The Sound of Silence

The only sound in the Neo-Vegas Colosseum was the hum of the emergency lights.

Fifty thousand people held their breath. The camera drones hovered in place, their lenses zoomed in on the center of the stage.

I stood amidst the falling ash, holding the microphone stand which was now glowing red-hot from the friction of the strike. I tossed it aside. It clattered loudly against the floor.

I turned around.

Seraphina was staring at me. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated to the point of swallowing the irises. She looked from the pile of ash to me, and then to the sky where I had literally carved the clouds apart.

She tried to speak, but her voice failed her. She coughed, struggling to sit up.

"Who..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Who are you?"

She looked at my face, searching for Julian. Searching for the soft, incompetent man she had married for appearances. She didn't find him.

I adjusted my cufflinks. My suit jacket had a smudge of void ash on the lapel. I brushed it off with a frown.

"Your husband," I said calmly.

"No," she shook her head, terrified and awestruck. "Julian can't... Julian doesn't have magic."

"I never used magic," I corrected.

Flashbulbs began to pop. One, then ten, then a blinding wall of white light as the press recovered from their shock. The questions were being shouted now, a roar of noise returning to the stadium.

*“Who is he?!”*

*“Did you see that?!”*

*“Is that a new Sword Art?!”*

I looked at the encroaching wall of media. I hated fame. In my old life, fame meant challengers lining up to die. It was tedious.

I walked over to Seraphina and offered her a hand.

She looked at my hand like it was a weapon. Then, slowly, she reached out and took it. Her grip was weak, shaking. I pulled her to her feet effortlessly.

"Smile," I told her quietly. "You're on camera."

She blinked, autopilot taking over as she turned to the flashing lights, though the fear didn't leave her eyes.

"We're leaving," I announced, not to her, but to the world.

I turned and walked toward the backstage exit, dragging the stunned pop star with me. The security guards parted like the Red Sea, terrified to make eye contact with the man who had just beheaded a myth with a piece of stage equipment.

As we hit the shadows of the tunnel, Seraphina pulled back, stopping me.

"Julian," she demanded, her voice gaining a sliver of its usual strength. "What just happened? What are you?"

I looked back at her over my shoulder. The silhouette of the stadium lights framed me in a halo of artificial glory.

"We'll talk at home," I said.

I turned back to the dark corridor and kept walking. The secret was out. The quiet life was over.

But as I felt the residual hum of the *Qi* fading in my veins, I smiled.

At least I wouldn't be bored anymore.