One by one, people began to leave the freshly covered grave until only my supervisor and I remained.
I stared at the mound of earth mournfully. Like all the graves in this hidden cemetery, there was no tombstone. They were deliberately left unmarked, so no one outside our organization would ever know who lay buried here.
In this particular grave before me rested Zidane—my teammate, my vice commander, and my supervisor's left hand.
Our chapter had created a team of twelve men whose brains had been altered. I never knew exactly what they did to us, but the procedures gave us superhuman abilities. We were like real-life mutants. Some could turn invisible, some could fly, others could move objects with their minds or shoot lasers from their eyes.
Zidane could summon a samurai blade from his body.As for me... I could turn anything I touched into dust—whenever I wanted to.
With those terrifying powers, our team quickly became legendary within the organization. No mission was impossible. We were the frontliners in many of the organization's open wars—and we never lost.
That lasted for about a year and a half.
Then, around six months ago, the tragedies began.
One by one, our teammates started losing control of their powers.
Zidane and I were left with no choice—we had to take them down.
Once my supervisor found out, she immediately disbanded the team.
The surviving members were placed in isolation for observation.
Rumors spread quickly. Some said they died fighting each other. Others claimed their bodies exploded.
I didn't know what to believe—until one day.
That day, Zidane and I were in a meeting with my supervisor, discussing the next mission. I remember thinking Zidane seemed off. He was unusually tense and agitated, unlike his usual calm and collected self. But when I asked, he said he was fine, so I let it go.
We were midway through the discussion when Zidane suddenly stood up, his face contorted in pain. Before we could react, he lunged at our supervisor.
Fortunately, Derrick—her personal bodyguard—acted on instinct. He threw himself in front of her, and Zidane's summoned samurai blade pierced Derrick's back.
Two other guards rushed in, but Zidane was too fast.With a single motion, he split them both in half.
I sprang forward. Zidane—like he didn't recognize me—turned his blade toward me.
I caught it and turned it to dust in my grip. "Zidane!!" I barked, grabbing hold of his arm.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I can't control myself…" Zidane murmured, his voice shaking.
With the help of three more guards, we managed to restrain him, pinning his body so he couldn't move.
"What the hell are you—" I stopped mid-sentence when I saw his expression change again.
His samurai blade started appearing and disappearing uncontrollably, even though his arms were restrained.
"Zidane! Control yourself!" I shouted, placing both palms over the spot where the blade was trying to emerge.
"I can't… Commander… I…"
Zidane suddenly fell silent.
His eyes rolled white, and blood began pouring from his nose and mouth.
Just like that…
He was gone.
The organization's forensic report later confirmed the cause of death:
Brain explosion.
-
"I'm afraid the activity in your brain cells is also becoming uncontrollable, Sir," said the bald man standing beside my supervisor. His tone carried the weight of genuine regret.
Even though I had prepared myself for this news since the surgery, actually hearing it—spoken aloud—still crushed me.It felt like something inside me sank. Deep.
"I'm sorry, Iggy," my supervisor said softly, reaching out to touch my forearm resting on the table between us.
I pulled it away before her hand could reach me.
I didn't want her comfort. Not right now. Not from her.
"We… we suggest that you join our isolation facility, Sir," the bald man continued, trying to regain a clinical tone.
"Can you cure me if I do?" I asked without blinking.
The man slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But at the very least, you—"
"How long do I have?" I cut in sharply.
He hesitated, then answered, "Three months… six at most."
I gave a slow nod. The kind of nod people give when they're acknowledging the inevitable.
Then I turned my head to look at Joanna.
"I'm no use to you anymore," I said. My voice wasn't bitter—it was tired. "So can you at least let me spend whatever time I have left… in peace? With my family?"
She didn't answer right away.
She stared at me in silence, her lips pressed together, her face flushed—trying, failing, to contain something. Her eyes glistened.
"Iggy…"
"Well?" I pressed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a single nod.
Her voice was quiet, uneven.
"Of course you can."
She turned away quickly and wiped a tear before it could fall.
In all the years I had known her—in the decades we'd worked side by side—I had never once seen her cry.
For the first time… she looked human.
-
The hardest part wasn't the diagnosis.
It wasn't the pain.
It wasn't even knowing that I had only months left.
No.
The hardest part… was telling Sophia.
I couldn't tell her everything—not the truth. Not the full story.
But she needed to know I was dying.
Even at the end, I had to lie to the woman I loved most.
Because the truth… would only hurt her more.
I waited until we were lying in bed.
The room was dim, the silence warm. We had just made love fifteen minutes ago—slow, tender, like it used to be. She was still curled up against me, her breath soft against my shoulder.
I gently stroked her hair.
"Pumpkin…" I whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I'm dying."
She let out a sleepy chuckle. "Your performance hasn't changed, Honey. You're still fantastic," she teased.
I smiled faintly. "No, Pumpkin. I mean it."
I shifted, turning toward her so I could see her eyes.
"I'm dying… literally."
She opened her eyes and playfully poked my nose. "Don't joke like that. It's not funny."
"I'm not joking," I said quietly. My voice cracked.
Tears began to well in my eyes, and one slipped down my cheek.
That's when she froze.
Her expression shifted—confusion, concern, then fear.
"What… what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I swallowed hard.
"I… I've been diagnosed with late-stage brain cancer," I whispered, my lie landing like a stone between us."It's aggressive. I only have a few months."
Her eyes widened in shock. "No… no, no, no. You're joking, right? You have to be joking—please tell me you're joking!"
I shook my head, once… twice… again.
"No, Honey…" I said, barely able to get the words out.
