vehicle fishtailed across the road—then skidded to a stop, smoke billowing from its rear.

A trap.

Gazerbeam's eyes widened as he cursed himself. Too late.

"Shit! I'm about to crash!"

Meanwhile, Seraphim was faster, already diving toward the villain. Bomb Voyage stumbled from the car, scrambling to flee—but Seraphim descended like a meteor of light, pinning him on the ground.

"You're not going anywhere, villain!"

Bomb Voyage cursed out his frustration in French at her. He did not expect to be taken down by this nobody to join forces with a hero. She doesn't understand what he is saying, but she noticed the way the French pyromaniac's eyes were darting at the car he had abandoned.

That's when she heard it and turned her head at the car.

Ticking.

Dozens of faint, rhythmic clicks from within the car. Her heart froze. Bomb Voyage's last trick. He had rigged the entire vehicle.

"Oh no..."

She turned—and her blood ran cold.

Gazerbeam was coming in too fast. His bike's tires, slick against the solid light, had no traction to brake. His path led straight into the trap.

Seraphim's mind raced. Every second stretched into eternity. She had wanted to prove herself, to earn this hero's trust—but she had miscalculated. Her light road, her brilliant plan, had become his death trap.

"Dang it! Not good."

Without hesitation, she made her choice.

She released Bomb Voyage—letting the criminal stumble free—and shot upward, wings igniting with blinding radiance. In a single, desperate motion, she plunged back down toward the out-of-control Gazerbeam, the ticking growing louder with each heartbeat.

One life to save. One mistake to atone for.

She folded her wings forward, streaking toward him in a blur of white light.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Seraphim lunged—her six wings flaring open in a burst of blinding light—as she collided into Gazerbeam’s body with the force of two stars colliding in a single sky. The impact sent them tumbling off his speeding chopper, which spiraled helplessly toward the rigged car.

A heartbeat later, the world erupted.

Gazerbeam's Thrilling Three motorcycle—his last memento from the team, long gone—was swallowed by fire. The explosion bloomed into a storm of light and smoke, tearing through the night. There was nothing left to save. His past as their former leader, his only transport while his two former members can fly, is gone in a single flash.

But Seraphim's choice had been made.

She wrapped all six pairs of her angelic wings around them, folding her light into an unbreakable cocoon. The explosion washed over her divine shield, muffled by layers of radiant feathers. Within, the world fell into silence—soft, dim, and strangely warm.

Gazerbeam could hear only his own heartbeat. Everything outside was distant and muted, like echoes underwater. Beneath the soft weight of her wings, he felt... Safe. The warmth of her feathers pressed against his back, enveloping him in a gentle calm he hadn't felt in years.

When the rumbling finally ceased and the smoke outside began to thin, Seraphim slowly unfolded her wings. Light spilled through the feathers, revealing the aftermath—the destruction, the flickering flames, and Bomb Voyage nowhere to be seen.

Then, realization struck them both.

They were still tangled together.

Seraphim's lithe form rested atop Gazerbeam, her chest pressed firmly against his, their faces mere inches apart—mask to helmet, breath mingling in the fragile quiet. His arms, instinctively protective, were wrapped around her slender frame, holding her close from the fall.

For a long second, neither moved. The moment hung suspended in the afterglow of chaos—too intimate, too unexpected.

Gazerbeam's mind raced, embarrassment blooming hot beneath his visor. He could feel the warmth rising to his cheeks, his composure slipping. The closeness was mortifying—and yet, part of him didn't want to let go.

Seraphim, so much smaller in his arms, seemed calm, though he could sense her own fluster beneath the pale mask. In the strange stillness after disaster, their breathing synced—two hearts that had almost stopped, now beating in fragile unison.

The moment shattered by the distant wail of sirens.

Both froze. Reality came rushing back—the flashing lights, the sound of approaching police, the acrid scent of smoke in the air. Seraphim immediately composed herself, pulling away from Gazerbeam as if nothing had happened. The warmth between them vanished, replaced by cold professionalism.

She stood tall, brushing the dust and debris from her vigilante attire, her wings folding neatly behind her back. Though the faint tremor in her movements betrayed the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Then, she turned and extended a gloved hand toward him.

“A-are you o-okay?”

Her voice—spoken aloud this time instead of telepathically. It caught him off guard. Soft. Fragile. It wasn't the calm, detached tone of the stoic angelic warrior he'd seen in battle. It was gentle... Human. Gazerbeam blinked, stunned for a moment before taking her hand.

"S-sorry," Seraphim murmured as she helped him to his feet, her words trembling slightly. "Let me help you."

Her grip was surprisingly firm despite her timid tone, and she pulled him up effortlessly. As soon as he regained his footing, Seraphim stepped back, her gaze sweeping over him with quiet concern. Her eyes—hidden behind that pale mask—seemed to study every inch of him for injury.

There was none. Not a single scratch.

She exhaled softly, relieved. But the relief faded just as quickly, replaced by disappointment. The criminal had escaped. Her wings drooped slightly, her aura dimming with guilt.

"I failed..." She whispered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

Gazerbeam straightened his shoulders, meeting her downcast stare.

"No," he said firmly, his tone calm yet resolute. "You saved a life tonight. That's not failure."

Seraphim hesitated, the words hanging between them like a fragile truce. She said nothing—but behind the mask, she frowns. Although Gazerbeam reassured her, Seraphim didn't feel satisfied with the outcome. Deep down, she knew such failures were inevitable, yet it didn't make the disappointment easier to bear. Her head dipped slightly, a frown hidden beneath her mask. When she finally looked up, her eyes met his averted gaze.

"I... I don't know," She murmured, her voice soft, conflicted.

Despite her turmoil, Seraphim knew she had made the right choice—she had saved him. Even though this was their first meeting, it was in her nature to protect. Gazerbeam, watching her closely, recognized the truth of it. She possessed the heart of a hero, even if her past had shattered her courage.

“All I know,” she said quietly, “Is that I couldn't let that happen. You almost died, hero. So... You're welcome.”

Such honest words from a young woman who carried the weight of others' lives as her own. Gazerbeam felt her sincerity cut through the haze of chaos. He nodded, his hand resting on her shoulder, fingers tightening gently over the soft feathers of her shawl.

"Thank you, and you're right," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I appreciate your intervention more than words can express."

The wail of sirens grew nearer. Red and blue lights danced against the drifting smoke, framing them in flashes of color. Seraphim stepped back, ready to vanish into the night, but Gazerbeam reached out, catching her wrist.

“Wait. Please... Don’t go.”

He wanted to alert the NSA to report everything that had happened, but Seraphim shook her head frantically, pressing a gloved finger to his lips.

"No. Don't," she pleaded. "Please keep it a secret. I don't want anyone to know I exist."

There was fear in her voice—real, trembling fear. Whatever haunted her was far greater than the threat of villains or exposure.

"You take the credit," She added gently. "We'll meet again... Until next time."

With that, she slipped free of his grasp and rose into the air, her wings shimmering faintly in the flickering light. Then, in a flash, she was gone—swallowed by the midnight sky. Gazerbeam remained motionless, staring into the clouds where she had vanished. He didn't fully understand her reasons, but he knew one thing for certain: he owed her his life.

As the police cars screeched to a halt, he straightened, the decision made. He would tell them he acted alone—that he pursued Bomb Voyage after the heist, confronted him, and survived the explosion by luck and instinct. He would leave out the part about the trap, and certainly omit the part about the angelic vigilante who had saved him.

In that moment, Gazerbeam made a silent promise—a pact of secrecy and respect. He would keep her secret, honor her request, and wait for the day their paths crossed again.

S.I.G.I.L. File Updates: Seraphim's List of Powers (15%), Additional Notes, and Additional General Information

Chapter Text

A week.

It had been a week since that fateful encounter between Gazerbeam and Seraphim. One that left an imprint neither could forget. Though they had only met once, their meeting lingered in both their hearts, a quiet echo that refused to fade.

True to his word, Gazerbeam had told no one about Seraphim. Not a whisper, not a hint. He carried her secret as a solemn debt, his way of repaying the life she had saved. And yet, he couldn't shake the image of her. The way she shielded him, her light above the smoke, her wings folding protectively over him.

Too bad Bomb Voyage had slipped away that night, but the NSA was satisfied enough with his report. Gazerbeam's calm, persuasive voice, as always, worked its magic. His years as a lawyer gave him the finesse to tell a story without telling the whole truth. For the first time, he had used that skill not to defend a case, but to defend her.

Such failures weren't uncommon among Supers. Villains escaped. Traps were sprung. Sometimes saving lives mattered more than catching criminals. The agency bought his story easily, unaware of the angelic vigilante who had made it all possible.

Still, the thought of her wouldn't leave him. Why had she been so terrified of being known? Why did she beg him not to tell the NSA? Two theories gnawed at him: Perhaps she distrusted the agency's ties with the government, or perhaps she simply preferred solitude, a guardian who answered to no one.

But there was something else. Something in her voice, in the tremble of her words, told him her fear ran deeper than pride or independence.

Simon Paladino—Gazerbeam—found himself thinking of her constantly. Between missions, between moments of calm, his mind wandered back to her. He remembered the softness of her wings, the warmth of her touch, the sound of her trembling breath. The memory made his face flush beneath his helmet, a rare crack in his stoic composure.

"Compose yourself, Gazerbeam. You have a duty to focus on."

As for Seraphim, she had taken a break from vigilante work for a week, partly out of exhaustion, partly out of confusion.

Exhausted in what way? Well... Lots of things. Its is time for her Girly routine hour. Long, luxurious baths. Lazy afternoons wrapped in cotton sheets. Sweet confections melted on her tongue as she stared up at the ceiling, thinking of him.

Yes, him.

Like Gazerbeam, she couldn't stop thinking about their encounter. She found herself collecting old newspapers, magazines, and recordings, anything that mentioned him. Her desk became cluttered with Gazerbeam memorabilia: Limited-edition posters, enamel pins, even a replica of his insignia. She couldn't afford the real deal like his merch, of course.

She didn't even understand why she cared so much. She had saved countless lives before, heroes, villains, anti-heroes, and civilians alike; it was her duty, her nature. Saving Gazerbeam shouldn't have been any different. And yet... He lingered in her thoughts like a faint melody she couldn't stop humming.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was something deeper. A spark of connection between kindred souls, both burdened by duty and haunted by the past. She tried to dismiss it, but her heart betrayed her every time his image crossed her mind. No, it is not love at first sight if you ask Seraphim. She did not catch romantic feelings for Gazerbeam. She doesn't even know him on a personal level.

"Should I see him again?"

Meanwhile, Gazerbeam continued his nightly patrols, silently hoping fate would bring her back. Night after night, he stood atop rooftops scanning the skyline, waiting for a sign. A glimmer of light, just like how he first saw her that night. But as days turned into nights and the city resumed its rhythm, he began to lose hope. Still, the thought persisted: They were connected somehow.

He shook his head under his helmet at the thought. "Get a hold of yourself, Simon." he muttered. "You're starting to sound like a romantic.

But fate, as always, had its own plans. Because tonight of all nights, he found himself standing on a high rooftop, and across the street, on the opposite building, stood Seraphim herself. For a moment, neither moved. The city stretched out beneath them. Two people framed against the skyline, one a laser-eyed hero and one angelic vigilante, unaware of how serendipitous their reunion truly was.

Seraphim stepped out from the shadows, her wings faintly glowing in the moonlight. When she noticed him, her expression softened. She raised her hand shyly, her feathers fluttering with nervous energy. Gazerbeam froze, surprised but smiling beneath his helmet. He raised a hand in return.

A coincidence? Perhaps. Or maybe, just maybe, something greater had brought them together again.

I could be yours, I could be your baby tonight.

Topple you down from your sky forty stories high.

He raised his own hand in return, waving back at her with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath his helmet. In that moment, all the questions, all the uncertainty, and wonder that had been plaguing Gazerbeam for the past week seemed to melt away. Seeing Seraphim again, knowing that she had sought him out, filled him with a strange sense of kinship and quiet understanding he couldn't quite put into words.

When Gazerbeam returned her greeting, Seraphim felt a flutter of relief and happiness. He recognized her. And yet, she felt nervous all the same. The last time they met, she had spoken to him aloud. Something she rarely did. She wasn't supposed to speak to strangers; telepathy was safer, clearer, and less... Vulnerable. But she had slipped that night. She had spoken, and he had heard her voice. And now, facing him again, she felt the same nervous tremor rise in her chest.

Still, boredom and curiosity won over her hesitation. She had already done her chores, folded her laundry, and finished her assignments. The silence of her home had grown unbearable. So, the angelic vigilante took a leap of faith literally.

With graceful wings spread wide, Seraphim glided across the gap between the two rooftops. The wind brushed through her hair and feathers as she descended softly before him, landing with effortless poise. Gazerbeam's visor glinted faintly as he blinked in surprise, caught completely off guard by her sudden, heavenly descent. Her six pairs of angelic wings spread wide, cutting through the night like silver silk beneath the moonlight. She soared effortlessly across the dark skyline, a radiant blur gliding above the neon cityscape—an angel in motion.

His heart pounded as he waited for her to land. He had seen plenty of Supers fly before—the showy stunts of Gamma Jack with his glowing radiation trails, the fiery streaks of Fironic and Blazestone painting the sky, or the playful, whirlwind dives of Macroburst and Stratogale. But Seraphim was nothing like them. There was no performance in her flight, only grace—quiet, ethereal, real.

For a brief, impossible moment, the city's lights dimmed beneath her glow. Bathed in moonlight, she looked like something out of a dream. When Seraphim touched down in front of him, her boots meeting the rooftop with a soft thud, Gazerbeam found himself momentarily speechless. She had actually sought him out. She had crossed that gap. Not just between rooftops, but between strangers. To speak with him again.

"Good evening, Gazerbeam."

It was the first time she had spoken his name aloud. Before, she had only ever called him hero or noble hero. The change was subtle, but to Gazerbeam, it meant something. It sent an unexpected warmth through him. He smiled beneath his helmet.

Seraphim's voice was gentle, almost hesitant, yet laced with familiarity. For her, remembering his name came naturally; she was accustomed to memorizing faces and names, even though her introverted, introspective nature rarely gave her much reason to do so. But Gazerbeam... He is different. He had stayed in her mind long after that night.

And now, standing face-to-face under the moonlit skyline, she decided perhaps unconsciously that he had earned her trust enough to be called by name.

"Good evening, Seraphim. This is a pleasant surprise. I'll admit, I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our last... Encounter."

He hesitated, recalling the explosion, the wreckage, her wings wrapped protectively around him. Her small body against his own- NO! Get a hold of yourself, Gazerbeam! Don't make this conversation weird, yet his own feelings betray him. He has to shake off the thought and focus on talking with Seraphim like an equal.

"I'm glad you're alright, though. I've been thinking about you quite a bit. Trying to understand why you wanted to keep your existence a secret."

That startled Seraphim. She had spent days fearing he might have reported her to the NSA, but hearing him now—so calm, so sincere—she realized her worries were for nothing. He had kept her secret. The relief that washed over her was almost overwhelming.

"I'm glad you did," She admitted quietly. "I was worried you might tell someone about me... And yet, you didn't."

"I wouldn't do that to you," Gazerbeam replied simply. "Not after what you did for me."

His voice was warm, his words genuine, and his respect for keeping her a secret, and it made Seraphim's chest ache with quiet gratitude.

"I understand your caution," he continued. "In our line of work, trust is a rare thing. And it's not every day that someone outside the NSA swoops in to save the day."

The two began to circle each other instinctively as they talked, neither fully aware of it, like two wary but curious souls orbiting the same light. Like a star collision. Gazerbeam's gaze flicked between her and the skyline, cautious but never hostile. Seraphim mirrored his movements, keeping her distance, both of them unconsciously dancing around the fragile thread of new trust between them. Gazerbeam broke the silence first, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I must confess, I'm intrigued by your choice to reveal yourself to me now, after a week of secrecy. Is there something specific that brings you here tonight? Or..." He tilted his head slightly. "Are you simply here to satisfy your curiosity about the man whose life you saved?"

Seraphim blinked behind her pale mask, momentarily caught off guard by his forwardness, before replying with her usual soft candor.

"N-nothing much," she said honestly with a hint of awkwardness. "I-I just wanted to know the hero I saved from his motorbike. Which, by the way, condolences for your bike."

Gazerbeam chuckled, shaking his head. "It's fine. It was just a bike I used back when I was with my former team."

That caught her attention. "Former team?" she repeated, her tone softening. The phrase carried a quiet weight—one she understood all too well.

"I see," she murmured, turning away with her mind thoughtfully. "That's long past now... Still, it looked like a sweet ride to drive."

"Yeah," Gazerbeam said, his smile turning nostalgic. "It really was. At least it got one last good run before the blast."

He paused, remembering the light path she had conjured that night—the radiant road that had guided him safely through the darkness. It had been beautiful, almost divine.

"Speaking of which..." His tone grew curious again. "What brings you to Metroville? Your powers are unlike anything I've ever seen. I have to admit, I'm dying to know just what you're capable of."

Seraphim turned to Gazerbeam, her shoulders tensing beneath her feathery shawl. Her wings folded, drooping slightly until their lower edges brushed against the rooftop. Though her tone remained calm, there was a quiet heaviness in her words.

"I just moved here," she said softly, lowering her head to avoid his gaze. "I was originally from the Philippines… Before I was adopted and brought here to the U.S."

Gazerbeam studied her in silence. He could sense the hesitation behind her voice. The way she carefully chose each word, revealing just enough but never too much. His instincts, both as a hero and a lawyer, told him there was truth... But also pain. Something she had left behind. Something that had broken her trust.

"The Philippines?" He finally said, his tone thoughtful. "I've... Read a little about the country. Mostly old reports before the war ended. I barely know what really happened out there."

Seraphim gave a small, dry laugh, folding her arms. "Trust me. It's... A lot in Asia."

Her sarcasm carried no bitterness, only weariness. Whatever horrors she was referring to, she clearly had no intention of revisiting them. And Gazerbeam, sensing that unspoken boundary, didn't press further.

"An old friend told me about Metroville," She continued, shifting the subject. "Said it's one of the most active cities for superhumans, heroes, villains, vigilantes... All of them."

Gazerbeam nodded, lips curving beneath his helmet. "Indeed. Metroville's a magnet for the extraordinary and the dangerous. NSA keeps tabs on a few vigilantes, but not many. Most don't last long or prefer to stay hidden."

Seraphim tilted her head, her gaze sliding toward him without meeting his eyes. Gazerbeam noticed her avoidance. She looked at his shoulder instead of his visor. It wasn't fear. Just shyness, perhaps a defense mechanism. Oddly enough, he realized he did the same.

"I've always wondered," He said quietly, "What it is about this city that draws us all here. Maybe it's the chaos... Or the chance to prove something."

"Who knows?" Seraphim replied with a shrug, her tone casual yet distant.

She turned toward the skyline, where the city lights shimmered like restless stars. Gazerbeam followed her gaze, hands clasped behind his back.

"This is how life works in this world," She murmured. Her voice softened - weary, almost resigned. "I'm still new to Metroville. I moved here just last year. I don't know much about this city... Only that it's not easy being a Filipino immigrant trying to find her place."

It was instinct for Gazerbeam to help. Helping people was second nature to him. Not out of duty, but out of who he was. As Gazerbeam, hero of the NSA, he lived for justice, for the moral conviction that saving others gave life its meaning. And now, standing before Seraphim, he found himself more than willing to extend that same instinct toward her.

"If you'd like," He began gently, "I'd be happy to help you find your footing in a place as complex and unpredictable as Metroville."

"Really?"

Seraphim turned toward him, tilting her head in surprise. She hadn't expected such an offer — not from an NSA hero to a vigilante from SIGIL. Deep down, though, she couldn't deny that she needed guidance. Her adoptive father had been too busy to help, and loneliness had begun to weigh heavily.

"Considering how lost you seemed back then," Gazerbeam continued, "I figured you could use someone to teach you the ropes. Show you which places to avoid... And it might actually make you feel at home."

Seraphim hesitated, uncertainty flickering behind her mask. Was there a price to this kindness? Or was it just her own instinctive distrust whispering doubts in her ear? Her body language betrayed her. Stiff shoulders, subtle fidgeting, the quiet unease of someone torn between caution and need. Gazerbeam's quick glance noticed it all, his eyes softening behind the red tint of his visor. His tone was steady and sincere.

"I'm not offering this lightly, Seraphim," He said. "I believe we could accomplish more together than either of us could alone. And I'm willing to put my trust in you, to offer the same courtesy I'd give any hero who's ever stood beside me."

He stepped closer, hand raised slightly to his chest in a gesture of solidarity.

"So yes, I can do this. And I assure you — my trust in you isn't misplaced. In this city, sometimes the only person you can count on is the one standing right next to you. You don't have to trust me yet. Just... let me prove that you can."

Seraphim didn't expect the warmth that stirred in her chest. The calm conviction in his voice disarmed her usual defenses. Beneath her stoic poise, she was still a fragile soul longing for someone to lean on. And here stood Gazerbeam. A hero whose sincerity radiated brighter than his lasers.

