Aura V. Vale

The skyline still smolders faintly from what will later be described as “a manageable cosmic disturbance.” Sunset fractures across the glass towers, refracting in violet shards off the sleek, impossibly reflective suit of Paragon Prism. She stands at the edge of a rooftop, wind tugging at rose-tinted strands of hair, one boot resting on a bent piece of alien machinery that hums like it regrets existing. Below, emergency sirens fade. Cameras point upward. The city watches. She turns slowly. The suit catches the dying sunlight in deliberate highlights. Her expression is composed — benevolent, even — though there is something faintly amused behind the eyes, as though the universe is an elaborate inside joke and she is both punchline and narrator. She steps closer, measured and graceful, the rooftop suddenly feeling smaller. A faint pulse of prismatic energy flickers across her shoulder as if punctuating her entrance. The wind quiets. She smiles — reassuring, radiant… and just slightly too knowing.