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The Tuscan sun did not feel the same as the sun in Japan. In Tokyo, the light had felt like hope for the future, reflected off of towering glass skyscrapers and filtered through the rose tinted glasses of a society that still believed in heroes. Here, in the hills outside of Florence, the sun was unforgiving. It beat down on the charred skeletal remains of the Scervino estate, baking the smell of ash and rot into the air.
Giulio Gandini adjusted the strap of his canvas rucksack. It dug into his left shoulder, the one that was still his own. On his right, Japanese cybernetics hummed low. It was a masterpiece, quiet enough to go undetected without use of a quirk, but he heard it through the vibrations reverberating through his collarbone.
He crested the hill, looking down at the mansion.
It was nothing but a carcass now. The fires from the battle, from Anna’s capture, had gutted the building thoroughly. The roof had collapsed in three places, the scorched wood beams looking like the broken ribs of a dying beast. Nature had already begun to reclaim it. Vines were creeping up the blackened walls, and birds had nested in the remains of the master bedroom.
It would be this way for a long time, likely until its collapse. There were no construction crews to help them rebuild, and even if there were, they had no money now to pay them.
Giulio descended the slope, his boots crunching on dry thistle. He had spent the morning three miles away, in the remnants of a village that had been shelled by a rival family two years ago. In his sack were two sealed cans of peaches, a bag of rice with more parasites than grains, and a bottle of wine that had miraculously survived the looting.
This was their wealth now. The Scervino vaults had been raided during the attack, its riches scattered to the winds. The fear that the Scervino name once commanded had died with Anna’s father. Now, he was just a ghost in a shallow grave, his family too poor for even a coffin.
He bypassed the main entrance, the heavy iron gates wrenched violently off their hinges during the attack, and headed for the back garden.
Anna Scervino, the heir to nothing, knelt in the dirt, the hem of a dirty, oversized woolen coat pooled around her knees. Her blonde hair, once kept in intricate braids or pristine waves, hung loose and tangled down her back, brushing lightly against her back in the dry wind.
She was staring at the mounds of earth.
There were six of them. Rough, uneven heaps of soil packed down by hand. There were no marble headstones, only crossed pieces of charred timber that Giulio had tied together with wire.
"Signorina," Giulio said softly, announcing his presence so as not to startle her.
Anna finished placing a small, white wildflower on the center grave—her father’s—before turning. Her face was gaunt, the baby fat of her luxurious youth melted away by stress and starvation, leaving sharp, high cheekbones. Her eyes were clear, though. Red with tears, but clear. He’d seen her drunk and sobbing enough to tell when she was sober.
"You found something," she said. Her voice was raspy. She hadn't spoken much in days.
"Peaches. And rice," Giulio said, approaching her. He offered a hand.
She looked at his hand, though it wasn’t really his. The metal fingers were sleek, covered in a matte synthetic skin that matched his tone, but was cold to the touch. She grabbed his other arm. Her fingers pressed against warm skin instead of metal and gripped tight enough to bruise, as if afraid that he would leave her. He pulled her up without complaint.
For years, touching Anna meant inviting the strain of his quirk. It meant his instincts bristling to get away, pain warring against her thorns. Now, there was nothing. Just the warmth of a hand against his arm. He had erased her curse, and in doing so, without the target of her power, his own had withered and died. He’d never regretted it. Being able to hold her hand was worth losing everything and more.
"The ground is hard," Anna murmured, dusting off her knees. "I should have dug them deeper."
"You dug them deep enough," Giulio assured her. It had taken them three days to bury the bodies they had found in the rubble. "The wild dogs won't get them."
"It's not the dogs I'm worried about," she said, casting a glance toward the horizon, where a plume of black smoke rose from the direction of Florence.
They walked together toward the scullery (a small room next to a kitchen used for dishwashing, typically found in rich people homes, seriously who tf has the money for a dishwashing room), the only part of the mansion that still had a roof and all four walls. It was damp and smelled of mildew, but it was enough shelter to get through the night.
Giulio set about making their lunch. He found a clean pot, poured water from the rain-catcher barrel, and set it over a small camping stove he’d scavenged.
"Did you see anyone?" Anna asked, sitting on the mattress they shared, pulling her knees to her chest.