She studied him carefully through the blank black sockets of her mask, analyzing every detail from head to toe. The intensity of her silent inspection made Gazerbeam stiffen, unsure what she was searching for. But he waited patiently.

She tilted her head from side to side, one gloved hand pressed thoughtfully to her masked lips, humming softly to herself. Seraphim had always been careful about choosing partners. After all she had endured way too long. The Age of Decay, the Fall of Light, the former partners she had lost — trust was not easily given.

Her eighth and ninth partners had died. Her tenth... Never came back on positive terms.

She could fight alone. She always had. But something about Gazerbeam — his discipline, his composure, his quiet intellect — made her pause. She had studied him over the past week. He was logical, observant, and strategic. Perhaps not the most seasoned in combat, but his laser vision made him formidable. Still, his greatest weapon wasn't power — it was patience.

Finally, she lowered her hand and nodded slightly.

"Hmm... Hm hm hm... I see," She hummed softly. "You would certainly do well to be a worthy partner in justice."

"Partner?" Gazerbeam echoed, startled. Was she suggesting what he thought she was—?

"Yes," Seraphim replied, the faintest smile in her voice. "My partner. You look like the type who needs one — someone whose powers can complement your own. Considering what happened that night, I think you and I would make a wonderful team."

Shining like a God, can't believe I caught you and so.

Look at what I bought, not a second thought, oh, Romeo.

A team. The word struck something in him. Memories of the Phantasmics, the Thrilling Three, all the failed attempts that had ended in disappointment and loss. He had told himself he'd never try it again.

Seraphim's tone softened as she tilted her head, sensing the sudden heaviness that radiated from him. Her empathy flared — and in an instant, she felt it all: Regret, Guilt, Isolation.

"H-hey," She said gently, stepping closer. "A-are you okay?"

Before Gazerbeam could respond, the air around them was sliced by the sound of wailing sirens, screeching tires, and sharp bursts of gunfire echoing across the city streets below. Both turned toward the ledge just in time to see a chaotic car chase unfolding — police cruisers in pursuit of masked robbers weaving through traffic.

Gazerbeam blinked, realizing he was supposed to be on stakeout duty tonight. What a coincidence — or fate — that their reunion would align with a chase like this. Seraphim grinned faintly, along with a soft chuckle behind her mask.

"Speaking of partners... Looks like perfect timing to start our blossoming partnership."

She turned toward him, raising a closed fist toward his chest, her gloved knuckles gleaming faintly under the moonlight.

"So," She said, voice light with challenge and warmth, "Are you up for it, partner in justice?"

He had almost forgotten, in the heat of their conversation, the true reason he had been on this rooftop stakeout in the first place. The coincidence of their reunion here, at this exact moment, felt almost too perfect to be a chance.

As Seraphim extended her fist toward him, her gloved knuckles glinting faintly under the city lights, Gazerbeam felt a sudden surge of resolve. This was it — the chance to rebuild what he had lost, to redeem his failures in teamwork and maybe, just maybe, find a kindred spirit again.

Without hesitation, he raised his own fist and met hers with a firm thump. The sound echoed softly between them — the simple, solid symbol of a new alliance. A grin spread beneath his helmet, his pulse quickening with something he hadn't felt in a long time: Hope.

"Absolutely. I'm up for it, partner," He declared, his voice charged with determination. "Let's show this city what a hero and a vigilante can do when they stand together."

And before Seraphim could say another word, Gazerbeam turned and sprinted toward the stairwell door, his long strides pounding across the rooftop as he vanished down the stairway.

"Hey, wait—!"

Her hand lifted instinctively after him, but he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull clang. Seraphim stood there, arms dropping to her sides, tilting her head in disbelief.

"He could've at least asked me to fly him down," She muttered to herself with a breathy, amused sigh.

Unfurling her wings, she launched gracefully into the air. The wind rippled through her feathers as she descended with effortless ease, landing neatly at street level. By the time Gazerbeam finally burst through the exit door, slightly winded from the endless stairs. She was already waiting for him, arms crossed, her tone teasing but lighthearted.

"You're late, again," She said, raising an amused brow behind her mask. "You do realize I can fly, right?"

Gazerbeam rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a sheepish laugh slipping from him. "Ah... I may have gotten a little too excited and, uh—miscalculated. Old habit."

"This man," Seraphim whispered softly under her breath, shaking her head with quiet amusement.

"But time is of the essence," He said quickly, eager to move past the embarrassment. "Let's go."

"Wait."

Seraphim reached out and caught his shoulder before he could bolt again.

"You don't have your motorbike," She reminded him, her tone firm but not unkind. "You won't catch them on foot alone."

Gazerbeam straightened, confidence flashing beneath his visor. "I can manage. My endurance is stronger than it looks."

Seraphim tilted her head again, blinking beneath her mask. "No. Let me help you."

Her wings opened in a slow, fluid motion, feathers glowing faintly with reflected moonlight as she offered her hand to him once more. But Gazerbeam hesitated. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze turning elsewhere.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," He muttered, trying to sound casual — but the unease in his voice betrayed him.

Inwardly, he grimaced. Not again.

He could still recall the wild turbulence, the dizziness, the reckless laughter of Gamma Jack as he flew through the skies with Gazerbeam in tow, blasting radiation and lasers at anything that moved. They had caught their targets, sure, but nearly crashed into a billboard in the process. He'd promised himself never to repeat that kind of stunt again. Seraphim caught it instantly — that flicker of discomfort. Her gaze softened.

"No," She said with a weird look, "I'm not carrying you on my back. I'm too weak to lift a man."

Gazerbeam looked up, startled.

"I meant this."

With a graceful motion, Seraphim lifted her palm and light burst forth in radiant streams, coalescing before them into form. Lines bent and curved, taking shape like molten glass until a hovering motorcycle shimmered into being. Its surface gleamed with angelic sigils, its wheels glowing faintly with celestial fire. The hum it produced was deep, stable, alive.

Gazerbeam blinked, dumbfounded. Momentarily speechless at the glowing construct before him. The light-bike shimmered with intricate detail. Its frame humming with energy, the wheels spinning silently as if eager to defy gravity.

"You... Made this?"

Seraphim only smiled faintly behind her mask. "Temporary, but stable. Think you can handle it?"

Her tone was teasing, gentle, yet confident. Gazerbeam smirked in reply, mounting the glowing bike and gripping the light-forged handlebars. The machine thrummed beneath him, alive and eager. The energy buzzed faintly against his touch, solid yet warm. This is better, safer, and more thrilling to get the job done.

"I'll admit," He said, cracking a grin beneath his visor, "That's impressive. Way better than I imagined."

"Thank you. But let's not waste time," Seraphim urged. This time she uses her telepathy, her seraphic wings unfurling in a blaze of white. "Let's go. You'll take the lead, I'll support you."

He mounted the radiant bike, its engine thrumming with light. She rose into the air beside him, wings slicing through the wind as the two took off together — one blazing streak of light, the other trailing in silver-red energy like his lasers. He can't believe he is flying with Seraphim on this cool, hovering motorcycle he is riding. The bike responded instantly to his touch, hovering a few feet above the ground. It felt good to feel the breeze of the city wind hit his face through his helmet. Now he understands how much fun to be able to fly faster than being delayed below.

While the newfound partners in justice flew through the bustling city, tracking down the robbers by darting through the traffic roads left behind by the robbers’ reckless driving. Gazerbeam noticed mid-air that Seraphim went faster than usual, like she was eager to go. She is still following Gazerbeam's hovering motorbike, but she is too independent and ready to use her light powers. He couldn't afford to let recklessness ruin the chase.

"Listen closely, Seraphim! When we move, I'll need you at high altitude for vision and cover. No sudden dives, no blinding lights. I'll handle direction. You focus on blocking or disabling the targets."

Seraphim straightened, her wings flickering faintly as she listened carefully. "Understood, Gazerbeam."

He nodded approvingly. "Good. I'll focus on containment. You'll disrupt visibility. We move as one."

That gentle firmness in his tone calmed her. It wasn't an order. It was guidance. Someone finally trusts her to follow through, not just act.

"Got it," she said with a smile, her wings spreading as faint motes of light drifted down like fireflies.

Gazerbeam mounted the glowing bike, its light bending around his form like armor. "Let's move out."

He revved the luminous engine, soundless, yet the air itself rippled around them. In a blur, Gazerbeam shot off the rooftop, his new ride leaving a comet trail of white-red radiance behind him. Seraphim took flight beside him, her glow tracing a streak of light against the night. Down below, the robbers' getaway car tore through the empty streets, sirens wailing faintly in the distance.

"Target's three blocks west," Gazerbeam called, eyes narrowed as his visor scanned heat signatures. "Maintain overhead. Keep visual lock."

"Got it!" Seraphim responded, soaring upward into the haze. She spotted the car immediately and, out of instinct, prepared to unleash a blinding flash—

Gazerbeam's voice cut through the wind. "Don't engage yet. We wait for them to cross the alley-"

Too late. Seraphim dove ahead, wings slicing through the air as she unleashed a radiant flash that lit up the streets below. The robbers' getaway car swerved wildly.

"Seraphim! Hold back!" Gazerbeam's voice cut sharply. "Not yet. You'll blind the drivers; we need them to stop, not crash. Wait for the turn."

She hesitated, pulling her hand back into glowing fists, and she awkwardly embarrassed herself. "Right, sorry! Dang it. Got too eager."

"Next time, follow my count," He said gently but firmly. "We move together."

Now recalibrated, they advanced again. The car tore through the next intersection, but Gazerbeam was ready. "On my mark," He said, his laser vision starting to glow. "Three... Two..."

The car veered hard left.

"Now!"

Seraphim lifted her hands, casting angled beams of light that reflected off glass windows, refracting perfectly into his line of fire. Gazerbeam fired through his visor. The twin lasers ricocheted through the light channels she formed, striking the pavement in front of the robbers’ vehicle. It exploded into sparks, forcing the car into a hard stop. The robbers, blinded by brilliance, swerved violently—right into the path Gazerbeam had predicted.

"Predictable," He muttered, visor glowing red.

Tires screeched. The vehicle spun, crashed into a lamppost, and ground to a halt. Smoke hissed into the cool night air. The criminals stumbled out of the wreck, blinded and coughing from the glare of the collision. Seraphim descended gently beside the wrecked car, her light fading to a soft glow as Gazerbeam dismounted from the fading construct.

"Perfect focus," Gazerbeam admitted, straightening his gloves. "You learn fast."

She smiled faintly behind her mask. She replied lightly. "Your constructions are easier to follow."

He looked at her for a moment, surprised by her sincerity—but said nothing, only allowing a rare, faint smile to form beneath his helmet. The duo apprehended the criminals with Seraphim's help, summoning a glowing silver chain she called her Holy Chains.

Gazerbeam stood tall, his visor burning red to intimidate the robbers. "End of the road, boys."

Seraphim raised a hand, tightening her ethereal chains once they’re bound in defeat. "Your greed will not be overlooked in the face of justice."

Gazerbeam looked to her with a mix of admiration and quiet amusement. She made his job easy and fun, he had never experienced.

"You know," He said, folding his arms, "For someone who doesn't follow orders, you make a pretty good partner."

Seraphim chuckled softly. "What can I say? I was right to choose you as my partner. And it's worth trusting you."

And for the first time that night, they both smiled. A fleeting but genuine moment of understanding between a man of reason and a being of light. Their victory and admiration for their compatible teamwork were short-lived. The sound of sirens grew louder, echoing down the streets. The signal of another job well done. Crowds began to emerge from nearby buildings, cheering, clapping, and pointing toward the laser-eyed hero who had just saved the day. But something was off. Gazerbeam turned to his side.

"Seraphim?"

The space beside him was empty. He scanned the rooftops and the nearby air, but there was no trace of hero. No shimmering feathers, no faint glow of light. Then, like a whisper carried on a breeze, her voice echoed inside his mind.

"Don't worry. I'm camouflaged under the light. Take the credit yourself. You're going to deal with... Well, them."

Her tone was playful, but he caught the fatigue beneath it. He sighed quietly, realizing what she meant by them.

Sure enough, the moment he turned back toward the flashing lights of police cruisers and cameras, a flood of reporters and fans surged around him. Women with autograph books, eager photographers, and wide-eyed admirers pressed in close. A few shouted his name, and some called him a hero.

It was flattering, certainly — but he knew this glory wasn't his alone.

As he smiled and waved, answering questions with his usual calm charm, his thoughts lingered on the angel who had disappeared into the light. She deserves this, he thought. She was half the reason we won.

But Seraphim would never accept it. Crowds frightened her. They were too loud, too overwhelming. While the cheers grew louder in the street, Seraphim slipped quietly into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Her camouflage dissolved the moment she stepped out of the streetlights' reach. The darkness embraced her like a heavy cloak.

She leaned her back against the cold brick wall, breathing softly, her shoulders finally relaxing. The night above was dim — no stars, only the faint hum of city haze and distant light pollution.

"Even the stars are gone here," She whispered, her voice barely above the hum of distant traffic. "It's so... Heavy.”

The echo of her own words made her feel lonelier than she expected.

That's when she heard it. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, familiar.

Seraphim tensed, her wings half-folded behind her. Instinctively, she moved deeper into the alleyway, blending into the narrow corridor where the darkness was thickest. The rhythm of the steps grew closer. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing, until she caught a familiar silhouette at the entrance.

Gazerbeam.

She didn't see him coming, how did he get here unseen? She thought. Seraphim recalling back at the back of her head that Gazerbeam's supersuit gives it away to blend into the shadows. He paused at the mouth of the alley, scanning the shadows. His visor glowed faintly red, refracting against the damp pavement. Usually, he'll never be able to see where Seraphim was hiding in the darkness. But her white vigilante attire gives it away for how light she appears to track her down.

Kiss me in the D-A-R-K, dark tonight.

D-A-R-K do it my way.

Kiss me in the P-A-R-K, park tonight.

P-A-R-K let them all say.

"Seraphim, I know you're out there somewhere."

Gazerbeam said under his breath, amusement curling in his tone. He paused, listening intently for any hint of movement or sound, his heart pounding with anticipation. The corners of her lips lifted in a faint smile. So, this was a game now.

"Are you going to make me search every nook and cranny of this alleyway to find you? I must warn you, I can be quite... Persistent when I want to be."

Seraphim tilted her head when she heard Gazerbeam's voice drifting through the shadows, a teasing challenge wrapped in his usual calm. She felt a flutter of excitement stir inside her chest. So, he wanted to play?

A grin curled behind her pale mask. Fine... let's play.

She slipped silently along the narrow walls, moving like a wisp of light dancing through the darkness. Her soft footfalls barely made a sound as she disappeared around a corner, pressing her back against the cold brick. Every few steps, she peeked over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of Gazerbeam's silhouette. Tall, steady, cloaked in the darkness of his black suit.

He wasn't easy to shake.

Gazerbeam followed her, his steps measured and deliberate, always keeping her just in sight but never too close. His dark suit blended so well with the dim alley that he looked almost like a shadow himself.

He's good, she thought with a quiet, mischievous thrill.

This little game felt almost unreal. A hero and a vigilante who'd just taken down armed robbers minutes ago were now playing cat and mouse in the maze of a back alley. But that was exactly what made it perfect. The tension of battle was still in their veins, their adrenaline still burning, but instead of turning it into cold distance... They turned it into something light. Playful. Intimate.

A soft giggle slipped from Seraphim's lips before she could stop it. The sound, like the faint ringing of bells, echoed through the narrow walls. It danced through the air and into Gazerbeam's ears, pulling a grin beneath his visor.

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play.

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Whistle all you want but I'm not gonna stay.

"I can hear you, Seraphim" He whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Seraphim quickly moved again, hiding behind another wall deeper into the maze. She dare not use her seraphic wings, so she retract them on her back into an intricate tattoos. That way, it would make things easier for her to slip away undetected. But Gazerbeam was already one step ahead. She's relying on sound, he thought strategically. Her stealth is impressive. But she's not watching the blind spots.

Gazerbeam took advantage of Seraphim's unfamiliarity of the area. He slipped out of her line of sight, circling back through a narrow path. It was a clever maneuver. One she wouldn't expect from a straightforward chase. When Seraphim turned around, expecting to spot him in the same direction, the alley was empty.

Her brow furrowed under her mask. "Huh...?"

She scanned the shadows, her senses sharp, listening carefully for his movements. She took a slow step forward and scan the area again. And then, a warm presence loomed behind her.

"Gotcha!"

Seraphim gasped softly, spinning around on instinct, only to find Gazerbeam standing right behind her, closer than she'd expected. His dark figure towered just enough to make her heart skip.

"Whoa!" She laughed breathlessly, her hand flying to her chest. "You scared me there."

Gazerbeam chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Got you."

Their eyes met, his hidden behind the red gleam of his visor, hers a pair of void eyes that express nothing in her pale mask. For a heartbeat, neither moved. The world outside the alley. The sirens, the noise, the flashing lights seemed to fade into a distant hum. What was meant to be a playful game had drawn them closer, literally and figuratively.

"You cheated," She accused softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He tilted his head slightly. "Its strategized," he corrected with a smirk.

Seraphim laughed again, a light and airy sound that broke through the darkness around them.

The two broke apart at last, their laughter lingering faintly between them like the echo of bells fading through the night. Seraphim, with a gentle wave of her hand, cast a soft glow into the dark alley. The light blossomed around them, warm and safe, illuminating the edges of her feathers and the faint gleam of Gazerbeam's visor. For a moment, the world outside didn't matter. Only the quiet calm of two souls standing close, their shadows meeting on the stone wall.

Gazerbeam turned his face slightly away, his usual composure faltering under the gentle radiance she carried. She noticed, of course, but didn't mind. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was peaceful. It felt... Right.

She hadn't felt this way in a very long time — the simple joy of connection, of laughter shared after a battle hard-won. And before she could stop herself, the words slipped out like a whisper carried by light.

No more skipping rope, skipping heartbeats with the boys downtown.

Just you and me feeling the heat even when the sun goes down.

"I like you, Gazerbeam."

Her voice trembled faintly, soft and earnest, yet it filled the narrow alley with warmth. Gazerbeam froze for a breath, stunned by her candor. Beneath the helmet, a flicker of surprise softened into something tender.

"You do?" He asked quietly, almost unsure if he'd heard her right.

Seraphim smiled behind her mask, her head tilting slightly. "You're... Kind. Steady. And silly."

"Silly?" He repeated, he is touched.

"Yes," She said with a light giggle, "I don't like jokes. But your jokes actually make sense to me."

That made him laugh. A short, warm sound that broke through the lingering tension. It wasn't often someone understood his dry humor, let alone laughed at it. And in that laugh, something shifted, something he hadn't felt in years: Relief.

"Guess that makes us an odd pair," He said.

"The best ones always are," She replied softly.

For a moment, they stood there, basking in the strange comfort of each other's company. But soon, Seraphim's wings began to shimmer faintly, their glow signaling her departure.

"I have to go," She said regretfully. "There are things I still need to handle before dawn."

Gazerbeam's shoulders lowered slightly. "Already?"

She nodded, the golden light reflecting in her eyes. "You have your duties too, don't you?"

He blinked under his visor and then remembered NSA.

"I'll see you again, Gazerbeam," She promised, her voice soft and reassuring. "Same building. Same night sky."

And with a single sweep of her radiant wings, she rose into the air, her light scattering like tiny stars before fading into the clouds. Gazerbeam stood there, watching the last shimmer vanish into the distance. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone.

"...I’ll be waiting," He murmured to the empty alley, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turned toward the glow of the city.

Tomorrow, he'd return to his office, to the endless paperwork and courtroom battles. But tonight he'd met someone who reminded him of what it meant to believe again.

S.I.G.I.L. File Updates: Seraphim's List of Powers (25%), Team Description, and Additional Notes

Chapter Text

It's been a month.

A month since his partnership with Seraphim began. A month of chasing criminals through the city's shadowed streets, of late-night missions, and of quiet moments in between. What started as a professional alliance had turned into something mutual, though neither of them said it aloud.

Simon found himself wanting to know more about his mysterious partner. During the few calm nights when they talked instead of fought, he learned bits and pieces about her. Just basic questions like her superpowers. Seraphim excitedly demonstrated her superpowers with only some that she feels comfortable showing him. Purely out of caution to keep Gazerbeam safe is understandable. He wonders how strong her other abilities are to be considered harmful to a helpless citizen. He is a Super with laser vision and endurance, sure, but he is also a man as well. Her powers were not only just wielding divine light power, but something divine, abilities connected to the very essence of angels.

Light manipulation, Spirit manipulation, Soul manipulation, Healing, Flight, Levitation, her limited creation powers like the hovering motorcycle she led Gazerbeam on temporary transportation, summoning her Holy Chains that nullified any superhuman, Empathy is a superpower that connects her keen perspective to easily read Gazerbeam, so much more that she has yet to demonstrate. But Gazerbeam will soon see the rest of her many powers in the future. Only if Seraphim feels comfortable trusting him with her powers.

