The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the skyline. From the balcony of a small, nondescript apartment on the city's edge, I could see the faint glow of the city lights as they flickered on. Once upon a time, that glow used to mean something to me. It used to mean hope.

Now, it was just… light pollution.

I’d been out of the game for about six months. Six months since I hung up the suit, said goodbye to the mask, and tried to be something I barely remembered being—a regular person. My name wasn’t Phoenix anymore, not since I burned out. Now I was just Ethan. 

And, honestly? I was fine with that. 

Well, mostly. There were days I’d wake up in a cold sweat, memories of fires and collapsing buildings replaying in my mind. Days I’d pace the room, hands itching to grab my mask and gloves, to leap back into the air. Days where guilt gnawed at me, whispering that I’d abandoned them when they needed me most.

But those feelings had become quieter over time. And when I could barely bring myself to leave the apartment, I’d remind myself of what the job had done to me—how the long nights, the expectations, the nonstop need for someone to save the day, had torn me apart, left me hollow.

A hero’s mind isn’t invincible, and it had taken me a long time to realize that mine was crumbling under the weight. By the end, I’d been a shadow of myself. And when I finally stepped away, it felt like walking out of prison.

Still, not everyone saw it that way.

The calls began a few weeks after my retirement. Reporters, government officials, even old friends. At first, they’d just ask if I was okay, when I was coming back. Then the tone shifted. The questions became sharper, more insistent. Why had I left? How could I turn my back on them? I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer.

Tonight, as I stood on that balcony, letting the evening breeze cool my face, the calm was shattered by the sound of sirens. They were loud and urgent, filling the night air with their screams. I knew that sound all too well; it was the sound of a city in trouble.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and reluctantly, I checked the screen. It was a news alert. “Explosion downtown. Multiple buildings in flames. Citizens trapped. Officials calling for immediate assistance. Phoenix, where are you?”

The words on the screen burned into my mind. Even after all this time, they still needed saving, and they were still looking to me to do it.

I hesitated, staring at the distant lights of the city as they turned from warm orange to an unsettling red. A thick column of smoke began to rise into the sky. I could already hear the voices of the trapped, the cries for help that would haunt my dreams for weeks if I ignored them. 

But I was done being their hero, wasn’t I? I’d told myself that, told them that.

Yet here I was, still Ethan, still powerless to ignore it.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked back inside, to the dusty chest under my bed. Inside was the suit—crimson and black, with faded edges and seams that I hadn’t gotten around to fixing. The sight of it made my stomach churn. But tonight, I wasn’t putting it on for them.

I was putting it on because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.

---

The city was chaos. The smell of smoke, the heat, the flames licking the sides of the buildings—they were all too familiar. I dove into the thick of it, my heart pounding, muscles straining as I used powers I’d long since tried to forget. I lifted fallen beams, carried people from the flames, doused fires with blasts of ice-cold water.

People recognized me, cheering from the sidewalks. “Phoenix! Phoenix is back!” they shouted, their voices mingling with the crackle of flames.

But I didn’t hear them, not really. I wasn’t here for their praise; I was here to get them out, to do what I could, and leave. 

The night was a blur of faces, some soot-covered, others tear-streaked. Families huddled together, rescue crews setting up barricades, everyone scrambling to escape the devastation. The fire was spreading, more buildings going up like paper under a match.

As I rescued one last person from a collapsing stairwell, I felt it—the weight of it all. The strain on my mind and body was back in full force, tightening like a vice. But this time, I knew the difference. I knew I couldn’t bear this weight much longer.

The last family was safe, the fires were dying down, and the emergency crews had finally taken control. People cheered as I walked away, but I didn’t look back. I knew if I saw their faces, I might let myself get pulled back in.

I returned to my apartment, peeling off the mask and collapsing on the floor, the weight of exhaustion hitting me all at once. Every part of me ached, my hands still shaking as I unfastened the suit.

But despite the pain, I felt… at peace. I’d done what I needed to do. One last time.

---

The next day, I took a bus to a small town by the coast, far from the city, far from Phoenix. As the bus rumbled along the road, I gazed out the window, watching the countryside roll by. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to look back. 

The city would move on. Maybe someday they’d remember Phoenix as a hero, someone who always came when they called. Or maybe they’d be angry, feeling abandoned by the one person who was supposed to save them. But that was out of my hands now.

All I knew was that it was time to let go, time to heal. And somewhere, far from the noise and the demands, I was going to find peace.

Ethan was all I needed to be now.