"A scout on a motorbike. Wearing red armbands. Probably from the Rossi family," Giulio reported, his tone professional, as if he were still a butler reporting something mundane. "He didn't see me. I stayed in the treeline."
Anna nodded slowly. "The Rossis… I remember them. They were terrified of Father. They used to send tribute every Christmas."
"The Rossis are hungry, like everyone else," Giulio said, stirring the rice. "And they know the Lion is dead. They're testing the perimeter. Eventually, they will come up the hill."
"Let them come," Anna said, a flash of steel in her eyes, one he hadn’t seen in weeks. "There is nothing here to steal."
"There is you," Giulio said. He didn't look at her, focusing intently on the boiling water.
The silence stretched between them. In Europe, a woman—specifically a former heiress, and a powerful one at that—was a valuable commodity. Without heroes to patrol the streets, the laws were written by whoever had the most influence or the strongest quirk. The Scervino family name, even diminished to the point of poverty, was still a prize to be won.
"I'm not a prize anymore, Giulio," she said. "I'm just a quirkless girl."
"To them, you are a symbol. A claim to the territory," Giulio corrected. He poured the rice into two chipped bowls and topped them with the peaches. It was a pathetic meal, but he presented it to her with a bow, his cybernetic arm moving smooth enough to almost look real. "Dinner is served, Signorina."
She took the bowl, her fingers brushing his. "Stop calling me that. We’re the only ones left, you don’t have to keep acting like I’m your employer."
"Old habits," he murmured, sitting on the mattress opposite her.
They ate in silence, the sound of spoons scraping ceramic filling the space between them. Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through bullet holes in the walls.
"Do you miss it?" she asked suddenly.
Giulio looked up. "The food? Yes. I dream of pasta carbonara."
"The power," she said. "Your quirk."
Giulio looked at his right hand. He flexed the mechanical fingers. He remembered the sensation of his quirk. It was irritating to use, especially on a quirk as powerful as hers, but what had hurt him most was the guilt on her face every time he had to.
"No," he said honestly. "My quirk was a response to yours. It existed only to hurt you, or to stop you from hurting others. It was a shackle." He met her gaze. "I miss the security of it. I miss being able to ensure your safety with a touch. But I do not miss the thing itself."
Anna nodded, looking down at the bowl in her pale hands. "I feel… quiet. My head used to be so loud, but it’s just silence now. Sometimes I panic, thinking I've gone deaf."
"It is peace, Anna," Giulio said, dropping the title. He rested his hand over hers. "It is what you deserved, and I apologize for taking so long to give it to you."
A sound outside shattered the moment.
The crunch of gravel. Heavy tires. Not a scout bike this time. A truck.
Giulio was on his feet instantly. The transition from servant to soldier was seamless. He snatched up his weapon from the corner, the weight as natural as that of his cybernetic arm. It was a modified hunting rifle that he’d taken from a dead looter little over a week ago.
"Stay here," he commanded, his voice low.
"No," Anna stood up. She grabbed a rusted iron poker from the fireplace. "This is my house."
Giulio didn't argue. There was no time.
They moved to the foyer, ash hanging in the air. The splintered doors allowed for a direct view of the road. A heavy-duty transport truck, painted with crude red spray paint, had rolled through the broken gates. Four men jumped out. They weren't wearing suits like the Lion’s associates. They were grunts, fitted in tactical gear mixed with scavenged motocross armor. Two of them had visible mutation quirks. One had skin like concrete, and the other had thin porcupine spines protruding from his forearms.
"Rossi's soldiers," Giulio whispered. "They aren't here to scavenge. They're claiming the mansion today."
"Hey!" The concrete man shouted, his voice booming through the open air. "Scervino! We know you're in there! The old man is dead. The territory belongs to the Rossi family now. Come out, and we won't burn the rest of this dump down with you inside!"
Giulio checked the chamber of his rifle. One round. He had three more in his pocket. Four bullets, four targets. But their armor was thick, and he wasn’t about to waste bullets on targets he wasn't sure would go down.
"The arm," Giulio whispered to Anna. "It has somewhat of a taser built in."
"What?" Anna looked at him.