She claimed to be a seraphim, the highest of the angelic order, at least according to Seraphim's knowledge she shared in Angelology. He never knew there was more about angels than the humanoid angels most people depict and recognize. But Seraphim has opened up new discoveries beyond what Gazerbeam had in mind during their calm stakeout. When asked how she got her powers, Seraphim responded that her angelic powers were received at the age. It isn't uncommon for children to unexpectedly gain superpowers out of nowhere. But she received them when she was seven? It's FAR too young, and it's even more shocking that she became a vigilante in her early teens. Her seraphic powers made her an asset to the military, how cruel the world made children as soldiers. What really caught his attention is the fact she received them. By who exactly bestowed Seraphim these powers?

He wasn't sure how he felt about this. Gazerbeam thought back to the two young Supers, Macroburst and Stratogale. But Seraphim is a whole new level of young soldier during WWII. Seraphim would rather not talk about what happened to her when she was fourteen years old, and it's fine for Gazerbeam because it is rather a lot of information to take in for one night, until he unintentionally forgets them thanks to the distraction of chasing after criminals together.

Simon wasn't a religious man. His faith had always rested in the law, in justice, and reason. In laws and logic rather than miracles. Yet, hearing Seraphim speak, or rather, think about her past compared to Purgatory, he found himself intrigued and kept it in mind. There was something about Seraphim and her reluctance to tell him exactly what she was supposed to tell him. He realizes that angels, if they did exist, might walk beside mortals unseen but be treated cruelly by the whole world as if they were aliens. Although Gazerbeam remembered one Super who looked like an actual angel, he rarely saw him in the headquarters nowadays.

Moving forward, Seraphim was an enigmatic individual, a mystery of a puzzle left for Gazerbeam to solve. She wasn't difficult to understand. Despite her fragmented way of speaking and moments of confusion and uncertainty, her telepathic voice carried an easier explanation than her verbal one. She once explained, shyly, that she preferred telepathy because she disliked how her spoken words sounded. She was ashamed and embarrassed that she had told him to forget, because no matter what she said, it would be dismissed or left confused. Saying she should "Shut myself off". That's just terrible to treat a sweet angel who talks to him, not bothered by his averted gaze. Really, she really doesn't mind it. Despite her way of speaking, Simon hadn't pressed her further; he simply listened. Or at least he had tried with as much patience as possible. That is what those people who wanted her to shut up lack.

Still, for all their nights spent together, Simon didn't know who she truly was behind the mask. Not her face. Not her name. Only Seraphim.

Then came his break.

After his recent string of successful operations, the NSA finally granted Gazerbeam two weeks off. It was a well-earned rest. Simon welcomed the two-week break, which meant he got to focus on his civilian rhythm. But it also meant no more night patrols. No more briefings. And no more Seraphim.

He tried not to dwell on that.

In his civilian life, Simon Paladino went back to being an attorney. Long hours, endless paperwork, cross-examinations, and coffee strong enough to burn through exhaustion. By the afternoon, he finally found himself at his favorite diner, the one on the corner of 9th and Main, where the coffee was black, the tables were chipped, and the jukebox never worked right. A folded newspaper rested in one hand; a steaming cup of black coffee in the other. No sugar, no cream. He liked it pure, sharp, and bitter.

Outside, the golden sunlight poured through the diner windows, bathing the chrome counters in a nostalgic haze. The hum of chatter grew louder. It was rush hour, and the diner was filling fast. Waitresses darted between tables, balancing trays of burgers and pie. The hum of conversation surrounded him, but Simon stayed quiet, hidden behind his paper. Simon tugged the curtain down a little to read, his eyes framed behind his glasses, drifting across the crossword with his black ballpen.

He hadn't told Seraphim about his break. Maybe he didn't want to admit he missed her already. Maybe part of him was afraid that when the two weeks ended, she'd be gone. An angel fading from his world.

And then fate answered his wondering.

The chime above the door rang softly.

He barely looked up at first, until he noticed the sudden hush, or rather, the change in tone. Conversations slowed, curious eyes turned. A young woman had just stepped in, her presence immediately out of place amidst the hum of modern city dwellers.

She stood in the doorway, scanning for an empty seat. Every table was full — except his.

"Um... E-excuse me, sir?" She spoke timidly, her voice quiet but polite. "I-is this seat taken?"

Simon folded his newspaper and glanced up, surprised by her presence. For a moment, words left him. He understood why the regulars looked at her.

The newcomer was a young woman, maybe a teenager? He wasn't sure because her youthful appearance could be around her teenage years. She was dressed in the kind of fashion that belonged to another century. She wore a dainty tea dress of white and pink, trimmed with ribbons, lace, and ruffles that shimmered faintly beneath the amber light. Long black hair framed her face, flowing past her hips, and she wore a bonnet tied neatly under her chin. A small floral purse hung from her arm, and in her other hand, she carried a lace parasol.

In the gray tones of the diner, she was a soft, living porcelain doll come to life in a misplaced time.

Simon blinked. Something about her felt oddly familiar, though he couldn't place why. The young woman standing before him seemed pulled from a dream. Her manners, her fashion, even the shy yet sad eyes on her pretty little features. Something about her stirred a buried nostalgia. His mind flickered back to his grandmother. Her fashion reminded him of his Nonna's prized porcelain figurines. The vintage Italian lady figurines in flounced skirts and painted parasols stand proudly on her shelf.

As a boy, he used to watch her dust them carefully, her eyes full of affection for their delicate beauty, how she'd polish them lovingly, saying each one had a soul if you looked long enough. Too bad he can't because of his laser vision. One time, his younger self accidentally burned down one of his grandmother's Italian Ladies with his laser beams. He got scolded for breaking her collection. It means a lot to her whenever she lines her porcelain figurines on her shelf.

But this girl looked exactly like one of them — Delicate, old-fashioned, out of her time. Like a living Italian lady figurine.

"No, not at all," He said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. "Please."

The chair across from him sat empty. Offering an allowance to join his table. She smiled in quiet relief and took the seat, her expression shy but grateful, as her parasol rested carefully beside her. Simon turned his eyes back to the paper, though his mind was suddenly far away.

Neither of them realized it yet. That this coincidence was anything but what the force of nature intended their collision.

He didn't know who she was.

And she didn't know who he was.

But sitting across that diner table were two people who had already fought side by side, shared laughter in the dark, and saved each other's lives. Unaware that fate had just reunited them under the daylight, as Simon Paladino and Adriane (Addy) Apostol.

And though they didn't know it now, Gazerbeam and Seraphim had found each other once again. Not in battle, but in the quiet hum of a diner, under the golden light of an ordinary afternoon.

The lawyer and the living doll.

The beam and the light.

Unknowingly together again.

I want my cake, and I want to eat it too.

I want to have fun and be in love with you.

I know that we're a mess with your crisp suit.

And my frilled dress, puff sleeves, so cute!

The diner had grown noisier, but the small space between them felt quiet, as if the rest of the world had blurred out of focus. The waitress passed by with a coffee pot, refilling Simon's mug before moving on to the next table. Addy sat quietly across from him, small hands clasping the menu beside her as she browsed through a selection of what was available in this diner. The hem of her long, puffy sleeves brushed the table each time she turned a page, careful not to draw attention to herself, though she already had the moment she entered.

Simon tried to mind his own business. Tried. But curiosity tugged at him.

Simon glanced up from his crossword, just briefly on the top edge of his newspaper.

There was something about the way she frowned at the menu, her pink lips pressed tight in thought, her brows knit together like she was deciphering a legal document instead of choosing lunch. She went back and forth on the menu and on her vintage floral wallet, counting the amount she saved before going back through the menu.

He caught himself staring too long and quickly looked away, pretending to sip his coffee. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally trigger his laser vision in the middle of a diner because he couldn't let his secret identity slip. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself — Focus, Simon. Just... breathe.

But curiosity gnawed at him.

She didn't look like anyone else in this place. Her soft pink ribbons and sweet, porcelain demeanor were out of step with the hum of the city outside. She seemed... Displaced. Alienated. Out of this world. Like an angel sitting among mortals, unaware of her own light. It reminds him of... Seraphim. But no, there is no way of assuming that is possible. From the corner of his eye, he saw the young lady struggle again. She flipped between the breakfast and lunch pages twice, sighing softly. That small sound broke his restraint.

Simon cleared his throat gently. "First time here?"

The young maiden startled a bit, expressing her shyness and bowing her head apologetically. "O-Oh! Um, yes, sir."

"You, uh..." Simon began, his voice careful and low. "Having trouble deciding?"

Addy blinked, startled that the man across from her spoke. She turned her wide, black doe eyes toward him. "Hm? O-oh," She said softly, the faintest trace of a Filipino accent brushing her words as her shoulders tensed up and her eyes glanced elsewhere. "U-um... I-I guess."

Her fingers toyed with the corner of the menu, a grimace on her face as she groaned quietly. "There are a lot of options. B-but... I don't know which one to pick..."

Simon gave a small nod. "Yeah, I can see that." He glanced at her uncertain expression, trying to help. "The diner's got good sandwiches. The coffee's strong. Can't go wrong with either of those."

Addy lifted up her head to look at Simon and smiled faintly at his calm tone before returning to the menu. "I saw fried chicken and seasoned French fries, side with milkshake on the menu..." She murmured, temptation in her words, glaring at the image on the menu. "It's my favorite. B-but..." She hesitated, yet disappointed, "I-It's expensive."

That caught Simon's attention.

He studied her briefly. The way she avoided his eyes, her hands too gentle for someone hardened by city life. He thought she might be a high school girl saving up lunch money. "You're... In school?" He asked carefully.

She looked up and nodded with a small smile. “Yes, college,” She said casually. "Just started a few months ago. Freshman year."

Simon blinked behind his glasses and then blinked twice. College? She looked far younger! Sixteen, maybe seventeen at most? He doesn’t know; he thought Addy was a teenager. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to hide his surprise.

"College?" He repeated, uncertainly. “You're... In college already?”

Addy nodded her head, lowering her eyes to the table. "Yes. A year's break after graduating from high school. I get that a lot."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling foolish. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's alright, sir," She interrupted gently, her smile warm. "I don't mind. I'm twenty-four."

That caught him off guard, nearly spitting on his mug of coffee, which he was sipping. "Twenty-four?" He echoed, slightly surprised.

She let out an awkward chuckle at his surprise reaction, still browsing the menu. "Yes, twenty-four. People think I'm younger because of how I dress or how young I look like a teenager. But I'm twenty-four years old this year."

"My apologies," He said quickly, glancing down at his coffee. "Didn't mean to assume."

"It’s alright," She reassured him kindly. "It happens.”

Way a go, Simon. He felt awkward for assuming things. But at least she isn't offended. He picked up his cup, glancing at her again when she sighed over the menu. Her accent... Gentle and warm, touched with something foreign. It caught his attention. For some reason, she sounded like Seraphim. Even her shy demeanor and mannerisms remind him of the angelic vigilante.

Simon set aside his newspaper and folded his hands on the table. "If you don't mind me asking," He began, "You're not from around here, are you?"

Addy shook her head lightly. "No, sir. I... Moved here last year. Still trying to learn how everything works here.”

"Paladino," He replied. Might as well introduce himself properly. "Simon Paladino. No need for formalities, miss?"

Addy stared at Simon and then nodded politely. "Adriane. Adriane Apostol. But you can call me Addy."

"Apostol," He repeated. "That's... Spanish, isn't it?"

Addy blinked, her expression faltering, and she lowered her gaze. "Uhh, no."

He noticed immediately. Did he assume wrong again? "Did I say something wrong?"

She hesitated, then her shoulder tensed awkwardly and stiffened as she shook her head. “No, no. I'm actually Filipino,” She corrected softly. “I'm from the Philippines.”

Simon blinked, a little taken aback, until a twinge of guilt realized his mistake. “Ah. I see. My apologies. Again.” He said, clearing his throat. “I didn't mean to assume again. It's just the surname—”

"I know, I get that a lot." She interrupted gently. "Everyone here thinks so, too. We have a lot of Spanish-sounding names back home. It's part of our history."

He nodded, grateful for her calmness. "I see, so you're from the Philippines?”

The Philippines. And Addy moved here last year. Just like how Seraphim arrives.

She smiled at Simon, her dimples showing at the corners of her cheeks. "Yes, adopted by an American man and brought me here. Officially an immigrant too."

Again, Seraphim did say she was adopted by an American man who took her here.

As their conversation went on, Addy's eyes drifted back to the menu, brows knitting in indecision. Has she not yet decided what her meal is? "Everything all right?" Simon asked.

She nodded quickly. "Oh, uh, yeah... Still can't decide what to get."

Addy could feel her stomach growling within her. She hadn't eaten much earlier, and she wanted so badly to get something she liked. Lingered on the pricier items before drifting down to the cheapest ones — a simple toast, coffee, and egg. She looked almost sad about it. But she can't while she is counting coins in her wallet before every meal. Simon couldn't shake off this tight feeling inside his chest. Pity? Sympathy? The urge to help her?

"If you're hungry, you should get what you like. Don't worry about the price."

"Eh?" Her head shot up, eyes wide. She immediately protests. "O-oh no! I can't-" She waved her hands, nearly bumping her menu. "That's too much, sir. I can pay for my own meal. Thank you-"

"Please," Simon said with an awkward half-smile, raising a hand in calm surrender. "You'd be doing me a favor, really. I may have been eating alone. And, well... You seem like you could use a break."

"Oh no, you mustn't, mister Paladino." She shook her head quickly, bonnet ribbons swaying, startled by the sudden offer.

"No, I insist," Simon replied, being persistent to help feed Addy.

"B-but... I-I just met you," She murmured, tilting her head in conflict and hope in her mannerism.

He smiled faintly. "All the more reason to start with goodwill."

They went back and forth between them. Addy declines with polite firmness because she feels bad for making him pay, especially to a stranger. And Simon insisted with persistence until he finally made her accept his generous offer. For a moment, the awkwardness between them was enlightened. Addy ponders in her head if she should trust this kind man who persistently insists on paying her. Again, she barely knew this man in glasses and a suit. But her hunger was forcing her decision. She looked grateful, though still bashful about accepting.

"Oh, alright," Addy said quietly, shrugging herself in defeat before turning her gaze on Simon with one last chance to protest. "But only this time. A-are you sure about that? You're being generous to me."

"Positive. It's no trouble," Simon said, tone firm but kind. "Consider it a small gesture from a stranger."

When the waitress arrived, he gestured toward her. "She'll have whatever she wants. My treat."

Oh, this is so embarrassing. Addy had never been more embarrassed in her life again. Even after the waitress left with her orders, she couldn't meet Simon's eyes for long. The thought of letting a stranger pay for her meal unsettled her. But at least she gets to order the fried chicken side with French fries and a chocolate milkshake for free. She wasn't used to kindness from strangers. Back home, everything she had ever received came with deception and betrayal. But Addy shouldn't think back about what happened in the past. That history has long passed, Addy must focus on what she has right now, even if she is achingly hurt.

While Simon returned to his newspaper, Addy sat with her hands folded in her lap, trying to compose herself. The ribbon on her bonnet brushed her shoulder as she busied herself with her wallet or her purse. She whispered another soft thank you, almost too low to hear, as if afraid she might disturb the calm between them.

Simon simply nodded, sensing her discomfort. He had met hundreds of people through his work. Clients, witnesses, suspects. He learned to read people quickly. Addy was genuine, painfully so, and beneath her shy demeanor was someone trying to belong in a place too loud for her gentleness. He had been through her shoes before, being Italian, struggling to belong.

"You know," He said, tone even, "It's all right to accept a gesture without owing something back."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Excuse me?"

"Think of it as... Part of being neighbors," He continued, half-smiling. "Metroville can be a maze for newcomers. Let me help you find your way around. Show you the good places to visit, the things worth seeing."

"But it doesn't feel right," She admitted nervously, casting her gaze elsewhere. "I should repay you somehow. I feel bad for it."

"Then let's make it fair," Simon said after a short pause. "You're new to Metroville, right?"

Addy's attention is on Simon, and she hums as her response that she is new.

"Then here's the deal." His tone softened, thoughtful. "I'll help you get to know the city. Teach you the places, the routes, what to avoid, and all of that. And in return..." He hesitated a moment, as though the next words felt almost too personal to say. "You let me get to know you. As a friend."

Addy's eyes widen at Simon's deal. It is convincing enough to believe him immediately. His persuasiveness works like a charm to earn the trust of many people, thanks to his skills as a lawyer. "A friend?"

He nodded once. "You seem like someone who could use one."

Addy truly needed someone to rely on besides her adopted father. Addy hasn't made any friends since moving to this country for a fresh start. Even as a freshman student, she was barely making any friends at the university her adoptive father enrolled her in. And speaking of her adopted father, he is in the military; she has no idea what he is doing, but she knows it has to do with her and my protection.

Her father will never know that she had met a Super from the NSA or that Addy has been secretly going out doing vigilante work as Seraphim on her own terms. No more SIGIL or the corrupt government. Those bastards should go to hell for all she cares. She is supposed to be on a low profile, live her life in the American society as a college girl. But Addy can't help it.

She missed the action during her horrifying years of the Age of Decay and the Fall of Light. Seraphim grew used to the danger and horror she experienced. But now in this peaceful life of normality, Addy knew she couldn't miss this chance to start over. Especially, she won't let him drag her down to through hell again. She had survived and escaped from that nightmare with my Purity intact. Her first and only friend is Gazerbeam, but the laser-eyed hero is just her secret partner in justice. She claimed with his permission. She doesn't see Gazerbeam that way, they have only known each other for only a month, and soon second. He is a good man with a good soul, so noble and bright. And yet why does this man in front of her remind her of Gazerbeam?

Addy looked down at her lap, fingers fidgeting together. Looking directly at Simon drinking his mug of coffee, she registers the shape of his head, his jaw, and the way his presense alone is calming and stoic. Simon reminds her of Gazerbeam. Even his voice. His butterly smooth, deep voice sounded exactly like Gazeebeam. Even though Addy admits she secretly flustered behind her pale mask as Seraphim. Thank goodness he doesn't need to know how much he effectively sees her as the mysterious Seraphim. So, why did her heart leap out of her chest whenever Gazerbeam instructed Seraphim on what she was supposed to do? Even Simon, with the voice able to easily convince her to accept his generous offer to pay for her meal. She shouldn't jump to a conclusion. Addy could not tell that Simon and Gazerbeam are one in the same.

No matter, she has decided to bashfully and hesitantly accept her only chance. She knew she needed one civilian friend in her lonely life. "I-I guess... I-I would like that."

He chuckled under his breath. Finally managed to slip through her defenses. "Then it settles."

For a moment, neither spoke. Only the soft clatter of plates and the low murmur of the diner around them. The tension eased, replaced by a small, genuine comfort.

"So," Simon began, stirring his coffee, "Tell me more about the Philippines. I only ever knew bits from old newspapers. Mostly headlines about the war."

Addy’s eyes softened with nostalgia and melancholia. "Oh... I-it's... A lot is going on. Especially a lot going on in Asia."

It made Simon pause. Where had he heard from it before?

"Ever since the end of the war and the Philippines declared independence, the new government has been trying to rebuild what was destroyed 8 years ago. Barely survived the horror after the American Army returned and saved the Philippines. I-I would rather not want to think about it."

Oh. Maybe asking Addy about her former homeland isn't a great start to their conversation. Her expression said otherwise. But he swore he could hear a bit of pain under her whisper as she took a bite of her fork. Perhaps he should take the initiative to uplift the mood.

"Was that difficult? Leaving home?"

Addy thought for a moment. A moment of reminiscing about what she had suffered and lost. She let out a sad sigh before answering quietly, "It was. But I have to. I wanted to finish my studies that I had missed five years ago. I love writing. I'm taking English Literature."

"Ah," Simon said with a slight smile. "A writer, then?"

"A small one," Addy admitted bashfully. "I love stories. Fiction, fantasy, romance...  I write stories through my imagination. I was going to choose art, but-" She hesitated, picking up a single fry into her mouth slowly. "There's too much pressure in art. Too much criticism. Writing feels safer. Like breathing."

Simon smiled, nodding his head. "That's very honest of you. I admire it."

She looked up, surprised. "You do?"

"Of course," He said simply. "Most people avoid what makes them happy just because it's hard to explain or get a job out there. And yet, you chose it anyway."

Addy smiled again, faint and genuine. "It is something I wanted after all. What about you, Mr. Paladino? What did you choose?"

"Law," He replied, without hesitation. "I like structure. Order. Logic. Maybe that's boring compared to your colorful world, but... I find comfort in rules and justice."

Now this sounds familiar to Addy. Where had she heard from it before?

"And what do you do, Mr. Paladino?"

"I'm a lawyer," He said simply. "Defense, mostly. Law, philosophy, a bit of history." He smiled faintly. "Though I'll admit, I have a soft spot for science fiction."

That made her laugh softly, the sound bright and genuine. "Really? You don’t look like someone who reads about aliens, astronomy, and spaceships."

