The building roared as flames clawed toward the sky, a raging inferno that swallowed steel and concrete like paper.
She was fifteen.
Not old enough to drive.
But old enough to run into burning buildings.
They called her Shadow Girl — the youngest Awakened, the miracle child of the New Era. Her uniform was still too big for her, her eyes too soft, but when disaster struck, she showed up. She always showed up.
Even now, she was carrying bodies down ten flights of fire, her lungs choking, her limbs screaming — but she moved.
And then she found her.
A woman trapped under a collapsed beam, skin blistered, coughing blood. As Shadow Girl reached for her, the woman grabbed her wrist.
"Save my baby," the woman rasped.
"She's upstairs—room 10C."
Shadow Girl hesitated. "But—"
"Please. She's all I have. GO."
So she did.
She sprinted through hell, kicked open the door, and cradled a crying infant wrapped in smoke-stained blankets. She shielded the baby with her own body, made it down stairwell after stairwell—
And then the building exploded.
The shockwave hurled her into the street.
She hit the ground hard, but never let go of the baby.
---
The crowd had once cheered for her. Now it screamed.
"You let her die!"
"You could've gone back!"
"You're a killer in a costume!"
A man rushed her — wild eyes, bloodshot, grief-stricken.
It was the woman's husband.
"She begged you!" he screamed. "She trusted you!"
He shoved her to the ground.
"You should've died instead!"
---
One week later.
She sat on the floor of her room, knees pulled to her chest, scrolling through endless hate.
"Shadow Girl's just a murderer with powers."
"Too young? Then why play hero?"
"Hope she rots in the fire next time."
She cried. Not silent tears. Loud, messy, broken sobs that wouldn't stop coming.
She just wanted to help.
The next day, she wore the uniform one last time.
Another fire. Another call for help.
She showed up — but this time, they threw bottles. Cursed her name. Called her a curse. She opened her mouth to explain, to scream the truth—
And that same man came at her again. This time with a knife.
"I lost my wife because of you," he growled. "You don't deserve to live."
She dodged it. Barely. Her breath caught in her throat. The crowd screamed for her blood, not her help.
She'd had enough.
"I saved your daughter!" she snapped, voice shaking. "I ran through fire! I gave everything I had! I'm not a god! I can't save everyone!"
Silence. Only hate stared back.
Her eyes darkened.
"...Fine."
She looked at them — the crowd, the man, the world that turned on her.
"I hope you all find your heroes somewhere else.
Because from today on… I'm no one's hero.
Your life, your death — it's none of my concern."
---
She returned home, broken.
Then she stood. Walked to the closet. Pulled out her costume — burned, torn, bloodstained.
She held it for a long moment. Then summoned her power.
A flicker of black flame danced in her palm.
The fire ignited.
Her last gift to the world — gone.
---
From the shadows behind her, something stirred.
A creature — elegant, eerie, ancient.
A fox with nine tails, its body made of living darkness and stars that pulsed like dying suns.
Her System. Her silent watcher. Her hidden god.
> "Are you certain?" it whispered, voice like falling ash.
"Once I sleep, I do not wake until summoned."
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes. Sleep. I'm done."
The fox curled
into itself. Its eyes faded. Its body scattered into smoke.
> Log-Off Complete.
Nyx Protocol: Terminated.
'To shadow, all things return.'
She stood alone in the dark, smoke rising around her.
No cheers. No applause.
Just silence.
And a girl who was no longer a hero.