"No!!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. "No, Tom! No!"
She broke.
She collapsed into sobs, pounding her fists softly against my chest, before finally giving in to gravity and curling into me.
I wrapped my arms around her tightly and pulled her close, placing her head against my chest.
And there, in the darkness, we cried together.
Two broken souls.
One truth too heavy to carry.
And not enough time left to make it fair.
-
Six months later.
"Mom… Erick invited me to his prom this Friday," Jennifer said to Sophia as we sat down for dinner.
"Who's Erick?" I asked, squinting at her.
"My boyfriend, Dad," Jennifer replied with an exasperated roll of her eyes.
"Can I go, Mom? Please?" she asked again, turning back to Sophia.
Sophia looked at me for the final say.
"As long as you're home before nine," I said firmly.
Jennifer winced. "The prom starts at nine!" she protested.
"What kind of prom starts at nine?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A normal kind of prom," Jennifer snapped, clearly annoyed. She turned her gaze back to Sophia. "Can I go, Mom? Please…?"
I reached for the glass in front of me, about to take a drink.
The moment my fingers touched it, the glass disintegrated into dust.
"Shit!" I gasped, jerking my hand back, drops of water spraying across the table.
"What is it, Honey?" Sophia asked, startled by my outburst.
"No… nothing!" I said quickly, hiding my damp hand under the table, my heart pounding.
I tried to steady my voice. "The answer is no," I said to Jennifer, staring straight ahead.
"What?!" she cried in disbelief.
"You heard me. I said no," I repeated, sharper this time.
"But, Daaaad—"
"No. You are not going to the prom. And that's final," I said, my voice hard as stone.
Jennifer pushed her chair back and stood. "I hate you and your stupid rules! It was way better when you weren't around!"
"Jen!" Sophia scolded, her voice rising—but Jennifer had already stormed off, leaving the table.
Sophia turned to me, concern in her eyes. "Honey…"
"With that kind of attitude, I'm even more certain she's not going," I said, rising from my seat as well.
I needed to draw Sophia's attention—to distract her from the glass that had just vanished from the table like a puff of smoke.
Because I knew…
The time I had left was running out.
-
With great effort, I finally managed to place all the CDs into the secret safety box.
They were my final letters—my last messages—to Sophia and Jennifer.
Each disc held an encrypted photograph—pictures captured by Sophia herself. Only she and Jennifer would know those images, and where they were originally stored. The access password wasn't enough. Anyone without that deeper knowledge would never be able to decrypt the truth. I left them a clear clue in the form of a framed, hand-painted quote: "The Life of My Love."
I let my gaze wander slowly across my office one last time.
Yes… this would be the last time I stood in this room.
Three months ago, I began clearing every trace of who I truly was. Every clue. Every leftover trail. I had prepared this moment in silence.
With a few heavy breaths, I opened the door. Even that—something so simple—took incredible effort. Not because of pain or weakness, but because I had to concentrate every ounce of willpower to avoid turning the door into dust. That restraint cost me energy. Everything did now.
Limping slightly, I made my way to the bathroom.
With a groan, I climbed into the bathtub and sank into it, my body aching, drenched in sweat beneath the fabric of my shirt. I paused to rest, regathering strength.
Then, I turned the faucet.
The sound of rushing water echoed around me, filling the silence.I let it wash over my thoughts.
My mind drifted to my life—the best parts of it. My beautiful marriage. The years with Sophia. The laughter. The peace.
Our short, ordinary happiness.
Even the loss of our baby—I no longer regretted it. That pain had brought me Jennifer… the most perfect daughter a man could dream of. I loved them both with everything I had left.
What I did regret... was the time I didn't get to spend with them.
The secrets I had to keep.
The lies I told, even in love.
I was far from the perfect husband.
Far from the perfect father.
But I had tried. God knows I tried—to protect them. To give them joy.
And now… this was the only way I knew how to leave without destroying them.
I looked down at my trembling hand.
Every day, my mind became harder to control. My power flared up without warning. Objects would vanish around me. And the worst fear had begun to haunt me—I didn't dare fall asleep next to Sophia.
What if I touched her in my sleep?
What if I turned the woman I loved… to dust?
The tub was nearly full. I focused, one last time, to shut off the faucet. It obeyed.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
I closed my eyes, and two quiet tears slipped from beneath them.
Then, I inhaled deeply—one final breath—and lowered my head beneath the water.
Yesterday, I had told Sophia everything.
She had cried, begged, screamed at me not to go through with this.
But after hours of aching conversation, of tear-soaked understanding, she agreed.
She let me go.
My lungs began to burn.
Still, I kept my head beneath the surface.
And in that silence, the memories flooded in.
Sophia's face the first time I saw her.
Her voice when she introduced herself.
The nights we spent watching old movies.
Her tears of joy when I gave her this house.
Our wedding. Our vows.
Jennifer's first giggle.
The way she called me "Daddy" with her little spoilt lilt.
The sound of her feet running down the hallway.
How she loved being twirled in the air—still did, even now.
Water slipped down my throat.I began to cough. My body jerked.But I didn't rise.
I stayed under.
The memories darkened—blood, death, faces of the people I'd killed. The men and women who saw me before their lives were erased. The weight of it all bore down.
My lungs screamed, but I ignored them.
I inhaled—deliberately.
The water rushed in.
Pain erupted in every nerve. My body spasmed, muscles revolting, trying to save me.
But I didn't fight back.
I let the pain consume me.
And then—just like that—There was no more pain.
Only silence.
Only darkness.
And somewhere, in the last flicker of light, their faces.
Sophia.
Jennifer.
My life.
My love.
My peace.