"I don't?" He teased lightly.

She shook her head. "No, you look more like the kind of man who reads about— Oh, I don't know, old philosophers."

"Well, that too," Simon admitted with a small grin. "What about you, Miss Addy? What books do you like?"

Her eyes softened with thought, making her feel enthusiastic. "Romance," She said first. "Fiction, fantasy... And a bit of philosophy too." She hesitated, her smile turning wistful. "I've always wanted to read The Divine Comedy. But I can't afford a copy of the book."

Simon looked up sharply, eyes lighting with surprise. "The Divine Comedy? Dante Alighieri?"

Addy looks at Simon, blossoming into hopeful excitement when someone takes an interest in what she likes. "Yes. You know about?"

He grinned, a rare, unguarded grin. "One of my favorites. I have never met anyone who mentions it so casually. It's a hard book to read."

Her laughter was soft, delighted. “Oh, I'm so glad to know! I always wanted to read Divine Comedy, even if it's just poems and stuff. I only learn bits about it, but I'm interested in the stories about Paradise, Purgatory, and Inferno. Guess we have something in common, Mr. Paladino."

He raised his mug slightly, half-teasing. "Simon. Friends don't use titles."

She blushed faintly. "O-oh okay. Simon."

He nodded approvingly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Better."

The diner's quiet hum filled the space, chatter blending with the clinking of dishes, the soft buzz of a jukebox crooning an old tune. Addy sat across from Simon, savoring her meal with a shy smile.

Her plate of fried chicken was nearly gone, the seasoned fries reduced to a few crumbs. What remained was her favorite. The chocolate milkshake, thick, creamy, and chocolatey, the glass fogged with condensation. A perfect way to chill for a hot rush hour, especially after eating the juicy, meaty fried chicken and salty, crunchy French fries.

Addy has a terrible sweet tooth for chocolate, which made her happy to taste the sweetness in the concoction right into her mouth. Simon noticed when her eyes lit up at every sip. Call him delusional, but even if he takes several quick glances at his companion, he could have sworn he saw hearts in her eyes or flicking from black to pink. Maybe he is seeing things.

Simon, meanwhile, kept his usual composure. Black coffee in hand, almost empty in his mug, posture neat and collected after finishing his newspaper. Still, his gaze flickered now and then toward her, catching how she savored the milkshake as though a force was reckoning with him.

Then Addy paused.

"Wait... Is this diner put cake in it?" She murmured, brow furrowed as she stirred the milkshake with her straw. Sure enough, she fished out a small, soft piece of chocolate cake blended into the drink.

Simon blinked. "Cake? In a milkshake?" He leaned slightly forward, curious despite himself.

Addy nodded, amused and curious. "Looks like it. Maybe they add to the blend for extra flavor? Does this diner usually serve this kind of milkshake?"

"No," Simon admitted, trying not to sound too interested. And honestly, he had never tried a milkshake before back since high school. It's too sweet and cold for his taste. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone blend cake into a drink before."

Addy giggles softly, her left hand reaching her lips, smiling at him. "I see. It's delicious, I liked the cakey feel mixed with the cold milkshake." She took a bite, eyes closing in delight. When she opened them again, she caught Simon still watching her.

Simon instantly averted his gaze, clearing his throat, almost too fast. His instinct to look away kicked in before his eyes could overreact. His fingers tightened briefly around his cup. Addy tilted her head, confusion turned to curiosity and intrigue. She drops her eyes to her chocolate milkshake and wonders. Her instinct was taken over by her feelings.

"Simon? Do you want to try it?" She offered, scooping another bit of the cake chunk with her straw. "Chocolate and coffee go together perfectly. Since you're drinking black coffee, it will taste good."

Simon hesitated, flustered. "I- uh... Are you sure?"

"Of course," She said simply, her tone kind and easy. "I don't mind sharing."

Simon, at the moment stunned and reluctant about what to do. It's embarrassing to have a piece of cake offered by a stranger like Addy. It made him nervous that he must look away. Should he risk it? No, he can't. Not with his blue eyes would blast his laser vision at her. But the chocolate cake on the straw is tempting him to give in.

The idea of a chocolate and coffee combination intrigues him. Will it taste better than chocolate and peanut butter? Who knows, unless he tries. He gave in only once. Simon leaned forward with his eyes closed as he opened his mouth to taste from her straw. The flavor surprised him. Addy isn’t wrong about the chocolate and coffee combination. The rich chocolate, faint bitterness from the coffee, and a smooth sweetness that lingered.

"Hm." He let out a hum of delight, looking impressed at the taste in his tongue. "You're right. Chocolate and coffee are compatible together with the perfect balance between sweetness and bitterness."

Addy grinned, proud. "Told you. Glad you like it."

Neither of them realized the quiet intimacy of what had just happened. That shared sip, the soft laughter afterward. To both, it felt innocent, friendly... Though Simon's heartbeat said otherwise.

Their conversation drifted easily. Talking about books, Addy's love for art, and Simon's worldview about law, the cities, and the quiet joys of solitude. The longer they spoke, the more Simon felt an unexpected ease settle in his chest.

He hadn't planned on meeting anyone that day. And yet, across this dining table, with sunlight spilling through the curtains and a girl who spoke like poetry itself, Simon found himself feeling oddly at ease with Addy. It's like he has known her before.

I don't care what they say about me, what they say about me!

Because I know that it's L-O-V-E.

You make me happy, you make me happy.

And I never listen to anyone.

After their afternoon at the diner, Addy had to leave. She thanked Simon for the meal and the pleasant conversation, her gratitude tinged with shy embarrassment. She promised to repay him someday, though Simon assured her it wasn't necessary. Instead, he handed her his business card, written "Simon J. Paladino, Attorney-at-Law."

Addy smiled softly and tucked it away into her wallet, uncertain if she'd ever actually call him. Still, she hoped their paths might cross again. Maybe even at the same little diner. Who knows?

Two weeks passed. Simon buried himself in his work at the firm, drafting cases and meeting deadlines before his next rotation at the NSA. Life returned to its usual order. Structured, logical, predictable. Until his first day back as Gazerbeam, when everything shifted.

He was at the NSA Headquarters, lounging in the hero's lobby among familiar faces. Just the usual 'good morning' this and greeting fellow Supers that, nothing special except the stares of Apogee behind his back for some reason. Mr. Incredible, Frozone, and Gamma Jack gathered around their usual table, catching up on everything that had happened while Simon was away.

"Gazerbeam! Heard you've been busy cleaning up the streets. Took down half the city's wanted list last month." Frozone said, grinning.

Gamma Jack raised his cup. "You've outdone all of us. Night patrols, too! Didn't think you had that kind of night vision. You barely even work the night shift."

Even Mr. Incredible joined in with a proud clap on the back. "You're setting records out there."

Gazerbeam smiled. Their laughter faded when Gazerbeam only offered a tight smile, fingers curling around his coffee cup. But the praise twisted like a knot in his chest. The truth sat heavy in his throat — he wasn't alone. Every arrest, every victory... It was because of Seraphim. His secret partner. His light in the dark. He felt that familiar pang of guilt twist in his gut. Every 'congratulations' he received from his friends or colleagues felt heavier than the last.

Gazerbeam gave a stiff nod, forcing a polite smile. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Word from gossip is you've been on fire lately," Gamma said, clapping him on the back on the other side. "What's your secret, Gazer?"

Gazerbeam forced a smile. "Just... Doing my job."

"Don't sell yourself short," Frozone grinned. "You've been cleaning up the city. That's dedication."

He could feel the lie tightening in his throat. Every word of praise hit a nerve. He hated it. Taking praise for what she helped accomplish. For what they did together. They didn’t know. No one knew that his real success came from someone else—from her.

Mr. Incredible noticed his silence. "You good, GB? You've been quiet."

Gazerbeam straightened and composed, his voice even. "Just tired. That's all."

But no one could ever know. He had promised her.

He nodded politely, masking the unease building inside him. The conversation drifted to hero gossip and minor missions until Rick Dicker's voice boomed over the intercom.

"All Supers, meeting room in five."

Five minutes later, every Super was present, taking their respective seats. The chatter died down when Rick Dicker entered. Every Super gathered in the main conference room. The usual chatter died as Rick took the podium, composed as ever, tie straight, expression unreadable.

"Good afternoon, Supers," Rick began, his tone smooth and steady. "First order of business, monthly assignments and schedule updates."

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Rick began his usual rundown. New assignments, patrol schedules, partnership updates, and a few reprimands about 'collateral damage' from the more reckless heroes like Gamma Jack, Mr. Incredible, and Hypershock.

Gazerbeam sat straight-backed, unreadable. He glanced down at his paper of new patrol time: afternoons. Routine. Predictable. Just how he liked it. He would be able to see properly without his partner's light. But then Rick cleared his throat, and the atmosphere changed.

"Now, I'll keep this brief. I expect full cooperation and professionalism as usual. The reason I've called this assembly here isn't just to go over your new assignments or the latest mission protocols," Rick began, tapping a button on the control panel, "It's because of a new situation that's come to our attention."

The projector flickered to life. A grainy image filled the board. Each monochrome slide showed more of the same: A radiant silhouette caught mid-flight over the outskirts of Metroville. Six pairs of wings shimmered faintly in the static haze. Evidence left at the scenes: Feathers, a glowing symbol of a heart with seraphic wings on concrete, and always, always the same white flowers.

Gazerbeam's stomach drops.

Rick continued. Classified documents in hand sharing the Supers what to expect of the new phenomenon. "At first, we dismissed the reports as rumors or hoaxes until the evidence became impossible to ignore. Over the past few months, several incidents have been reported at the outskirts of Metroville. Something unnatural and abnormal. Our analysts can't identify what we're dealing with, but have confirmed multiple sightings since early '53.. Agents have been tracking an unidentified phenomenon appearing near Metroville. Our scientists and analysts are unable to classify it. Energy readings are off the charts. Possibly extraterrestrial. Possibly a super gone rogue or a potential threat. Our best technology is completely beyond our measurement systems. But what’s interesting is the pattern."

Whispers spread among the Supers. Some leaned forward, intrigued. Others frowned, uneasy.

Rick's sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment, analytical, skeptical, before moving on. "We've had multiple reports. This unknown angelic being has been active across the city. Some witnesses claim it to be a real angel. They claim this being appears from nowhere, saves innocent lives, and leaves behind high-profile criminals for the authorities, often with complete evidence to close long-unsolved cases. We've confirmed at least ten cases of criminals found incoherent, repeating phrases about 'wings' and 'judgment'.

He paused, clicking to the next slide. The tone in his voice deepened. "Not all encounters are peaceful. It's also been linked to... Less pleasant incidents. Several offenders brought in were found in severe mental distress. Babbling nonsense, traumatized, or claiming they were judged by light itself. Others confessed immediately under extreme fear. With everything observed, the unidentified being is capable of emitting blinding light, flight, and exhibiting what some claimed to be psychological effects. Fear, hallucinations, or repentance. Victims often report hearing 'voices' or seeing visions before surrendering. Its behavior is unpredictable. Many victims describe mercy, others recount extreme psychological distress. It heals, but it also punishes."

Whispers grew louder. Some are whispering theories. Mr. Incredible frowned. "An angel, huh? That's a new one."

"Not really, Mr. Incredible," Everseer said and brought out a certain Super's name that most of the Supers in the meeting had forgotten. "Have any of you forgotten about Ark. Angel?"

Everyone looked at each other left and right as their heads nodded to the fact that a fellow Super named Ark. Angel exists. They haven't seen the angelic Super for a very long time. There are times when some cross paths with him or have spoken to Ark. Angel. So, this is no surprise that there is another one like Ark. Angel, except it has six wings and uses disturbing methods, judging by the collages displayed on the board.

Fironic muttered under his breath with his fingers over his chin. "I remember, the last time Ark. Angel and I ever talked was a few months before he went solo elsewhere." Fironic look up to the image of the

"Well, this angel sounds like something outta Revelation. Have you seen that number of wings?" Blazestone muttered.

"Yeah. Maybe it is a new Super?" Macroburst suggested. "Just... One hell of a dramatic one."

"Or a threat," Stratogale said grimly. "Either way, I say we find it or fight it."

Rick raised a hand to quiet the room. "Whatever this being is, it leaves a calling card - These white flowers. Every location, same flower type, same pattern. Our best minds can't explain it. This being has both aided law enforcement and instilled widespread panic. The NSA has designated it as a phenomenon of unknown classification. Until we can confirm intent, consider it unregistered, potentially dangerous, and highly unpredictable. Whatever this is, it's beyond our current understanding."

Meta Man leaned forward, analyzing the slide. "Those patterns. Those fractal bursts in the light field. It's intelligent energy manipulation."

Plasmabolt nodded, jotting notes. "Not magic. Just Light powers? Energy-based, like Gamma Jack?"

Gamma Jack's green eyes glaring at Plasmabolt for assuming there is some unknown Super or being to have similar powers like his Radiation. "Excuse me? This thing doesn't seem so powerful-looking. Whatever it is, it's way beyond us. But not beyond me, of course."

Everyone groaned or rolled their eyes at Gamma Jack's comment. Meanwhile, the brawnier heroes were practically buzzing with excitement.

"Sounds like a challenge," Universal Man muttered. "Friend or foe, it gives me the creeps."

Mr. Incredible frowned. "Or something we shouldn't mess with until we understand it."

Meanwhile, Gazerbeam's pulse quickened. Everyone in the conference room is oblivious to Gazerbeam's turmoil. His breath hitched as his eyes locked on the image. He knew that light. That shape. The six wings blurred by the camera's poor focus. He could see them as clear as day. There is no doubt that he recognizes the angelic vigilante. He knew her.

Seraphim.

He swallowed hard, heat rising behind his eyes. His control slipped. A thin red flicker escaped his visor, singeing the edge of the projection screen before he snapped his gaze down.

He tried to breathe, but his chest felt tight. Every memory of her, her laughter, her light powers, her kindness. Collided with the truth burning on that screen. The same being the NSA feared was the woman he'd grown to trust, to care for.

Gazerbeam blinked hard behind the red-tinted visor, forcing his composure, but his eyes began to flicker. The heat behind them built uncontrollably.

Not now. Please don't lose it here.

The edges of his vision began to glow red. He was losing control.

A faint hiss of heat escaped him. Gamma Jack is the first to notice the shift in Gazerbeam.

"Gazer? You good, man?"

Before Gazerbeam could answer, a sudden — fwssh! — of a thin red beam slipped from his eyes and seared across the screen, charring the edge of the projector screen. A burning black streak through the center of the image. The smell of melted plastic filled the air. The room gasped.

"Whoa!"

"What the hell, Gazerbeam?!"

Rick stopped mid-sentence, brow twitching as Rick sighed and turned off the projector.

Mr. Incredible, Frozone, and Gamma Jack rushed to Gazerbeam.

"Whoa there, Gazer! Easy there, man!" Frozone exclaimed.

"You alright, GB? You look pale." The concerned tone of Mr. Incredible placed his hand over Gazerbeam’s shoulder.

"Yeah, buddy. You stared a bit too long?" Gamma Jack followed as his hand placed on his back on the opposite side. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Gazerbeam blinked rapidly, forcing the glow in his eyes to fade. His gloved hand reached over the front of his visor and shook himself off. His voice, calm but strained, finally broke through the murmurs.

"Yeah... Must've... Focus too hard. My bad."

Rick gave him a sharp, assessing look, unimpressed and pragmatic. "Understandable. Let's try not to burn government property next time."

Gazerbeam nods his head apologetically. "Understood. I'll compensate for the damage on my next salary." He got himself overlooked and pardoned for his accidental blast on the board. But on the inside, Gazerbeam's world was spinning. He stared down at the table, jaw tight, forcing his laser vision to dim back into safety.

Rick frowned but continued without comment, though his tone sharpened.

"As I was saying, this being has both aided law enforcement and instilled widespread panic. The NSA has designated it as a phenomenon of unknown classification. Until we can confirm intent, consider it unregistered, potentially dangerous, and highly unpredictable. Until further notice, encountering it is to be observed, not confronted. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

The Supers murmured their assent.

Gazerbeam sat in silence, his pulse still racing. The charred smell lingered like guilt. He stared at his gloved hands, flexing them slowly under the table.

This can't be... Seraphim... What are you doing?

He didn't have the answer. But he knew one thing for certain. He'd protect her secret, no matter what it cost him. Gazerbeam needs to call her for an explanation of her past actions. What was she doing over the past few months before they met? Seraphim needs to know about the potential danger of being discovered by the NSA, and he needs to understand why she has the sense of justice that is beyond what he had expected from the angelic vigilante.

Meanwhile, Seraphim, also known as Addy, is at her home, relaxing in her bedroom alone. The faint hum of an old tape player filled her bedroom, accompanied by the gentle flicker of lamplight across a cluttered desk. Old newspapers, borrowed library microfilm prints, and cassette tapes were scattered across the table.

Addy sat cross-legged in her light pink nightdress, her hair tied loosely, eyes tired but restless. She had been replaying the same recording for hours now, the static-filled voice of a late-night radio host interviewing a woman with a sharp, confident tone.

[ARCHIVAL INTERVIEW: 1952]

Host: "So, Miss Apogee, many fans have wondered. What really happened to the Thrilling Three? You, Phylange, and Gazerbeam were one of the most admired teams of the late forties."

Apogee (sigh bitterly): "Admired, sure. But teams don’t survive admiration alone. Let’s just say... Some people work better alone."

Host: "You mean Gazerbeam?"

Apogee: "I mean exactly him. The Thrilling Three used to mean something. But after Dynaguy was gone, things changed. The NSA brought in a replacement - Gazerbeam. He's brilliant, a smart guy, tactical too, I'll give him that, but he has his issues. He always had to be in control, always thought two steps ahead of me and Phylange. You can't lead if you can't trust-"

Addy's brows furrowed as she immediately paused the tape. She didn't like the tone in Apogee's voice, and she would rather not continue because she had been listening to the same tape hours ago on repeat. The bitterness, the implication that Gazerbeam was some cold, controlling man who misled them.

The laser-eyed hero she fought beside wasn't arrogant or cold. He was careful, thoughtful, quiet, but kind. Someone who tried to understand her, even when she was confusing. Someone who spoke gently when others barked orders. Could it be a misunderstanding? She doesn't know the answer.

She lowered the volume or skipped that part of the interview, wishing to forget about this heroine named Apogee who talked badly about Gazerbeam. "That doesn't sound like him at all..." She murmured to herself, running her fingers along the yellowed edge of a newspaper clipping.

"THE THRILLING THREE DISBANDS — GAZERBEAM GOES SOLO AFTER INTERNAL DISPUTE"

June 5, 1951 — Metroville Daily Chronicle

After a series of successful missions throughout 1949–1950, sources confirm that the superhero trio known as the Thrilling Three has officially disbanded. Reports suggest internal disagreements arose between Gazerbeam and fellow team member Apogee following a critical operation mishap involving the containment of a supervillain. Witnesses state that tensions over leadership decisions and tactical calls fractured the team's unity. Gazerbeam, who replaced the late Dynaguy as field leader in 1949, has since chosen to operate alone. Neither Gazerbeam nor Apogee has released an official statement regarding the dispute.

Addy sighed deeply and leaned back against her chair. The newspaper trembled slightly in her hands as she studied the black-and-white photo. Gazerbeam standing tall in the middle beside Apogee and Phylange, his posture reserved, expression unreadable behind his visor.

Her gaze softened. Tracing her thumb over Gazerbeam's confident smile. He looked distant even then. It made Addy's heart aching with sympathy. She turned her attention to another article spread across the table - one of the rumor columns with the bold, sensationalist headline:

"Love or Rivalry? Sparks Between Gazerbeam and Apogee!"

Sources claim tension between the two heroes may be personal, not professional.

Addy frowned and set down the piece of paper on the table as she shook her head in denial, muttering quietly, "Yeah, NO. That’s not true... I know it's not."

She does not like it one bit, and it made her stomach twist inside her unexplainable to describe what she was feeling. Addy sighed softly, rubbing her face as the tape rolled on, only to instantly regret skipping the part to another worse part than before to listen again.

"Gazerbeam's not a bad man. Just... Lost. He forgot what teamwork means. Maybe he wanted his own glory. Maybe he just didn't know how to connect anymore. He thinks he gets to be in the spotlight and leave us in the dark. I felt like an idiot when it's nighttime-"

Click.

Addy stopped the tape. "Nope! I hate that. I hate this."

Addy leaned back, exhaustion softening her gaze. On the desk beside her, another stack of folders sat unopened. Her current "solo vigilante missions," filled with newspaper clippings of corruption, police brutality, and cases the justice system had failed. She'd been pushing herself again. Acting as savior, judge, and executioner in the same week, and nearly got caught by NSA surveillance last night. Addy could not help it, even if she tried to keep herself in a low profile. Her father would not like it if he found out what she has been up to nowadays.

She needed this break.

