Showdown

The small room they had rented for the night felt unusually oppressive, though it was no larger than any other room in the guild city. The faint light from a single lantern cast long shadows across the walls, and the usual comfort of being home after a mission was absent. Lian sat on a wooden chair by the window, his hands folded tightly in his lap, staring out at the darkened streets below. Mira was perched on the edge of the bed, her posture rigid, eyes fixed on him, while Kael leaned lazily against the wall, her energetic aura seeming dimmed, as if sensing the heaviness in the room.

Kael was the first to break the silence, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Lian… you’ve been acting weird these past few days. It’s not like you. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of concern and impatience.

Lian’s gaze stayed on the street, his voice low, careful. “It’s nothing,” he said. But even to himself, he knew that was a lie.

Mira tilted her head slightly, her voice softer, more probing. “Is it that you don’t feel comfortable with us anymore? Do you… want to leave the group?”

The words hit Lian harder than he expected. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to confess the truth. To tell them that the reason for his distance was far more complicated than simple fatigue or doubt—that he could see into the minds of those around him, that every thought, every hidden fear, every unspoken motive had become a weight he could not share. But he could not. Not now. Not ever.

Instead, he forced a calmness onto his voice, though it sounded hollow even to him. “I’ve been… preoccupied,” he said slowly. “Thinking about… about our goal, about saving the city from the heroes. Lately, it just seems… impossible. Too difficult.”

Kael tilted her head, frowning. “Impossible? You’ve never said that before. You’re always the one pushing forward, the one with the plan. Why now?”

Lian swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about what will happen if the Demon King is defeated. The heroes… they’ll still be in power over the powerless. Stronger, with rewards and privileges, and the people without power… they’ll still be at their mercy.” He paused, feeling the weight of each word. “Even if we win… I’m not sure it will change anything for the people we’re trying to protect.”

Mira’s brow furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly. “So… you feel like all our efforts are meaningless? That the city can’t really change?”

“Yes,” Lian admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “At least not in the way I imagined. The heroes… some of them genuinely protect the city from threats, but over time, I’ve noticed… they take advantage sometimes. They show off, they act like bullies. They exaggerate their power to control others, and the people… the people without powers… they pay for it with rewards, gifts, loyalty… sometimes without realizing it.”

Kael crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s… that’s not nothing, Lian. You’ve always been more… aware than the rest of us. But if you let this keep you down, it’ll hurt us too. Missions will get harder. Rewards will stop coming. You can’t just brood in silence and expect everything to stay the same.”

Mira’s voice softened, almost pleading. “Lian… you have to stay strong, at least for now. We rely on you, more than you think. You can’t let doubt consume you completely. But…” She hesitated, as if weighing her next words. “…but I wish you would tell us when something is troubling you. We don’t need the full picture. Just… a little more than silence.”

Lian nodded slowly, feeling the tug of guilt tighten around his chest. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to say that the real weight he carried was not the fear of failure or the complexity of the heroes’ power, but the constant flood of unfiltered thoughts in his mind. He wanted to tell them that sometimes, knowing too much made it impossible to act, impossible to trust, impossible to be free.

But he could not. Not now.

“I… I understand,” he said finally, keeping his tone neutral, careful. “I just… need to think things through. Figure out the best way forward. That’s all.”

Kael’s eyes softened, though her arms remained crossed. “Lian… just don’t disappear into yourself. We need you with us, okay? Even if things seem… impossible, we need your head in the game.”

Mira nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. You’re part of this team. Part of our success and… part of our protection. Don’t shut yourself off. Not from us.”

Lian forced a small smile, but it felt fragile, brittle. “I won’t,” he promised. Inside, he knew he would always feel the pull of the truth he could not share. But for now… he would carry the weight alone, like he had always done.

Kael shifted, standing up straighter, a spark of her usual energy returning, though tinged with concern. “Good. Because we can’t afford to lose you. Not now. Not ever. So, cheer up a little, okay? For all our sakes.”

Mira gave a faint smile, more a gesture of encouragement than real joy. “And… remember. We may not understand everything, but we trust you. Just… don’t let that trust go to waste.”

Lian nodded again, the weight in his chest unchanged, yet somehow slightly lighter. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The room was quiet, but not unkindly so. It was a quiet understanding, a fragile truce between his inner turmoil and the world around him.

As the evening wore on, the lantern flickered, casting gentle shadows across the walls. Kael eventually left to fetch some food from the nearby market, Mira curled up on the bed with her thoughts, and Lian returned to the window, staring out at the darkened streets. The city lay below him, alive with the lives of people unaware of the complexities, the power struggles, and the truths that he carried alone.

For a long moment, he allowed himself a quiet sigh, a release of the tension he could not otherwise show. And yet, even as he sat there, he knew the burden would return, heavier than ever, with every mission, every interaction, every glance into the minds of those around him.

But for now… he had kept the team together. He had held the line. That, at least, was something he could allow himself to feel—some small, fleeting fragment of purpose in a world that often seemed impossible to change.