(AFK WORM) CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Don't pretend to care about something you're not willing to die for.”

. . . . .

Was being a hero something she was willing to die for?

It was not a grand question, not the kind wrapped in speeches or ideals. Instead, it was something far more personal, shaped by the life she now lived rather than the one she had lost.

Annette’s answer came first.

No.

It rose from instinct rather than reason, from the simple and undeniable truth of a mother who had already come too close to leaving her child behind once. Taylor needed her. Danny needed her. Whatever strange path her life had taken, whatever she had become, that responsibility had not lessened. If anything, it had deepened, rooted more firmly in her chest with every shared meal, every quiet morning run, and every fleeting moment where Taylor laughed without reservation.

To throw that away in the name of something as uncertain as heroism felt less like courage and more like abandonment.

And yet, the answer did not settle the matter.

Because the other half of her did not recoil from the question.

Shemira understood the weight of loss in a way that made the idea of death feel… familiar, if not welcome. She had crossed that threshold once and left behind a world, a husband, and a child she would never hold again. Compared to that, the risk of dying here did not carry the same finality. It was not something she desired, but neither was it something that could frighten her into inaction.

More than that, she could not ignore what she had seen.

Brockton Bay was a city that survived on a fragile balance between monsters, one where heroes and villains maintained an uneasy equilibrium that left entire layers of its people untouched. Or rather, untouched by protection. The gangs carved out their territories, the capes clashed in ways that drew attention and headlines, and somewhere beneath all of that, people simply… endured.

People like the man whose spirit now followed her. People who slipped through the cracks.

Shemira had never truly lived that life, but she understood despair well enough to recognize it when she saw it. It had worn different faces in Esperia, but it had always been the same at its core, a slow erosion of hope until survival became the only thing left, if that.

If no one reached down into that space, then nothing would ever change.

The realization led to an evening spent at the dining table long after Danny and Taylor had gone to bed, a notebook spread open before her as she attempted to give shape to something she had never needed before.

Her pen hovered uncertainly at first.

She was not an artist. That much became clear within the first few lines she attempted, the proportions slightly off, and the details not quite matching what she could see in her head. Still, she persisted, sketching and crossing out, adjusting and redrawing until something resembling a coherent design began to take form.

It needed to be distinctive.

After all, it wasn't merely a disguise, but something so far removed from her ordinary appearance that no one would think to look beneath it. At the same time, it could not hinder her movement. Whatever abilities she possessed, they did not negate the need to move freely, especially if she intended to place herself in danger.

Slowly, its general shape emerged.

A long, flowing dress, dark in color, its fabric designed to move rather than restrict. The shoulders were left bare, vanity aside, because anything that limited the motion of her arms would become a liability in a fight. Slits ran along the sides, high enough to allow for unrestricted movement, revealing the line of fitted boots beneath, their heels pointed without sacrificing stability.

Her pen paused when she reached the mask.

That, more than anything, would define her.

She drew it carefully, more slowly than the rest, as though some instinct guided her hand where skill could not. The mask covered the upper half of her face completely, smooth and intimidating in its design, leaving no room for recognition. From its top, two curved horns extended upward and back, elegant in their shape yet unmistakably inhuman.

She studied the sketch for a long moment after she finished, her gaze lingering on the empty space where the eyes should have been.

Annette’s instincts stirred at that, a slight unease rising at the thought of willingly limiting her own vision where awareness could mean the difference between life and death.

But Shemira understood something else.

Her eyes, she realized, were not what they had once been.

The memory of the spirit orb surfaced easily, its slit pupil unblinking, its awareness not bound by the narrow limitations of a human gaze. Even now, she could feel its presence when she focused, the way it hovered just beyond sight yet remained undeniably there.

Watching, filling in something she had never realized was missing.

If the orb could see, then she would not need to.

The mask would not blind her.

If anything, it would make her something more.

She set the pen down at last, her fingers resting lightly against the page as she regarded the design in silence. It was imperfect, rough in places where her skill had failed her, but the idea behind it felt right.

Leaning back in her seat, she stared up at the ceiling with a sigh. 

The name could wait. She had done enough today.