Her fingers brushed over the article's edge. Another photo of Gazerbeam's face caught the light for a moment, the gleam over his eyes reflecting just like when she'd last seen him under the moon. She gazed over the several cut-out photos of Gazerbeam and arranged them neatly to store in her pink notebook as a keepsake. What was she even doing to herself? Like, why did she even bother doing this business again after the Age of Decay and the Fall of Light during the invasion and massacre?

"If only he knew what I’ve done..." She thought.

Would he still see her as an ally? Would he understand that her "judgment" wasn't out of cruelty, but mercy, for those the law ignored?

Addy left her desk and onto her bed by flopping her entire body, bouncing on the soft cushion. She reached her pillow next to her as she whispered into the dim glow of her desk lamp.

"What happened to you, Gazerbeam?"

The light from her lamp flickered once, casting her shadow on the wall. Her six faint, spectral wings are faintly visible for just a moment before fading into stillness. She succumbed to a nap until the sun set and the moon ascended the darkness.

Let them all say!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play.

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Hey, Lolita, hey!

Whistle all you want, but I'm not gonna stay.

Time passed forward at night. Gazerbeam should have gone home by now after the end of the Super meeting at the NSA Headquarters, but he can't because he needed to meet Seraphim again for answers. The city below hummed with the restless noise of life. The bustling, loud sounds of cars, sirens, and voices fade into the distance.

Above it all, Gazerbeam stood alone on the rooftop, the faint shine of the visor reflecting the city lights. This familiar building he once stood in had been a spot where he and Seraphim met for their secret partnership every night, but now it feels... Weird and tense. The hard revelation of what activities the angelic vigilante had accomplished was a hard pill to swallow. He had let himself get too comfortable with her. He almost forgot that Seraphim was a vigilante, not a full-time superhero or supervillain. He checked his wristwatch beneath his gauntlet for the third time.

8:04 PM.

"She's usually early," He muttered to himself, low and distracted. The words vanished into the cool air.

He paced a little, something he rarely did. He was a man of structure, composure. Yet tonight, unease had found him. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, the faint hum of energy from his visor flaring each time his thoughts drifted. His nerves betrayed his calm exterior; he found himself anxious, glancing skyward every few seconds.

8:17 PM.

A few seconds later, the a faint sound of rushing air. Six pairs of wings cutting through the wind. He looked up just as a streak of white light descended gracefully onto the rooftop. Six radiant wings folded behind her like a cape of light. It is a far better cape than the malfunctioning capes, causing the demise of one specific hero in his mind.

"You're late." His voice wasn't harsh, just steady. Controlled.

Seraphim hesitated, her gaze directly at Gazerbeam with a puzzled yet worried look behind her mask. "Sorry, I was busy dealing with criminals while I was on my way here. What's wrong?" She responds with uncertainty in her tone on the last part, but she is really good at masking her emotions to talk nonchalantly.

He studied her closely, his expression unreadable behind his visor. "Just criminals, huh?"

The question hung heavier than it should have. She flinched slightly; even without facial movement, the tremor in her tone gave her away. "I... Yes... Just criminals. Why do you sound like that, G?"

He really wanted to believe her. Really, he really does. But God help this man, how painful it sounds listening to Seraphim and react confused at him while also unbothered by the tension. It's like she has no remorse in her. He sighed, folding his arms. "You're lying."

Seraphim glares at Gazerbeam, her eyes widened in the faintest flicker of exaggeration. "Huh? What?" Soon, she felt dread inside her chest. It is heavy as her atmosphere pushing her down.

"I'm sad to say, I know what you've been doing, Seraphim. Those cases. The men who turned themselves in out of nowhere, broken, terrified. It is your doing. The NSA agents have been tracking it for months."

Gazerbeam dropped the bomb of the news, and Seraphim froze. The air felt colder and heavier. Seraphim took one step back, her hands reaching over her gaping mouth beneath her pale mask as she began panicking calmly.

"Oh... Oh gosh no... I-I thought- I thought I hid so well. They know?!"

Gazerbeam nodded. "I'm afraid so. However, you’re lucky they don’t know who you are. They can't detect you fully. You're... Off the charts thanks to your divine powers. Whatever energy you radiate scrambles their readings." He looked away, his tone tightening. "But they know you exist. And they're watching."

Her wings twitched, feathers ruffling slightly as anxiety rippled through her body, and she shielded herself with her wings. She was trembling with emotions; timid and small like a child being scolded by a parent. Gazerbeam could quickly see and sense Seraphim’s tense fear. "Gazerbeam... I-I can explain."

"-you just wanted justice."

He cuts her off first before she can either apologize or explain her actions.

"What?"

Gazerbeam has been reflecting and analysing what Seraphim's actions truly mean. As a lawyer, he could only understand one thing: Justice. Gazerbeam lowers his voice, lifts his head for a small glance. "I get it. Believe me. But what you’re doing... Some of those... People... They're not just afraid. They're broken. The trauma reports from the precincts-"

People? That struck a nerve in Seraphim as she snapped. "People? They're sinners, Gazerbeam! Criminals who get away with punishment." Her tone sharpened, uncharacteristically defensive, trembling with conviction. Her gloved hand tightened into a fist, shaken with sheer hatred and disgust. "They hurt other people, G! Especially women and children. I saw what they did, and I did what I had to. I couldn't let them go unpunished with their dirty money and entitlements."

He clenched his jaw. He KNOWS what she means. He is aware of how unfair the world is. "I know, and I get it. But this? This is punishment. Vengeance, not justice."

Seraphim’s heart broke inside her. How could he say that? "What choice do I have? Ignore them? Let them run free while victims suffered? That is also not justice."

"Seraphim-" Gazerbeam murmured under his breath, tried to reach out to her, only for Seraphim to step away in defense.

"You're a hero! What are you even doing, fighting criminals left and right?" Seraphim anguishingly said. The raw emotions emanating from her soft-spoken tone indicate that she is not supposed to speak such emotions.

But her emotional words made Gazerbeam battle his sense of justice with her view of justice. A heated argument about justice has clashed with another like a stellar collision.

"I was doing my duty as a vigilante. Syndicates. Smugglers. Traffickers. They were hurting people, especially children. Children, Gazerbeam! They're not supposed to experience the horror of their innocence taken too early! You know I can't just stand by and let them cry until no tears remain."

“So what?" Now, Gazerbeam began to ignite the flame within him. No longer hold back when talking about justice. His voice, angered but controlled under the calm before the storm, "You became judge, jury, and executioner? This doesn't change the fact that your actions effectively harm others! Justice isn't about what we feel, Seraphim. It's about what's right under the law."

Seraphim shoots a glare at the laser-eyed hero, who is also her secret partner she grew emotionally attached for a month. Her angelic wings outstretched to intimidate Gazerbeam. But it also indicates that the tension of her emotions becomes overwhelming, causing one of her abilities to activate by inducing the area around her with strong emotions to feel for her. However, Gazerbeam was left half-immune and half-affected by her empathy manipulation.

"Law? LAW?! You mean the same law that lets the filthy rich and the cruel buy their way out? Don't tell me you trust a system that defends evil better than it protects the innocent!”

Gazerbeam’s jaw tightened. He turned slightly, as if trying to rein in his temper and his growing, burning vision ready to combust.

"The system isn't perfect. I already know that. I've seen the corrupt! Every damn time I watch a guilty man walk free because he could afford a better lawyer? Because their wallets were heavier than their guilt? I've lost cases I knew were right. But I stayed because someone has to keep the law from collapsing completely. Which is why I-"

Gazerbeam stopped himself from speaking too soon. Trying real hard not to give Seraphim the implication of his true identity. It is a close call because he can't let his real identity slip in the moment of their heated debate. But in his mind, this is the reason he chose to be a pro-bono lawyer. Simon knows how the law system has been broken and deceived to the point that he vows not to be persuaded or bribed by the guilty men who tried to escape the consequences of their actions.

"Then you’re a hypocrite for believing in the Law who don't help people! You said it yourself. That your law is already broken if it protects the wrong people!" Seraphim accused, as she pointed out that what he said made Gazerbeam raise his voice.

And instantly, Seraphim regretted provoking Gazerbeam when his patience was at its limit to raise his voice. Seraphim is hypersensitive when encountering scenarios of hateful and wrathful voices. It effectively drained her because of her empathy powers. Gazerbeam was oblivious to notice that her light had been flickering because of his angry voice.

Seraphim starts crying behind her pale mask, but that pale mask causes the blank eye sockets to leak out black tears like Seraphim was actually crying even behind her mask. Even though her accusation made Gazerbeam mad, his eyes softened with guilt and regret behind his visor for shouting at her once he saw her mask now had black tears staining its pale cheeks.

"You’re too naive, Gazerbeam… Lacking." If only Gazerbeam knew. Seraphim was aware that Gazerbeam, although a formidable superhero with his laser vision and endurance, had been lacking compared to other fellow Supers in the NSA. "You wouldn't understand... You still believe they'll change when I've seen what they truly are. I've seen their souls, Gazerbeam. There's no light left in them. Only cruelty. Only sin."

Despite everything, Gazerbeam’s anger extinguished momentarily and was replaced with quietness between him and the angelic vigilante. He really didn't mean to hurt Seraphim emotionally. He does not like seeing those black tears continuously falling down the cheeks of her mask. "You had crossed the line. We may not understand one another. I tried to understand you better. But when you take away their chance to change, you stop being their savior. You'll become their enemy."

Seraphim shook her head frantically in denial to change her ways. "I can’t stand by and watch people cry for justice and never get it. I can't. And you won't change that from me."

Gazerbeam only nodded, accepting that there was no point in further convincing her to change. "I see... Seraphim... You've got a good heart. But your heart's bleeding too much. You can't save everyone by burning yourself alive."

"I know," Seraphim muttered knowingly, yet her heavy heart filled with the wisdom she had experienced in her past. "But I'm eleven years too late for me, Gazerbeam. I am nothing but a lone vigilante. Victims known me as their savior, while the damned will crumble with fear forevermore as their tormentor."

Silence stretches. The city hums below them, caught between their two visions of justice. One is with law and order, and the other is mercy and empathy. Gazerbeam exhales, rubbing his temples out of frustration and disappointment while turning away from Seraphim to lift his helmet. This argument felt awfully familiar to Apogee. But this is Seraphim talking to him. The only person who understands him, but their communication slips to understand one another.

Seraphim's heart felt the same emptiness when she was back in the Philippines. The same numbness that told her the inevitability was bound to happen. What did she expect from Gazerbeam? She grew to care for the man. In her heart, she still felt it skipping inside her chest. It made her sad and hurt because of their argument. Their disagreements occur when they both have different worldviews of justice. But she will never change what has to be done.

"Gazerbeam, you're a good man." She softly said, guilt, shame, and a hint of her caring nature never dimmed its light. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble. But I know words cannot fix what has to be done. If I do, it will end with disappointment."

Gazerbeam's breath hitched sharply at her words. He never expected to hear her voice full of remorse and acknowledgement of her actions. Is it really possible if she is still the same Seraphim who truly believes in saving people?

"I-I just hope... We could still be partners. I never hate you. Even with your laws and order."

It is not something Seraphim could change the way Gazerbeam believes. So she respects his decisions and beliefs in the Law. The wind was cold that night. Too cold for either of them to speak at first. Seraphim's light had dimmed to a faint shimmer, barely visible against the starless sky. Gazerbeam stood still, his arms at his sides, the reflection of her glow caught faintly on his visor. Both were silent, weighed down by the argument that still echoed between them. She dared to ask Gazerbeam one last question she had been dreading for.

"I wanted to at least stay as partners. A-are you... Going to turn me in to the NSA?"

Gazerbeam looks up. Her voice trembled not from fear of capture, but of him. She is afraid of him betraying her. Seraphim grew used to being betrayed, and she expected it to happen again as she closed her eyes, ready to accept being hated by him again.

"I should." Seraphim's wings twitch faintly, her heart dropping at the honesty of his words. She knew it. It's Seraphim's fault after all. Her fault. She should have-

"But I won't."

He softly struggles in the end. Seraphim opened her teary eyes, widening with shock behind her dark eye sockets. In her view, Gazerbeam was standing there with his head lowered as if confessing a grave sin.

"What..." She quietly whispered, confused and in disbelief. "Wha- Why? After everything I've done?"

"Because somewhere beneath all that radiance and fury... You're still trying to save people. You still care. And maybe that's what makes you dangerous." He admits that, although he would never approve of her actions. But her actions alone speak louder after saving lives under her care. "It's not just your power that makes you dangerous. It's your heart."

Seraphim stutters a sharp gasp behind her pale mask. She looks away, swallowing hard, wings wrapping around herself like a fragile cocoon. More tears are flowing inside her mask, and feeling vulnerable and exposed, she is unable to explain it.

"You... Y-you don't h-hate me..?"

"Hate you?" Gazerbeam looks at Seraphim and then averts away shortly after. He shakes his head slowly and answers. "I couldn't, even if I tried."

Seraphim looks up at him just long enough to see the truth behind his words. Gazerbeam's voice softens even further, full of a feeling he dares not name. Seraphim does not understand it.

"I don't... Understand..."

Gazerbeam hummed to himself and turned his back on Seraphim. "You should go. Just... Don't get caught. Promise me that much. Stay low. Let things cool down for a while."

"You're... Letting me go?" She said quietly.

"No. I'm asking you to take care of yourself. Both of us... We need time apart from our secret partnership." This is a great way for them to take a break from their partnership temporarily because of Gazerbeam's list of missions and his new patrol schedule.

Another silence lingers between them, the kind that says everything words can't. With a heavy heart, Seraphim silently nodded and outstretched her wings in a wind-gushing flap before ascending to the night sky. Gazerbeam watches as her wings unfold, pale and ghostly under the moonlight, as she lifts into the sky, her glow fading into the night horizon. Gazerbeam stands alone, staring after her until her light disappears completely. He presses a hand to his chest, feeling the ache he can't explain. Why? Why did he feel this way? This painful feeling inside his chest.

"Seraphim..."

He catches himself, the name slipping unbidden from somewhere deep inside. He shakes his head and looks away, the city below burning with a thousand tiny lights. Each one was a fragment of the justice they both fought for, in their own ways.

No more skipping rope, skipping heartbeats with the boys downtown.

Just you and me feeling the heat even when the sun goes down.

S.I.G.I.L. File Updates: Seraphim's List of Powers (35%), Additional Notes, and Additional Power description

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks, almost a month, since Seraphim and Gazerbeam last crossed paths. Their last meeting ended in a heavy silence and bitter debate on justice that neither could win. They both agreed to take a break from their secret partnership, though neither would admit how much that separation stung. Especially Addy.

Addy, in her civilian life, tried to move on. She really tried. But her heart relentlessly won't let her. Whenever she thinks of Gazerbeam, her stomach twists within her with such dread. She tried distracting herself. Buried her wings into an intricate tattoo on her back and layers of harsh routine: college classes, textbooks, lectures she couldn't fully focus on. Addy's college life has never been merciful to her. She grew used to the war and danger. Combat came easily to her.

Especially during the Age of Decay, she began her vigilante career at the age of fourteen. Essays, although easy for the young Filipina who loves writing English. But quizzes are not so much. For someone who once soared through burning cities, battling soldiers born from sin and corruption, Addy's failure on quizzes about economics and math felt humiliating.

Addy was never the brightest student. When it came to logic and complex subjects like math, she was unable to learn easily like the smarter students. Addy was imaginative, dreamy, and deeply creative, but always had a cloud of daydreams over her head. Her mind was always sketching through her sketchbook and coloring in places where logic demanded numbers and structure. But in a world where art could not pay the rent, Addy had no choice but to chase a diploma that promised survival rather than joy. It was the kind of compromise that quietly broke her heart. It sucks, sure. But she really doesn't have much of a choice, and it has depressed her since moving to America.

Still, she clung to hope. Hope is the hardest to hold on to, just like her divine light.

That afternoon, Addy was at the same diner where she sat in a small corner booth alone. Her meal was as modest as her mood - a hamburger and fries.

Only, her hamburger wasn't the typical kind.

No lettuce, no ketchup, no cheese. Just a toasted bun, a single patty, and a thin spread of mayonnaise. Dull, isn't it?

When she ordered it, the waitress gave her a strange look of half confusion and half judgment. Addy smiled sheepishly and awkwardly, pretending not to notice. Addy felt like she was humiliating and offending its culture. It wasn't the first time people thought she was odd. Even back at the university, she'd felt their stares, their quiet snickers when she ate her simple lunch of cookies and bottled water. To others, she was strange. To herself, she was just... Simple. She doesn't understand why they even bothered, but then Addy forgot she is no longer in the Philippines. Addy always forgot about that, but can you blame her? She grew up among American soldiers in the Philippines since childhood.

So she preferred solitude where she could breathe without being watched and enjoy her meal. She doesn't want to stay in the cafeteria. Too noisy and crowded feels suffocating. Addy was sensitive surroundings in that area, with or without her Empathy powers.

Now, in the faint hum of the diner, she picked at her burger in silence. She stared blankly through the window until she drew down the curtain to block off the harsh rays of the golden sun.

Meanwhile, Simon enters the diner a few minutes later, exhausted and stressed to the hell out of him. He'd just closed another lawsuit, this time covering for Hypershock, whose drunken antics had once again resulted in shattered storefronts and a very unhappy city district. Simon deserved a break. Maybe even a drink. But what he needed most was silence. Going to the diner is the first thing on his mind instead of the usual bar he and his three friends visit.

Then he immediately saw Addy the moment he entered.

At first, he didn't recognize her, maybe because she was no longer wearing her Antique maiden's dress like he had first met her. Instead, she is wearing a prim and strait-laced school uniform. He recognized Addy easily because of her long, wavy hair with a single pink bow and flower as her signature hair accessory. It makes Simon wonder why she kept her hair very long. It's not like he doesn't like it. Simon thinks she is pretty and natural in her likeness. But strangely, Simon doesn't recognize this type of uniform before. Recalling the fact that Addy is a college girl, the uniform could possibly be from a private university.

How he knew was because there was no way Addy could have enrolled in Metroville University. He enrolled in Metroville University in his early 20s before he met Bob and Lucius. There is no requirement to wear uniforms in Metroville University. So Simon is confident it could be any private university aside from Metroville University. What threw him off was the design of the uniform. Again, he had never seen this type of school uniform before. A new design? He doesn't know which one.

Anyways, Addy's quiet presence tugged at him like a memory. She sat alone, small and still, with that odd hamburger in front of her. Something about her melancholy softened the lawyer's usual composure. He could easily see himself in Addy. Simon, in his early 20s, sat alone with textbooks or a newspaper and a mug of coffee. Until his life changed when a waitress told him there was someone who wanted to invite him to the private table. A fond memory where he met Mr. Incredible, Frozone, and Gamma Jack, who convinced Simon into heroism.

And now? Simon was standing there staring at Addy at that exact moment. He considered sitting elsewhere. He really did. But something in him, perhaps instinct, perhaps something unspoken, urged him to sit with her.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked gently, standing beside her table.

Funny how familiar this scenario turns out; this is like how Addy first approached Simon's table. This time, it's the reverse of how they meet again. Addy looked up, surprised to see Simon again.

"Oh, hey. It's you."

Addy remembers Simon, and then she nods.

"Sure. It's... Nice to see a friendly face."

Simon smiled, pulling out the chair. And as he sat down, the diner hummed softly with the crackle of an old jukebox in the corner, spinning a song about love and lonesome hearts. Addy and Simon sat across from each other, their meals half-finished, the golden light outside turning to early dusk.

Their conversation had been light, almost painfully ordinary.

"How's college treating you?" Simon is the first to break the silence.

"Hm? Oh, it's fine, I guess." Addy answered, fiddling with a fry. "Busy, I guess. It's tiring and harder than I thought."

"And work?" She asked politely, tilting her head at Simon.

Simon hums while sipping from his mug of coffee. "The usual circus. Too many cases, too little coffee. Clients don't stop making bad decisions. I think my client's gonna owe me a house after this one."

Addy chuckled softly. "You sound like you love your job."

He gave a dry grin. "I love the paycheck. The job? Not so much."

It wasn't much of a joke, not to most people, but Addy laughed anyway. Genuinely. Simon blinked in mild surprise, his lips tugging up a little more.

Most people didn't laugh at his jokes. They usually stared, waiting for him to explain them. But she got it immediately. Maybe because she wasn't the type to find jokes funny until they came from someone who didn't force them.

Simon blinked, startled. "You actually got that one?"

"Yeah," She said, a faint grin tugging at her lips. "It's very... Straightforward humor. I like that."

"Most people say it's depressing and boring."

"Well," Addy said softly, "Most people don't listen properly."

That made Simon smile. A real, small smile that felt like something he hadn't done in a while. Someone finally understood his dull humor. It felt strangely good.

For a while, the two sat quietly, just the clinking of dishes and chatter around them. But Simon noticed how her gaze had drifted somewhere far away. There was something heavy behind those eyes, something she carried quietly, like guilt or grief. He looked away, not to focus too intently on her expression.

He set his mug down. "Addy," He said gently, "You've been off lately. You alright?"

Her hand froze on her drink. She glances at Simon momentarily before her eyes dart elsewhere in a way she is trying to dismiss his concern. "I’m fine."

Now that is something he didn't buy. He may not be able to look people in the eyes, but his ears blessed him to listen analytically in every cross-examination he battled. Her tone does not ring bells of someone truly okay. He had heard of this type of tone multiple times before. It's a tone of someone trying to deny it or masking themselves from the truth and their emotions.

Nothing can escape Simon's ears where there is something buried within. "You don't look fine."

Addy hesitated, her throat tightening and her back straight. Off-guard and taken aback, she gave Simon a strange look. How did he catch her like that? Addy could lie nonchalantly; she was good at it. Years of masking made her seem perfectly composed when she was falling apart inside. She always used it multiple times. She is really good at deceiving people by just her expression and her words. But I guess her emotions give it away deep down.

But as she looked at Simon, something made her pause. Maybe it was the way he looked anywhere but directly at her. It made her feel safe enough to risk honesty. However, there is doubt within her. She lied again, trying to dodge the bullet, only to fail.

"I'm fine, Simon."

"No, you're not. I could tell something has been bothering you."

There is no way to excuse herself from him. Simon catches Addy feeling down because of what happened between Gazerbeam and Seraphim. Her emotions are not easily deceived; she is always emotional to show off like that. Deep down in her mind, she mentally questions, Why do I want Simon to notice me? to herself. Did Addy really want Simon to notice or perhaps know what was bothering her?

At the back of her brain, she contemplated herself until something caught her thought. She looked at Simon once more, pondering and considering the possibility at stake. She is silently thinking whether it is appropriate to ask him or keep it to herself because he is a lawyer. Addy knew it would be stupid to ask; her question would leave an impression that Simon would never give her the answer she wanted. Why would she expect anyone would?

"Simon..." She began slowly, her voice almost fragile.

Is she really going to ask him? What if Simon's answer were the same as Gazerbeam's? No, that is not possible. Simon Paladino is not Gazerbeam, and she knows it. Simon is just a lawyer and a man, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps it is a good idea to ask someone who has direct ties inside the law system.

"Can I ask you something? Something?"

He blinked behind his glasses and set down his newspaper he had been reading. "Yes?"

Addy didn't smile; her expression was a mix of seriousness and uncertainty in her body language. "You're a lawyer, right? Is it fine if I ask you?"

"In theory," Simon said with a half-smile. "I try." Simon was intrigued, yet his sharp senses entered the state of cross-examination he always used. But he is not in court. Why did he suddenly become focused and ready for Addy's question? "But it depends."

She took a breath, deep and careful. She is a bit shaken as she exhales. "Then," She takes the moment to try spilling out the words in her mind without confusing Simon about whatever she says. Her voice faltered, but she pressed on. "Do you think the law always brings justice?"

He raised a brow, unsure where this was going. Justice. Why does it sound like he is talking to Seraphim, debating about justice before? "In my work," He began slowly, "Justice isn't about what feels right. It's about what can be proven. Evidence, procedure, law. They keep things from collapsing into chaos. If everyone did what they felt was just, we'd have no law left. Law's an imperfect system, built by imperfect people."

Her tone sharpened. "Hmph, imperfect people with power." Addy leaned back against the chair with her eyes rolled.

He said nothing.

Simon didn't know how to respond to that. Her tone wasn't argumentative; it was mournful. She looked like someone who had already seen the collapse he was afraid of. Just like Seraphim.

Addy continued, the words spilling now, pain mixing with conviction. "Back in the Philippines, we had laws too. But they never helped the poor. The people who needed protection most were ignored. Starved, beaten, forgotten. Those who had money, power, names... They walked free."

Simon's expression softened, though his reply stayed careful. "That's... How the system fails sometimes. But without law, you get chaos."

Addy shook her head. "Sometimes the law is the chaos. The kind that smiles while it rots everything it touches."

Her voice trembled, memories surfacing — of the team she once had, Team Sacreligus, and the betrayal that followed. She looked down at her hands. "The people who have money, power, and position always win. They can buy innocence. And the ones who don't? The poor, the voiceless, and the helpless slowly rotting painfully, waiting for someone to care. Back home, I saw it happen. I saw people die waiting for help that never came. The government didn't care. The law didn't care. So if the law turns its back on the innocent... Doesn't someone have to stand up, even if it means defying the system?"

Simon didn't answer right away. He stared at his coffee, listening to her ranting.

"Someone has to act when the system won't. Someone has to do what's right, even if it means breaking the law. Isn't that still justice?"

Simon inhaled deeply, his lawyer's mind shifting into cautious defense. This sounds awfully like what Seraphim would say. "That depends. Justice isn't vengeance, Addy. It's... Supposed to restore balance. Once people start deciding what's right on their own terms, that balance breaks."

"Then what happens to those who were never given a balance to begin with?" She asked quietly. Her tone intended to sound dangerous, but her soft-spoken voice masked what buried emotions buried within. "What do they do, Simon?"

He looked at her for a long moment. No easy answer came. He knew the law, the politics, the procedures. But not the pain she spoke from. To him, justice was an ideal written in ink. To her, it was something carved in blood. It unsettles him because her words are exactly what Seraphim said.

She glanced at him, her eyes searching his for something, perhaps an answer she was hoping for. But he didn't have one. She sighed in disappointment, emptying her plate in the end.

"Does that make me an anarchist?" She asked, depressed and apologetic. "For wanting to fix what's broken... Even if it means breaking the rules? Ah, never mind. I'm talking nonsense here."

The words hung in the air. Not meant to insult, but they landed like a bruise. Simon doesn't think she is talking nonsense. Addy was just trying to tell him what came out of her mind, even if she rambles randomly. She is speaking out about the facts that no one is willing to hear. Simon is patient enough to listen and understand the keywords he'll keep in mind.

Simon exhaled. "If you are, it's because the world failed you first."

There was silence between them. Not cold, but heavy. Two people bound by the same desire for justice, but standing on opposite shores.

Simon looked at her, searching for the right words to continue. "You're not an anarchist, Addy. You're being idealistic. There's a difference."

She weakly admits herself. "I am."

"Then, I've lost it too," He admitted equally. "I just keep pretending I haven't."

The two fell silent, the tension between them fragile but real. Neither was entirely right. Neither is entirely wrong.

They were both hypocrites in their own way.

Addy, who preached freedom but longed for order. An idealist who wanted to save the world by defying the very order that sustained it.

Simon, who defended order but quietly hated the injustice it allowed. A pacifist who believed in laws written by imperfect men.

The diner lights flickered once. Somewhere outside, a police siren wailed faintly in the distance, and both of them turned their heads toward the sound, instinctively, as if recognizing something familiar.

Simon hesitated. Addy's question hit him harder than he expected. He took a slow sip of his coffee, trying to steady his thoughts.

"Addy," He said carefully, "I've seen corruption. I've seen the law twisted to serve the powerful. You're not wrong. But there's a reason we fight to fix the system from within. If we abandon it, we become no better than the ones who abuse it."

Simon inhaled, but the air felt heavy in his lungs. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her that her heart was good, that her ideals weren't wrong. But the truth was, he didn't know. He was a man who lived in gray lines, defending flawed laws to keep the world from unraveling.

So he said the only thing he could.

"I think," He murmured, "We're all hypocrites when it comes to justice."

Addy's gaze over Simon, not expecting him to say it. But Addy could not accept that she was a hypocrite. She really doesn’t want to. "I-I... Maybe you're right." She lied to the lawyer.

The silence that followed their conversation felt heavier than any argument could.

The air inside the diner was still. Only the clink of a spoon or the hum of the ceiling fan broke through it. Addy stared down at her hands, tracing invisible circles on the table. Simon stared at his untouched coffee, the reflection of his eyes dim and distant.

He didn't like silence. Not this kind. Not when it made her look smaller than she already did.

Simon wasn't good at this. Comfort, connection, feelings. He had never been. His life had always been composed of papers, logic, and isolation. Even as a Super, people kept their distance. His eyes could burn through walls and steel. It kept him apart from everyone else. He was used to being alone. But seeing Addy like this, quiet and sad, made something inside him ache.

He wanted to say something, anything, but words never seemed enough.

He wished, just for once, that he could make someone happy.

She's my friend, he thought. She deserves that much.

Then it came to him.

A memory.

From their first meeting.

Addy had mentioned The Divine Comedy, a book she was hoping to get her hands on. Simon remembered the enthusiasm in her eyes when she described Dante’s journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, and how it reminded her that even the lost could find redemption. Ever so poetic and perspective. Her thoughts and imagination depict them perfectly. Simon enjoys listening to Addy rambling about them.

Maybe this was his chance to give her that light again.

"Hey," He said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Do you still want that book?"

Addy blinked, lifting her head slightly. "...Book?"

"The Divine Comedy," Simon said with a small, tentative smile. "You mentioned wanting a real copy, the leather-bound edition, right? The one with the old English translation?"

Addy's eyes widened in surprise, her back straight up from her stool. Addy did not expect Simon to remember it. "You remembered that?"

"Of course." He leaned back slightly, trying to look casual. "I can get you one. There's a bookstore a few blocks from here that sells first-edition reprints."

Addy frowned, her shoulders tensing up as she shook her head quickly. "Oh—no, no, no, you don't have to do that. You already paid for my meal before, and now again today. I don't know what to do to repay you."

Simon chuckled under his breath. "Addy, you're talking to a man who's been buried under attorney paychecks. I think I'll survive buying a book."

"That's not the point," She said softly, guilt coloring her tone. "You shouldn't keep paying for me."

He met her eyes gently. "I'm not paying for you. I'm just buying a gift for a friend."

Addy looked startled by the word. Friend.

It rolled in her chest like something fragile, something she hadn't heard sincerely in a long time. She is beyond confused and doesn't know what to do with this situation. And yet deep down, she feels overjoyed that she wanted to hug this persistent lawyer so badly. And still her doubts hold her down, as it told her that this might be a trap. She lowered her gaze again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're being generous, Simon. A-are you sure about that?"

"I want to," Simon said, firm but kind. "You've been through enough for one afternoon. Let me do this, alright? Think of it as... Me returning the favor for your laughter. You actually understood my jokes, remember?"

Now, Addy's world flipped upside down. She paused momentarily and struggled to find an excuse to protest and decline such a generous gift. It made Addy flustered and unable to know how to deal with this. Is Simon really telling her that her laughter over his dry joke is enough for him? Addy doesn't know, and she thinks it is not enough because it is just her laughing and getting the joke.

The poor college girl really doesn't know how to accept people's kindness because it would make her feel bad or burden them, wasting money on her like some- NO! Don't think about that, Addy! She stared at Simon with a weird look and question marks over her head. "You're impossible."

"It's called persistent," He corrected with a grin. "There's a difference."

"No, it's not!" This man would be the death of Addy.

After a moment's pause and contemplation, Addy sighed in defeat. "Fine. But I'll pay you back someday."

"Sure," Simon said, knowing she wouldn't have to. "Tell you what, how about we stop by the Metroville National Library instead? It's nearby, and they've got the whole collection of classical works. I practically visited there when I was your age."

Addy tilted her head slightly, a single eyebrow raised over her face. "You read there?"

"Every weekend," He said with a faint smile. "Back when I was studying law. It’s quiet, smells like dust and ink. It's a good place to think."

Her eyes softened. "Sounds lovely."

"It is," Simon replied. Then, noticing her hesitation, he added lightly, "Come on, you look like you need a change of scenery. I'll drive you there if that's alright."

Addy hesitated. Part of her wanted to say no out of politeness, out of guilt, but something about his tone: calm and gentle, disarmed her. It wasn't pity in his voice. It was care. Simon always has the voice to tear down her defenses, which she tried so hard to build. Or because Simon's voice is so hot and sexy that it immediately convinces her.

"I-I guess, okay then?" She said sheepishly at last. "But just this once."

Simon grinned faintly and rose from his seat, leaving a few bills beneath the plate before Addy could argue again. He gestured toward the door.

"Let's get you that book, Ms. College Girl."

Addy followed, shaking her head but smiling, an actual smile this time.

And for a brief moment, as they stepped out into the golden afternoon, both of them felt something unfamiliar: A warmth neither could name, a fleeting peace between two souls who never knew they'd once fought on opposite sides of justice.

As they stepped out of the diner, Simon led Addy toward his car parked along the far end of the lot. 1949 Kaiser Virginian, painted black with chrome trims that gleamed faintly in the fading light. It wasn't flashy like the ones his colleagues drove, no Cadillac fins, no luxury polish, just a clean, dependable machine. Some of the other lawyers liked to tease him for owning such a "boring" car.

But Addy? She thought it was beautiful. Simple. A car that didn't try to be loud or show off.

"Nice car, Simon," She said softly, walking around it once. "It's sleek and beautiful."

Simon blinked, half-laughing. "Beautiful? I've never heard anyone call a Kaiser that before. You might be the first person who's ever complimented this thing."

She turned with a raised eyebrow. "Really? I think your car is decked out. Not fancy, not fast. Just comfortable."

He smiled softly. "Comfortable's a good word for it."

"The colors remind me of Gazerbeam."

Now Simon choked a hitching breath under her Adam's apple when Addy mentioned Gazerbeam. From Addy's perspective, the color scheme of the car does resemble Gazerbeam's supersuit. Black and silver. Simon did not expect that coming, because this one was also the same one he sometimes used to change his civilian clothes into his supersuit.

"You're very perceptive, Addy. Thank you. So you know Gazerbeam?" Simon asks her. He quickly composed himself to remind himself that this is Simon here. Addy doesn't know he is also Gazerbeam. But deep down, Simon doesn't know Addy is Seraphim.

"Yes. He is a wonderful superhero. A noble hero, I liked him. Even if it's through articles." Addy admitted bashfully. It's true that she had been reading articles and studying all about Gazerbeam, even though so few resources about the laser-eyed hero aside from when she was Seraphim. Addy likes Gazerbeam as a hero, and Seraphim also likes Gazerbeam as a partner.

It caused Simon to turn away and hide his blush across his cheeks. He had received countless compliments and adoring praise from many when he was Gazerbeam. So why does Addy's compliment seem so innocent and nice that it makes his stomach flutter? It's strange hearing it from his friend when he is the Gazerbeam in civilian. Good thing she doesn't know, he thought.

Another unexpected discovery was that Addy called him a noble hero. Seraphim also called him a noble hero. Simon felt suspicion of Addy for that, but he shook his head off because there is no way Addy and Seraphim are the same people. He fake coughed to shake off at the thought and focusing on what he has now. He opened the passenger door for her.

"I see. Come right in, Addy."

But before she stepped in, Addy hesitated. She couldn't shake herself off from the unease of being treated this way. And of course, Addy feels flattered by how gentlemanly Simon is to open the door for her, but Addy is still bothered by the gift. Simon turned to get to the driver's seat, but he felt fingers gently tug on his blazer sleeve. It was a shy, almost childlike gesture, so soft that Simon froze for a moment, startled by how fragile it felt. He turns his head and sees Addy, her eyes downcast in uncertainty and nervousness.

"Addy?" He quietly said.

"Simon," She murmured, "A-are you sure about this? The book, I mean. You're a generous and good man. But you don't have to do that. I-I don’t want to waste your money."

He looked down at her, her eyes uncertain but honest. There was gratitude there, and guilt too, like she wasn't used to being cared for.

"It’s alright," He said quietly. "Really."

"But-"

"Addy, we talked about this earlier, and I'm saying it again. I like doing it," Simon interrupted gently, although a bit of firmness to reassure Addy. "For you. You're my friend, Addy. A good one. Let me do something nice for once."

She blinked, processing his words. "But... We only met twice."

"Feels like longer," He admitted, smiling faintly. "Some people you meet, and it just... Feels familiar."

Addy's chest ached a little at that. Familiar. She wondered why that word stung.

After a moment, she relented and nodded. "Oh, alright."

He smiled softly. "Good."

As the door shut and the engine came alive, he drove through the streets of Metroville, the world around them glowing in the quiet hum of dusk. Neither spoke much, but the silence this time wasn't heavy. It was gentle, like a shared peace. The journey there is only seven minutes to arrive at the library.

The Metroville National Library stood like a cathedral of knowledge, an immense marble structure with towering Corinthian columns, bronze doors that gleamed under the setting sun, arched windows, and wide stone steps worn smooth by generations of footsteps.

Simon pointed out a nearby building as they walked. "That's Metroville University," He said. "My old haunt. I studied law there before joining the firm."

Addy looked at the campus with wide eyes. "It's so... Huge. Everything here is. Back home, our libraries and schools were small. The books smelled like salt and mold." She laughed softly. "But this place... It smells like dreams."

Inside, the scent of aged paper, beeswax polish, and oak dust filled the air. The domed ceiling arched high above them, painted with scenes of knowledge and discovery. She turned in slow circles as they entered, taking in the grand staircases, the domed ceiling painted with constellations, and the rows upon rows of books stretching endlessly.

"This is..." She whispered, breathless and in awe, "Amazing."

Her voice carried the quiet reverence of a prayer.

Simon smiled quietly, the sight of her wonder making him forget the weight of the world for a while. "Told you it was something special."

"And cleaner and more alive on the inside, too."

Her hand brushed his arm unconsciously as she turned her head to look at the ceiling, then stayed there. She forgot that this is a public library where students and many people would come here for knowledge, both academically and career-related. Addy quickly clung to Simon's arm. It wasn't romantic, not yet, just instinctive like a child holding onto something steady in an overwhelming world. The sudden closeness made his pulse jump. His face flushed a shade redder, and he quickly turned away before his laser vision betrayed him. He cleared his throat and focused on the front desk before his eyes could betray him with heat.

"Let's, uh, go find your Dante," He said, clearing his throat. "Let's ask the librarian where to find your book."

Addy smiled softly, unaware of his embarrassment. She followed him to the counter, staying close, her gaze flitting everywhere, painted murals, polished brass lamps, the echo of footsteps against marble floors. She was too busy admiring the beauty of it all to notice the nostalgia clouding Simon's eyes as he spoke to the librarian.

"I used to come here every day," He murmured as they walked deeper inside, following the directions the librarian had given. "Back when I was studying law. Spent hours between those aisles."

Addy's voice softened. "You must've loved it here."

"I think it loved me back," he said, half-joking, though something wistful lingered behind it.

Addy quietly chuckled at his half-joke, still holding onto his arm as they walked through rows of dark mahogany shelves. The librarian, a kindly old woman in spectacles, pointed them toward the Classics Section—Aisle 7, right wing.

Simon thanked the old lady politely, leading Addy through the quiet labyrinth of aisles. His memory of this place came flooding back. The long nights reading case law, the echo of rain outside the windows, the old ticking of the grandfather clock near the stairs. It was nostalgia wrapped in dust and ink.

They wandered aisle to aisle, rows of poetry, theology, law, philosophy, until Addy slowed her steps.

Until something had caught her eye.

At the far end of the corridor, a small side room stood half in shadow. A faded sign above the doorway read: Addy tilted her head. "Forgotten books...?" Her eyebrows furrow at the name, her heart compels her to leave Simon's side without a second thought.

Obscured Works. Restricted or Forgotten Texts. Does such a section of this library exist? She had never heard of this before. The shelf was almost bare. Dusty, uneven, and filled with a few tattered volumes whose titles were half-faded. Something about it pulled her closer, as though a faint whisper called her by name.

She glanced back. Simon was busy down the next aisle, scanning through the philosophy section without realizing she had left his side. Addy is uncertain if she should check the forgotten section or catch up with Simon.

Curiosity overtook her. This ghostly sensation of being pulled into the forgotten section is relentless and powerful. Like fate or a force of nature guides her for a reason.

Addy tilted her head, eyes filled with pity and sympathy to each forgotten book as if they are real people. Although Addy's exploration of the world of literature has a long way to go, these books must have interesting stories left untold. The room was quiet, almost reverent. Rows of shelves stood half-empty, holding books with frayed bindings and nameless spines. She hesitantly stepped closer, her fingers trailing over the rough spines until she stopped—

Her breath caught.

Her eyes locked on a single, worn-out leather-bound book. Its cover was cracked, edges eaten by time, its color faded to a dull brown. The title, though barely legible, was stamped in flaking gold. Her heart pierced like a blade.

"Pag-aalsa at Pagbagsak ng Dugsalan"

Her heart seized.

Her hand trembled away as she reached for it, lifting it out from the shelf.

Addy froze. The words blurred as her vision trembled. Her fingers brushed against the faint outline of where an author's name once was, now scratched off deliberately.

Her chest tightened. Painfully. Agonizing. Her lips parted, a silent gasp as a trembling whisper escaped:

"...Cian...? Thrones..?"

The sound barely carried, but it echoed in her ears like thunder.

Her knees gave way. She dropped herself on the clean floor. The book pressed against her chest as she lowered herself to the floor, trembling. Every page she turned was lined with familiar handwriting—small notes, smudged ink, faint doodles in the margins. She drew her margins for him.

It was his.

Her brother. Not by blood, but by soul.

Her Thrones.

Memories crashed over her like waves. The laughter under storm skies. The vows they made to protect their homeland. The flashing cameras and people who cheer and worship them. The rebellion. The silence that followed. And then the screams of terror. The day the world erased his name. His books. HIS books. The smell of burnt smoke sickened her and her powers as she was forced to witness everything until there was nothing but herself alive.

"̵̰̿N̶͚̍.̷͕̔.̵̻̑.̶̛͉ ̵͕͝Ṋ̷͌ō̷̜.̵̜̈́.̸̖̇!̷͚̓ ̸̡̅S̵͝ͅ.̸̟̕.̴͚̂.̸̮̕ ̶̞͘o̷͇͑p̶̝̑.̴̤̎.̴̟͊.̶͕͝ ̶̝̏H̴͙͝ị̸̐s̶̨̒.̴̯́.̵̥͠.̷̰̐ ̷̻̏D̶̥̈́.̶́ͅ.̶̬́.̸̭̆ ̴̹͆ñ̸͖'̴̟̈́t̸̯͝.̵͉̄.̶̙̄.̶̢͆"̵͆ͅ

̸̮̕

̵͔͑"̸̺̉S̸̢̔t̴̗̿ō̷̟p̸͈̕!̴̜̒"̵̳͘

̵̹̾

̴̻͛"̵͖͌.̶̟͛.̵̖͂.̴̞̈́ ̶̮̇e̸͈͒e̶̝̚d̶̟͒.̵͍͂.̷̳͠.̴̗͛ ̶̜̉P̴̞͆l̷̠̅e̸͉̿.̴̡̍.̸̾ͅ.̵̞̒ ̴̖̔S̸̪̈́o̶͖͊ṙ̴͔r̸̛̬.̵̯̐.̴͉͆.̵̹͑"̴̡̐

̴̬̋

̴̛̳"̸̘̕T̸̮̑h̴̤̏ŕ̸̙.̴̪͂.̸̹͝.̶̜̅"̶̲́

̸̦̌

̵̳͋"̸̼͊o̷̠̓ņ̴̃e̵̼͂.̷̝̀.̵̖͆.̸̆͜ ̶̪̑ś̶ͅ.̷͔͌.̷̦̍.̷͉̍"̵̟͠

̴̢̎

̵̜͊"̶̙͐.̷̣͌.̶̯́.̵̝̌T̶̫͝ḣ̵̖r̵̙͂ö̷̠́ń̶̻e̷̤̚ś̶̜.̸͉̈.̵̙̈.̵̞͝"̵̛̤

̶͙͗

̶̙̏"̴͓͝C̸̠̃I̴͍̓Ã̸̩N̸̯̔.̷̲͌.̴̬̂!̷̮̓"̴̞͠

“.....”

̶̫̓"̶̦̃.̵̤̓.̷͕̕.̵͈̃Ȋ̸͖'̶̗̓m̴̥͘ ̴̪͘s̶̟̉o̵͙͆ŗ̷̔r̴͖̎y̶̧͗.̶̼͂.̷̠͠.̴̝̋ ̷̩̕

̵̗̽

̶̗̄"̵͇̒.̸̛̫.̸̟̍.̶͖͒B̵͇͂u̴̝̾n̷̠̏s̴͉̍o̶̖͛.̵͙͂.̷̪̓.̴͍́ ̷̰̇Ã̷̢ḍ̵̊r̸͓͠ì̶̱ḁ̷̽ņ̵̌ȇ̵͎.̶̻͒.̴͈̂.̵̼͌ ̶̧̿I̸͉͑ ̵͚̀w̶̪͑o̴̤͠n̸̳̓'̶̤̍ṫ̶̖ ̸̤̕b̵̪͐ẻ̷͙ ̵̨̃t̵͖̕h̷̩̿e̶̹̿r̸͓̿ȇ̶͕ ̵̡̑f̶̼̎o̸̱̎r̸̮̊ ̸͚͗y̸̹̌o̷̪̒ư̴̞ ̸̠͐ṯ̸͂h̷͖͗ȩ̸̽ ̴͕͑n̴̦̅e̶͍͊x̵̘͗ț̴́ ̴͚̍T̷͙̆i̶̥͒m̸̜̆e̴̳̚.̵̭͑"̵̩̔

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. A quiet whimper escaped anyway. Addy didn't realize she was crying. Or at least she was aware she was having bad memories where everything fell apart in front of her.

And honestly? Addy's mind is fuzzy for no reason. What was that before? Addy barely remembers, even if she tried. She knows it. She did remember what happened to the rest of them. But why? Why now? Why is Thrones/Cian's book here in this public library all the way from the Philippines?

Somewhere across the hall, Simon turned and realized Addy was gone. He is a few aisles away from where Addy drifted away from him. He thought he heard something, but only the sound of pages turning answered.

"Addy?"

Simon's voice echoed softly as he followed back to the same path he had taken. The clicking sounds of his leather shoes echoed softly through the hall of bookshelves, scanning wherever he last saw her. He reached the Forgotten Section, where he found Addy. It made Simon pause because he knew this room was restricted. This section is for rare, censored, foreign, or controversial works not easily accessible to any library. It requires permission or librarian supervision to get access to them.

He saw her kneeling there, clutching the old book to her chest, tears slipping down her face in silence. And when she sensed his presense entering the restricted room, it was worse to see Addy's eyes filled with fat tears running down her cheeks. He didn't understand what she'd found, but the sight of her pain hit him like a bus, or when Gazerbeam fought a supervillain whose powers hit him really hard, it left the laser-eyed hero with a concussion.

"Addy."

Without a word, Simon knelt beside her, his hand hovering close but not touching. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to comfort her. All he could do was be there, his presence steady and quiet like a shadow standing guard beside a fallen angel rediscovering her grief.

The heavy silence of the library made her muffled sobs sound painfully sharp. He wanted to ask what happened, but something in her posture, the way she clutched that old book as though it were the last piece of her heart, told him not to intrude.

He had seen grief before in courtrooms, on the faces of families after verdicts. But this was different. This was quiet, personal, sacred. So he stood still, his throat tightening, unsure if he should say anything. So he waited awkwardly, patiently.

When Addy finally looked up, her lashes wet, she whispered something under her breath. It sounded like a name, but Simon didn't quite catch it. He averted his gaze quickly to keep his laser vision from flaring, focusing instead on the cracked tiles near his shoes.

Addy pressed the worn leather book to her chest. "Thrones..." She murmured again, quieter this time.

Then she looked up at Simon with tearful eyes, her voice trembling.

"I–I... This book..." She swallowed hard, staring at the worn spine. "H-how? H-how did they even manage to get their hands on this? I-I thought they destroyed it long ago... Before it ever got published globally..."

She lifted the book for Simon to see. Its cover was nearly stripped of color, corners frayed and brittle. The gold-pressed title was half-faded, and her brother's name had been cruelly scratched out.

Simon leaned closer to read. He doesn't understand what it means; the unfamiliar language felt foreign to him.

"It means The Uprise and Fallout of Dugsalan in Pilipino." Addy nodded and translated quietly, her voice trembling.

Simon frowned gently. "That's... A powerful title."

She presses her palm against the erased author's name as though shielding it from the world.

"This book was written five years ago," Addy explained, voice shaking as she fought the weight of memory. The memory of what happened to her second-oldest brother. "By an author slandered by his own country. They called him a heretic... They said his writing was dangerous. When the new government took over, they ordered every copy destroyed. Including his drafts, his journals, and even his name. The translated versions were supposed to reach other nations. And yet..."

Her hands tightened around the book. "This. This is a genuine translation copy. I don't understand. How is it here, in a library across the ocean?"

Simon stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. He glanced around at the dimly lit shelves of the Forgotten Literature section. a real category in some old archives used for books that fell out of print, or had unknown provenance, or were banned and later recovered through donations.

Simon's brows furrow. He knows only fragments of history from the Philippines. If only he had read more about the Philippines during his college days, while the war was reaching its end.

"Well," Simon began carefully, "Books have a way of surviving, Addy. Sometimes, rare manuscripts find their way into circulation through private collectors. After the war, a lot of confiscated literature was smuggled out by journalists, archivists, or even soldiers who didn't know what they were carrying."

He looked at her gently. "It's possible someone saved a copy before it was destroyed and brought it here. Libraries like this one, especially national ones, sometimes buy forgotten or banned works through auctions or estate sales. Maybe… It was fate it ended up here."

Addy listened, tears still glimmering in her lashes. "Hmph, fate..." She repeated in disapproval. Her voice trembled again. "Not really. He was a perfectionist. He waited for the right time-" She lets out a broken laugh, bitter and pained, "-but time betrayed him. They killed him before he could finish it. The book was never supposed to exist."

Simon looks down at the fragile thing in her hands. The idea of someone dying for words, for a truth they believed in, hits him harder than he expects. Addy knows what really happened to Cian at that time. And yet, she had tried to forget about it. No matter how painful, she reminisces to keep that last memory of him.

Simon tilted his head slightly. "He sounds like someone who valued meaning over recognition."

She smiled weakly through tears. "He did. Too bad they wanted to silence him just because he is speaking the truth."

Simon said nothing. He could see it. That deep kind of sorrow that wasn't just about loss, but about injustice.

After a long silence, he spoke softly. "Then maybe this book survived for a reason, Addy. Maybe... It was waiting for someone who would remember him."

Addy looks at him, tears still streaming, and for a brief second, through her grief, she smiles faintly. That rare, soft smile that cracks open the shell of pain.

Simon, awkward as always with emotions, glances aside quickly, afraid his eyes might flare with heat. "S-sorry," He stammers, rubbing the back of his neck, "I didn’t mean to sound poetic."

But Addy shakes her head. "No... That's exactly what he would've said."

As much as Cian is a prideful man, all he wants is for anyone to appreciate him for who he is. So what Simon said is true about her older brother. Addy wiped her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly as Simon gently helped her up from the floor. He didn't ask again what was wrong, just stayed by her side, quietly offering the kind of comfort that didn't need words.

After a long silence, Simon finally spoke, his voice gentle but curious. "So, what was the book about?"

The question hit her harden than she expected. It wasn't meant to, but somehow, it brought back everything she'd tried to bury. Still, she appreciated the effort, the kindness behind his voice. Maybe talking about it would help ease the weight in her chest. It is better to talk about Thrones with Simon. He doesn't know his real name is Ciandrei (Cian) Morales Benedicto.

She sniffled softly, opening the book with trembling hands. The old pages gave off a faint smell of smoke and salt. The smoke was making her nauseated; she hates that smell. But Addy endured it by holding her breath. She flipped carefully through until she found a section she knew by heart.

"This book talks about the socio-political issues during the Great Depression of Agriculture in the Philippines," She began quietly. "The author, Thrones, was a well-known vigilante of the secret organization called Shadow Initiative for Global Independent Legionnaires, or SIGIL for short. He wrote about greed among the elite, corruption in the government, the cruelty of war, and the suffering of the poor. The government banned his books because they accused him of fraud and embezzlement of state funds..."

Her tone shifted, becoming tense, low, and sharp with emotion. "...and those accusations were false."

Simon blinked. The change in her tone made him look at her more closely. There was anger, but beneath it was grief. Grief too personal for a mere reader.

"You sound like you knew him," He said softly.

Addy froze for a split second before forcing a small, uneasy smile. "Uhh... I was... A fan," She lied, stammering through her words. But she said some truth in her careful words. "Back home, everyone knew him as the Philippines government scholar. A well-known national educator for the poor and homeless. He even had his own school with his name. Everyone admired him. Everyone in the Philippines knows his name as the national hero alongside his siblings. He was brave enough to write what others were too afraid to say."

Ah, that makes sense. Simon could understand if Thrones is a national hero. Everseer also publishes his books. He read them, and Simon enjoys his work even if he never said it in front of Everseer. He prefers to keep it professional because of knowing Everseer and him as Gazerbeam, what happened back then as a former member of the Phasmatics. It is better this way, and he and Everseer are on neutral ground as friends and colleagues.

Simon could tell she was hiding something, but he didn't push. He simply nodded, letting her continue. His lawyer's mind, however, began piecing things together, the way she spoke of Thrones, the weight in her voice when she defended him.

Addy turned another page, her fingers tracing the margins filled with faded annotations. "The government back then and the new government were merciless," She murmured. A bitter tone in her voice and then replaced with a somber, painful one. "During the Age of Decay, they ordered the Supreme Court to dismiss Thrones's petition for a public trial, along with his siblings, the group known as Sacreligus. They branded them as traitors and war criminals after they failed to stop the collapse of the nation."

Simon stiffened at that. His instincts as a lawyer kicked in immediately. "Your country's Supreme Court dismissed it?" He asked, incredulous. "Without due process?"

Addy nodded. "The case never reached the floor. The High Commission, a transitional council formed under the new Commonwealth, ruled the matter as a 'national security interest'. It gave the Executive Branch authority to bypass legal hearings for anyone deemed a threat to state stability."

That made Simon's stomach twist. He knew what that meant. A summary dismissal, a political purge dressed as legality. Common in nations under heavy reconstruction or foreign influence.

"So they used national security as a weapon," He muttered. "They silenced them through policy."

"Something like that." Addy's voice softened again. Although she wasn't good at law and politics. "They didn't just silence them. They erased them. Thrones, Nephalim, Dominions, Powers, the Virtues Sisters, and Seraphim. All of them, gone. The government called it justice. But it was just fear. Fear of what they represented."

Simon's pen-click mind suddenly froze on a name.

Seraphim.

The air in his chest caught for a second. That name. He knew it too well.

Seraphim. His partner in the shadows. The vigilante who saved his life more than once.

He stared at Addy, who was staring down at the book as if she could see ghosts between its lines.

No. It couldn't be the same person. It was impossible. Addy was... Addy. Kind, shy, gentle. Seraphim was fierce, mysterious, divine. He cannot tell because of the many uncanny resemblances between them.

Still, something about the way she spoke. This familiarity stirred a strange unease in him.

Addy looked up, finally, her expression sad but steady. "They were heroes once. But history decided otherwise."

Simon exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the yellowed pages. His mind turned over everything she said. The injustice, the false accusations, the manipulation of the law. He'd seen this pattern before. Every regime has its scapegoats, every government its buried sins.

But something about this. This story felt too close to home.

The name clung to his thoughts like static. Simon wonders if these are the reasons Seraphim becomes the way she is. He remembered how Seraphim flinched when he once called her a hero.

Maybe now he understood why. Or at least not yet.

His mind swirled, replaying every night in the rooftop, every time Seraphim's voice rose sharp with conviction, every disagreement about "justice."

Is that why she got so defensive that night? He thought. Why she despise the word 'hero'?

There was something about Addy's expression now, even with just one glance of her. That distant melancholy felt hauntingly familiar.

He cleared his throat softly. "Addy... What about Seraphim?"

Addy froze. The name came out of his mouth too easily, too close to her. For a moment, she doesn't know why Simon would ask her about her vigilante alter ego purely out of interest. Or at least, she couldn't decipher why Simon wants to know Seraphim. Where did he even know about Seraphim?

"What about her?" She replied carefully. Staring at him with suspicion.

Simon hesitated. "You mentioned she was part of that group. People used to call them heroes, didn't they?"

Addy's brows twitch, and she furrows at the word that made her recoil before rolling her eyes in displeasure. "Ugh... Heroes..." She echoed bitterly and revolted. "People love that word, not knowing what they have to face."

Her words carried weight for someone who was supposedly just a college girl talking about history. Simon blinked, not expecting such an answer from Addy. "And... What was she?"

"She wasn't a hero," Addy said flatly without hesitation. "She is a vigilante. Her siblings are also vigilantes. They called themselves vigilantes long before the government labeled them as national heroes. But they weren't saints, Simon. They broke the law too. Sometimes killed people and lied. But only because the system they fought for was already corrupt. Heroes don't do that. Heroes wait for permission. Vigilantes act when no one else will."

Her words struck him. He didn't interrupt, only listened.

"They killed when they thought they had to. Lied when the truth would hurt more. Broke the law when justice refused to listen." She lifted her eyes to him now, steady and defiant. "They did what they thought was right, not what the law said was right."

Simon's jaw tightened. She didn't know it, but she had just described him and every Super he'd ever defended.

He thought of Gamma Jack, who once vaporized a villain and whose crime the NSA buried under a classified report and close monitoring. Psychwave, who tampered with witnesses' memories and her inappropriate behavior to get what she wants using her powers, and Hypershock, who leveled half a block drunk off, caused a lot of damage that the lawyer lost count of, for the NSA to call Simon to cover him.

And there was he — Gazerbeam — who once lied under oath to protect a vigilante's identity.

So, yes. Addy wasn't wrong. But she was brutally, painfully right in a way that made him feel sick.

"I see..." Simon said quietly. "You think vigilantes are better than heroes?"

"Maybe. Perhaps?" Addy said, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "Vigilantes don't pretend they're perfect. For as long as their morale rule is knowing what they are doing is acceptable to SIGIL. They live in the gray world between heroes and villains. That is the only real world that exists."

She tilted her head slightly, her tone soft but resolute. "Heroes have rules. Villains have none. But vigilantes? They understand both. They can do both. That's only because it's the way to survive."

Her words hung heavy between them, unsettling yet profound.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck. "You sound like someone who’s been on both sides yourself." Simon couldn't help but admire her insight. For someone who claimed she wasn't clever, she had just articulated a truth most adults never reached.

Addy smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe I just read too many stories. You can learn a lot about people from stories."

Simon nodded, genuinely impressed. "You'd have made a fine psychologist. Or a writer."

Addy's lips curved softly, though her eyes dimmed. "I am a little of both," She admitted, shrugging modestly. "Psychologist... It's a lost opportunity course, knowing it is difficult. And also, you forgot I'm a small writer who writes stories for fun."

Simon chuckles softly, and then he changes the topic. "Anyway... SIGIL. You mentioned how the Sacreligus worked under SIGIL before the Philippine government."

Addy tilted her head. "Hm? Oh, SIGIL. Right, do you want the long or short version?"

He laughed softly, a tired, genuine sound. "I'm a lawyer. Evidence is my bedtime story. The longer the better."

That earned a small smile from her. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. But that story's too long for now," She said, brushing dust off the book cover. "Maybe another time? SIGIL deserves more than a few minutes."

Simon nodded, still smiling. "Sure. That's fair enough."

She perked up suddenly. "And speaking of stories... Did you find the Divine Comedy before I left you?"

Simon blinked, realization dawning. "Ah—blast it, yes! I did. I just-" He gestured toward the aisle, "-forgot entirely when I realized you were gone."

They made their way to the philosophy section, Addy still clutching her brother's forbidden book tightly against her chest. Simon noticed how she refused to let it go, her fingers almost trembling over its worn leather spine like it were made of glass. Simon couldn’t help but notice. She wasn't letting it go.

"Do you want that one too?" He asked softly.

Addy froze, hugging it closer. "Eh? What?"

But Simon was already ahead of her. "This book really meant so much to you. Let me handle it."

"Eh? Simon, no, it's fine-"

Before Addy could speak, Simon didn't waste time talking this out again. Grabbing her wrist, he dragged her to the librarian's counter after getting the Divine Comedy for her. Addy was not prepared for his straightforwardness when she tried to protest about spoiling her. But nope, Simon made it clear to her that he wanted to do it just for her.

"Mrs. Holbrook," He greeted, tone polite. "It's been a while."

At the counter, Addy kept Cian's book clutched tightly in her arms, almost protectively. The librarian, an elderly woman with silver hair in a tidy bun, gave her a knowing look before recognizing Simon.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Paladino," The old woman said warmly. "Oh, heavens, look at you. I still remember when you stayed here all night for your law finals."

Simon smiled, polite but fond. "You remember me well, Ms. Holbrook. I'm here helping a friend today."

Addy blinked in surprise. Question marks above her head while frantically looking at Simon and then the old librarian, and then back at Simon, and repeat. But Addy didn't forget her old Filipino roots when meeting an elderly person. It sounds like the two had known each other. It's common sense that Simon visited here during his college years.

"Uhh, m-my name is Adriane Apostol, ma'am. But call me Addy." Addy said, bowing her head shyly as she introduced herself.

The old woman smiles, and she reaches her wrinkled hand for a handshake. Addy accepts immediately, but instead of a typical handshake, she blessed herself by pressing her forehead against the back palm of the old librarian's hand. Both Simon and Ms. Holbrook stared at Addy silently, except Simon must avert away as always, which made Addy feel awkward as she took her hand away.

"Ah, s-sorry," Addy apologizes, moving the strand of her hair to the side of her head nervously. "It's a habit back at home to respect elderly people."

Luckily, the old librarian didn't judge Addy's Filipino gesture. She just laughs softly and brings a friendly smile to her respectful gesture. "Oh dearie, no need to apologize. You're such a doll, Miss Addy. Mr. Paladino, you got yourself a hotsy-totsy friend."

"Oh, please, it is all hers." Simon smiled sheepishly, turning away to hide the blush across his cheeks. He quickly changed the topic. "I still remember you gave me coffee after closing time."

"For my best law student, I have high hopes for you to pass the BAR exam," Mrs. Holbrook said proudly. Her eyes flicked to Addy's trembling hands and the book she held. Her gaze softened. "You've got an interesting find there, dear. That's from the restricted archives."

Addy gasped quietly and looked down at the book written by her late older brother. She clutched the book tightly against her chest, as if she let go, she'll lose Cian again. Sadness filled her eyes, and yet she heavily accepts the inevitability that things will not be easy for her. She apologized again. "Ah, am I not allowed? I-I'm sorry. I'll return it where it belongs."

The old woman shook her head and said, "Oh no, it’s not illegal to carry that around. It's just out of circulation."

"Eh? Huh?" Addy froze, lifting her downcast head to look at the old woman with wide eyes.

"Not illegal to own anymore, mind you, but hardly anyone’s allowed to borrow them." Mrs. Holbrook explained lightly.

"W-wait, so... A-am I not allowed to take it?"

"Normally, no," Ms. Holbrook replied. "But seeing as Mr. Paladino here once helped us during the preservation hearings-"

Simon lifted a hand modestly. "Please, it was just paperwork."

The old librarian chuckled. "Paperwork that saved half our archives. You're free to purchase the copy as a collector's edition. I trust your judgment."

"Wait, huh? Huh?!" Addy tries her hardest now to make so much noise to disturb anyone at the library. But she is beyond flabbergasted by it. What is going on here?

Mrs. Holbrook nodded, not minding Addy’s stunned reaction. "If Mr. Paladino's signing for it, yes. He's a trusted name in the city. The law lets private collectors own archived material as long as it's not for redistribution."

"Indeed, it is true," Simon smiled kindly, placing down the Divine Comedy book and Cian's book at the counter. "We'll take both."

Addy stared at him in disbelief as he paid for the books. She felt overwhelmed, guilty, and grateful all at once.

"I don't know what to say," She murmured. "You've done too much for me already."

Simon shrugged, sliding the receipt into the book's cover. "Then say thank you by telling me about the history of them." He is talking about what SIGIL is and the group Sacreligus that Seraphim was apart of.

Her eyes softened, letting out a sigh of defeat to this relentless, kind man, "I guess that's fair. You're too kind, Simon."

He looked away quickly, as always—partly out of shyness, partly because he feared what his eyes might do if he stared too long. "Maybe kindness is all we can afford in times like these."

Addy smiled faintly at that. "You really are a good man."

The old librarian chuckled at their interaction. She handed Addy her bag and whispered. "You've found yourself a good friend, dear."

Addy was taken aback and bashfully replied. "Yeah. I think so too," She whispered.

As they walked out of the library, the late afternoon sun spilled through the grand doors, bathing them both in golden light. Simon walked beside her, hands in his pockets, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw something glowing faintly around her shoulders, like sunlight catching dust in the air.

The drive back was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio crooning a post-war ballad and the rhythmic patter of rain against the car roof. Addy sat in the passenger seat once more, clutching her new books close to her chest, still overwhelmed by Simon’s generosity. Her gaze drifted toward him. His profile was sharp against the glow of the streetlights, a face that looked far older than his years.

“Hey, Simon?” She asked softly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the wipers, “Can I ask why that old librarian treats you like her favorite grandson?”

Simon chuckled faintly, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “You know I spend time studying there and hiding from everything else.” Ah, she already knows that. “Guess word travels fast when you win a few cases.”

Addy blinked. “So, you were that famous as a lawyer?”

“I wouldn’t say famous,” Simon replied with a shrug. “Just someone who couldn’t walk away when people needed help.”

“You’re a good man, Simon,” Addy said sincerely.

Simon looked at her, startled by her tone. gentle and certain without flattery. It made his heart ache. “You always said that.”

“Because it’s true,” Addy smiled, speaking out of honesty. “You deserve all of the credit.”

A few minutes later, the car stopped at the street where Addy told him to drop her off there. Although he is worried for Addy because it is near nighttime.

“You sure this is where you stop?” He asked, easing his tone so it wouldn’t sound like a goodbye.

Addy nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. I’ll be fine here. Just a ride to the bus and I’ll arrive home. I appreciate everything, Simon.”

There was a beat of hesitation before she added softly, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to. Friends do that for each other, don’t they?” Simon reassured, grasping her hand to his own.

That word friends made her chest tighten. It shouldn’t have, but it did. His hands are larger than hers. It made Addy’s heart flutter warmly.  Before she left, Simon leaned slightly toward her while still holding her hand. “Let’s make a deal, Addy.”

“A deal?” Addy turned back with her head tilted.

“Whenever life gives us the time, we’ll hang out. No schedules, no plans. Just moments.”

Addy grinned. “You sure you can handle that, Mr. Lawyer?”

Simon smirked back. “I’ll allow it.”

October crept in with cold wind and gray clouds. Simon had just wrapped up another exhausting day. Two court hearings, three hours of paperwork, and one classified mission as Gazerbeam that left him sore and hungry. He loosened his tie, stepping out into the drizzle.

The rain thickened in seconds, forcing him to duck under the archway of an old building for cover. The street glistened under the downpour. Simon had just left the courthouse after a long day. And then, fate decided to play her hand.

A few meters away, through the curtain of rain, he spotted a familiar face balancing a paper bag full of groceries. Addy.

She was wearing another one of her doll-like dresses. A soft, pastel pink dress in a white polka dot pattern with puffy short sleeves, frilled collar, and a matching ribbon on top of her head. A vintage silhouette with a touch of whimsy and bows and pastel flowers. The rain kissed the edges of her skirt and Mary Jane black shoes as she hurried beneath her small umbrella, trying not to let her groceries get wet.

“Addy?” Simon called, almost in disbelief.

She turned, eyes lighting up the instant she recognized him. “Simon? What are you doing here?”

“Trying not to drown,” He joked, stepping forward to help her carry her bags.

Addy laughed, her cheeks warm despite the chill. “You look like you just fought the rain and lost.”

“Feels like it,” He said, brushing water from his shoulders. “I thought you’d be at dance practice.”

She replied with a shrug. “I just got out of school. PE’s been murdered lately. I was planning to cook something nice tonight.”

“Oh?” He asked, glancing down at the ingredients inside the bag. “That’s a lot for one person.”

She averted her gaze to her side, feeling dejected. “Well... My foster father’s at work again. He’s an American military member, always away. So, I’m cooking for myself.”

Simon frowned gently, realizing the quiet loneliness behind her casual tone. “Just you? What are you making tonight?”

"Tinola Manok.” She said proudly.

“Tinola... What?” Simon tilted his head, mispronouncing it.

“Tinola Manok or Tinola Chicken. It's a Filipino-style chicken soup,” She explained with pride and fondness. “It’s warm and simple comfort food of ginger, garlic, chayote, chili leaves, and- Ah! You probably don’t even have those.” Addy glanced at her paper bag of groceries. “I didn’t think they’d have the ingredients imported here in the US, but they did!”

He listened, entranced more by her voice than the words themselves. There was something about the way she described food, like she was describing a piece of her soul. As an Italian man, it made him feel so invested to listen to someone so passionate about cultural cuisines. Especially someone who has soul and heart in food.

“Sounds delicious,” He said finally, almost wistfully. Then, glancing at the rain, “You shouldn’t walk home in this weather. You’ll catch a cold.”

Simon glanced at the bags in her hands, then at the soaked edge of her ruffled dress, and glanced away. “Then… How about cooking that Tinola at my place? I have a kitchen, and I’m starving. Seems a waste to eat alone.”

Addy hesitated, blinking at him. “Eh? Y-you’re... Inviting me to your home?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to sound forward. “You said your father’s working tonight, right? And I- well, I’d rather not eat leftovers from my fridge again. You could cook, and I could taste your homemade Tinola Chicken soup. Everyone wins.”

Addy tilted her head, uncertain but smiling. “You sure about that, Simon? I might accidentally burn your kitchen.”

“Strictly for the food,” Simon said, raising a hand in mock defense. “Scout’s honor.”

Addy giggled, shaking her head. “Fine. But you’re helping with the chopping, mister lawyer.”

“Deal,” He said warmly.

And just like that, the rain became their excuse. Simon took her grocery bags, holding the umbrella above her as they hurried to his car. The ride to his apartment was filled with small talk and laughter, with Addy occasionally peeking out the window to watch the rainfall blur the city lights.

Simon’s apartment was simple, clean, and surprisingly lonely. The faint smell of books, papers, and aftershave lingered in the air. Addy noticed the walls lined with framed legal degrees and a few photographs. Simon shaking hands with officials, standing beside other lawyers, or in a rare candid moment, smiling beside a young group of Supers in uniform.

“You really are famous,” She muttered under her breath. He is really from a high class, Addy thought.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“N-nothing,” She said quickly, pulling out ingredients with a grin. “Where’s your kitchen, Mr. Lawyer?”

He gestured toward the corner. “Right there.”

Addy peeked inside at the sight of a pristine stovetop and all of the equipment and utensils any chef could have dreamed of. Simon watches as Addy ties up her long, black hair into a simple, messy low bun and puts on the apron he gave her. He even took off his trench coat and rolled up his sleeves before his apron. The lawyer looks ready to help the young college girl out, as it is his DNA to cook. Simon directed Addy to where the required utensils were before she could begin prepping the ingredients.

Addy silently measures the amount of chicken and ingredients for only two people to serve. Since she usually cooks a whole pot just for herself back at home to survive for two days, she is careful to serve only him and herself. “Alright, you go chop an onion into quarters, smash five garlic, and mince the whole thumb of ginger. I’ll deal with the chayote, chilli leaves, and clean the chicken.”

Simon followed her instructions with ease. And she is not going to lie, Addy was impressed by how fast he magically wielded the knife like a professional. Addy is working on milking the chayote after peeling the skin. “This green squash is slippery, so it’s best to milk them first before chopping them.”

With all of the ingredients prepped and ready, Addy used a medium saucepan befitting for serving two people for dinner. Pre-heated with a bit of oil, she tosses the garlic, onion, and ginger until the onion becomes translucent before she adds the chicken.

Simon watched her stir the ingredients he diced for her into the saucepan along with the chicken. She stirred them with such gentle rhythm that he found himself oddly mesmerized. The aroma of simmering chicken filled the air, wrapping his apartment in warmth that felt foreign to him. It's comforting and alive. Addy adds the small pack of what Addy describes as fish sauce imported from the Philippines to add to the saucepan.

And when the chicken skin shows a bit of golden color, she adds water and seasoning to the saucepan to make a broth. While that waits, Addy taught Simon how to make cooked rice in another pot. The rice is important to the dish, as she jokingly and truthfully can’t be complete without rice.  A few minutes later, the chayote and chilli leaves would be added to the broth and would wait for another few minutes for the chayote to soften up.

Simon watched as she moved with confidence and rhythm, humming a lullaby she softly sang as she cooked. She looked so at home, so natural.

“Didn’t think I’d ever smell something this good in my kitchen,” Simon muttered.

“Thank you. Maybe you should invite me more often, then,” She said playfully. Okay, maybe she is overstepping herself. She embarrassed herself with that comment until his reply let her pause.

“Careful,” He teased back. “I might take that seriously.”

For a moment, their eyes met. It lingered before they turned away quickly than they should’ve. When dinner was ready, Addy placed a steaming bowl before him. The broth was golden and fragrant, the taste unlike anything he’d ever had. Earthy, soothing, and full of life.

The fluffy white rice tastes better when paired with Tinola Chicken, and she wasn’t kidding about it. Simon does feel like he is at home for the longest time, even if this is his first time tasting such a comforting dish made by Addy herself.

“How was it?” Addy asks, lifting her head to see his reaction.

“This is incredible,” Simon said between spoonfuls. “You weren’t kidding. It really does taste like home.”

Addy smiled quietly, feeling proud yet homesick. “Yeah. Even when home doesn’t exist anymore.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Simon glanced at her for once, his heart tightening. He didn’t press, didn’t ask. He just nodded. “Then you can make one here. Even just for tonight.”

She looked at him then, really looked. The tired lawyer who always tried to make her smile, the man who carried too much loneliness behind his glasses and tired grin. Something in her chest fluttered painfully and sweetly all at once.

“Maybe,” She said softly, smiling through her eyes, “I like that thought.”

Simon said nothing, but his gaze lingered. In the warmth of the kitchen, beneath the rhythm of rain, something gentle and fragile began to form between them. A quiet gravity neither dared to name.

They talked for hours after that. About food, about their childhoods, about how lonely the city could be. Addy spoke of the Philippines, her voice soft but glowing with nostalgia. Simon shared a few stories from his law school days, his laugh deep and unrestrained for once.

The sunlight crept timidly through the half-drawn curtains, painting the edges of Simon’s bedroom in pale gold. His mind stirred first, before his body could catch up, the faint hum of the city outside, the steady tick of his clock, and the unmistakable smell of something warm and savory filling the air. His thoughts were a scattered collection of papers of unfinished cases, unread reports, fragments of last night’s laughter.

Wait-

Simon blinked, disoriented.

Wait… where—?

He blinked again at the ceiling.

“When did I even fall asleep?” He muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He sat up abruptly, squinting around his apartment. He realized he was still in yesterday’s white undershirt and slacks, the tie discarded somewhere on the floor. His hair was a mess, his throat dry. The events of last night came back to him: The rain, Addy’s laughter, the Tinola Chicken, the dishes clinking in the sink, the warmth in her voice before everything faded into a blur.

Then his thoughts are interrupted by the smell lingering outside his apartment. It is savory and sweet, the faint smokiness of something frying. Then came the soft sound of clattering dishes. Someone was in his kitchen.

Simon froze.

Someone was here.

And then, it hit him.

Addy.

Instinct kicked in to get out of bed. He reached for his glasses and stepped out of his room. He checked the clock on his wall, and the clock read 7:46 a.m. Standing in his small kitchen, barefoot, the unmistakable sound of a humming voice singing the same old Filipino lullaby under her breath.

Addy stood by the stove, her hair tied loosely into a low bun, wearing one of the apron substitutes, slender arms working swiftly around the spatula and pan. The sight of her cooking breakfast in his kitchen as if she’d always belonged sent an unfamiliar warmth up Simon’s chest. He couldn’t describe it, but the first word in his thoughts is domestic.

Addy turned when she heard him, eyes wide for a moment before softening into a shy smile.

“Oh-! Simon, you’re awake. Good morning,” She began nervously, holding a spatula like a weapon, “ I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d cook something for breakfast. You fell asleep right away last night.”

Simon blinked. “You—what—how are you here?”

Addy laughed nervously. “Y-yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to overstay.”

He rubbed his temples, trying not to blush at how domestic this all felt. “No, no, it’s fine. I just… Didn’t expect…”

The meal was simple but fragrant: perfectly fried eggs, reddish Filipino-style hotdogs glistening beside fluffy white rice. The scent of freshly brewed black coffee filled the air.

Addy placed a steaming mug of coffee on the table and interrupted softly, “Here you go. Black coffee. No sugar, no cream.”

Simon froze mid-sentence. “How did you—?”

She shrugged, a faint smile forming. “Simon. You ordered it that way at the diner last time. I pay attention.”

He accepted the cup, a little stunned. “You really did.”

“Of course, I do. I just know it.” She said knowingly, her keen perception always remembers details.

There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was warm — the kind of silence that came with unspoken understanding.

Simon joined Addy at the dining table to have breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” She replied. “But I wanted to.”

“So… What did you make this morning?” he finally asked, trying to steady his heartbeat.

Addy beamed proudly. “Hotsilog!”

Simon blinked. “...Hot—what?”

Addy gestured to the plate and explained. “Hotsilog. It's a Filipino-style breakfast. One of my favorites, besides Tinola Chicken. Don’t look at me like that, it’s good!”

Simon grinned. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Simon stared down at the plate she served. “It’s like a typical American breakfast, but simpler in your culture. You used my eggs, didn’t you?”

She faltered slightly. “...I did. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just—”

He raised a hand, chuckling. “Relax, Addy. I’m not suing you over eggs.”

Addy pouted, but it quickly turned into laughter at his silly joke. Simon grinned to himself, feeling confident that his dry humor made things lighter for both of them.

“This looks… Wonderful,” Simon admitted, surprised.

Addy tilted her head. “You sure? I mean, it’s a little different from your usual breakfast.”

He took a bite, and his expression softened. “Different,” he said, “but better.”

She watched him eat with quiet satisfaction, her own plate untouched for a while. He looked so at peace, sitting there half-dressed in his wrinkled undershirt, hair disheveled, morning light catching the edge of his tired face. And for a moment, Addy felt the world slow down. It was too easy to imagine this as something ordinary, as if mornings like this could exist every day. But she quickly shook off the thought.

Simon glanced up, his thoughts drifted back to how he ended up in bed. “So, why are you still here, exactly?”

Addy paused from taking another bite of her fork, cocking her head in confusion now. “You didn’t remember? I stayed the night. You were so tired yesterday. The rain didn’t stop, and it was late. You said I could stay, remember?”

Simon tried to recall. His mind was foggy. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” She insisted with a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t really know how to get home last night. I can’t commute far when it’s late. You asked me to let you stay for the night, and I accepted.” And then Addy pauses for a moment of hesitation, and her honesty kicks in to inform him. “And you were half-asleep, though. You were mumbling about paperwork, but your eyes were barely open. I told you, you needed to rest. I wasn’t going to let you pass out on your desk, but...” She gestured helplessly. “You looked like you hadn’t slept in years.”

“Wait,” Simon said slowly, realization dawning. “Did you... Make me go to bed?”

Addy turned, trying to suppress her smile. “You wouldn’t stop working. Someone had to.”

He rubbed his temples, torn between embarrassment and disbelief. “You dragged me to bed?”

“Not exactly dragged,” She said with a shrug. “More like… Guided.”

Simon shot her a look. “Guided?”

“Yeah. Do you have any idea how heavy you are?” She said, pouting. Addy is physically weak to carry a man, and she has to use her angelic powers to guide him to bed without waking him. “You wouldn’t stop mumbling about unfinished work, so I had to wrestle the pen out of your hand. You looked like a zombie lawyer trying to file his own funeral papers.”

Simon chuckled softly despite himself. “Sounds like me.”

“Yes, you are.” Addy giggles.

He narrowed his eyes. “And then?”

Her gaze flickered away, the faintest blush creeping to her cheeks. “You fell asleep before you could argue again.”

He crossed his arms. “And you…?”

“I might have… Accidentally fallen asleep in your bed too,” She said quickly, her voice lowering almost to a whisper. “On the edge of the bed. Just for a few hours! Don’t get the wrong idea!” Addy felt utterly flustered deep down. She was nearly having a panic attack because of how close than personal they lay on the bed together. And Addy kept it a secret how he held her so close that she managed to slip off from his strong arms.

Simon tried not to laugh, but the sound escaped him anyway—a soft, genuine chuckle that startled even himself.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “That sounds about right.”

When the dishes were done, Addy began cleaning the table despite Simon’s protests. The whole scene played out like they’d done it a hundred times. Like they had somehow known each other longer than they actually had.

At one point, Simon found himself simply watching her again. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The way she hummed as she rinsed the plates. The way the light of dawn touched her features. The light bathed her head like a veil or a halo. It reminds him of Seraphim.

Seraphim.

“Simon?” Addy caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinked out of his trance. Wait- he has been staring at her? Without his laser vision acting up? “I- No, I just...” His words stumbled out of place. He takes a deep breath and regains his composure. “I didn’t think I’d wake up to breakfast like this.”

She smiled softly, though her voice carried that touch of sadness again. “Then maybe you should get used to it.”

He froze, unsure if she meant it playfully—or meant it at all.

But before he could ask, she was already gathering her bag, ready to go. “Thank you for letting me stay,” she said quietly.

“Anytime,” Simon replied, his tone firmer than he intended. “Perhaps next time, I’ll cook you one of my favorite Italian dishes whenever you come by.”

Addy paused and looked at him with disbelief. “Wait, you’re Italian?”

“Of course, I am Italian,” Simon replied. He chuckled over her shocking expression over a small fact.

Addy is at the loss for words, taken aback by this new information. “B-but I thought you were American. You don’t have that Italian accent in you.”

Simon just shrugs and grins over her cute reaction. “My grandparents immigrated here long before I was born. I still speak the language, but I only speak to my relatives and translate if necessary. And I also kept my Italian heritage with me despite being born here.”

“Ah, I see.” Addy nodded, taking this new information to herself to keep in mind. Italian and Simon wanted to cook for her to try his Italian dish, if by chance. She wasn’t sure about it because she is a picky eater. Although she did know or two about it, coming from two of her members in Faction Purgatorium, she never tried it. She’ll need to do research to prepare herself.

Later, as Simon drove her home, the rain had stopped, but the streets still shimmered. Addy leaned against the window, quietly humming again. He glanced at her now and then—how calm she looked, how natural it felt having her there.

He didn’t realize it yet, but something was shifting quietly between them.

Something warm. Something fragile.

Something that neither Simon nor Addy could admit aloud.

Not yet.

S.I.G.I.L. File Updates: Seraphim's List of Powers (40%) and Update Team Affiliation.