"It’ll take up most of the arm’s reserves, and it’ll be days before it’s back at full power." Giulio rolled up his sleeve. There was a small dial near the elbow. "I haven't tested it yet."
"Giulio, you're still quirkless," Anna said, her voice trembling slightly. "And even if you weren’t there are four of them and one of you."
"I don't have to beat them," he said, eyes scanning the courtyard. "I just have to scare them enough to leave."
He turned to her. "When I go out, I need you to yell. Scream at them. Act like the Scervino heir. Make them believe you still have the power."
"But I don't—"
"They don't know that. Europe has been dark. Rumors are all they have. All they know is that you are powerful enough for the Gollini family to personally seek you out, and that the Gollini family is now in shambles. They might hesitate. I need that hesitation."
Before she could try to pull him away, Giulio stood up, shoved the broken door open, and stepped out into the blinding midday sun.
The four men tensed, weapons raised.
"The butler," the spined man sneered. "We heard you were dead."
"Reports of my death were… greatly exaggerated," Giulio said, his voice calm, right hand clenched into a fist. He held the rifle loosely with his left. "You are trespassing on Scervino territory. Leave now, and you keep your lives."
The concrete man laughed. "Look around, butler! There is no Scervino soil. Just ash. We're taking the girl."
"Anna!" Giulio shouted.
Anna stepped into the doorway. She stood tall, channeling every ounce of arrogance her grandmother had tried to drill into her. She looked at the armed men like they were insects.
"You dare?" she screamed, her voice struggling not to crack after days of barely any use. "You filth! You think you can touch me?"
She raised her hand towards them, hoping they’d see the beginnings of an attack and not a powerless heir.
The men flinched back a step. If she was powerful enough for the head of the Gollini, the Alchemist himself, to seek her out, they wouldn't stand a chance.
"Shoot her!" the concrete man yelled.
The spined man raised his gun.
Giulio moved.
He sprinted forward, the servos in his right leg—another gift from Japan—whirring loudly.
He raised the rifle, his mechanical eye feeding him information, not at the men, but at the engine of the truck behind them.
Bang.
The bullet slammed into the front, tearing through the metal and igniting the oil inside. The truck didn't explode as violently as he’d hoped, but a jet of flame and smoke erupted towards the clouds, drawing their attention. The men looked back, distracted.
Giulio dropped the rifle and closed the distance to the concrete man. The brute turned back just in time to swing a heavy fist. Giulio ducked, the wind of the punch ruffling his hair, and drove his mechanical fist into the man’s armored stomach.
The pulse activated on impact.
ZZZ-CRACK!
A massive jolt of stored electricity discharged from the metal knuckles. It passed through the metal, losing some of its strength, but retaining enough to blind him with pain. The concrete man convulsed, his quirk receding back into tanned skin, and he crumpled to the ground.
The other three turned on him.
"Anna, now!" Giulio shouted, turning back to Anna.
Anna stomped her foot, sending up a cloud of dust and ash to swirl around her. It was a bluff, a pathetic, desperate bluff that would fall apart the moment they took a closer look. But amidst the smoke of the burning truck and the rumors about her quirk, it looked convincingly powerful.
"She’s activated it!" one of the men screamed. "Pull back! It’s not worth it!"
Panic, the greatest weapon in an anarchy, took hold. Their leader was down, the truck was burning, and the heir of the Scervino family, formidable enough to garner the attention of Europe’s largest family, was seemingly summoning her power.
The three conscious men grabbed their fallen comrade by his tactical vest and dragged him away, sprinting back down the hill toward where they must have parked their bikes.
"We'll be back with the army!" one shouted, his voice wavering a bit.
Giulio stood in the courtyard, his chest heaving. The discharge had overheated his arm. Acrid smoke was rising from the joints. He felt dizzy.
He turned to look at Anna.
She was still standing in the doorway, her hand hanging limp by her side, the ash settling around her feet. She just looked sad now.
Giulio walked back to her. He stumbled slightly, and she caught him.
"You crazy fool," she breathed, clutching his jacket.
"It worked," Giulio wheezed, the implants in his stump beginning to burn. "For now."
They retreated inside, barring the heavy oak door. The adrenaline was fading, leaving them exhausted.
They sat on the floor of the scullery, the light outside turning golden as evening approached. The bluff wouldn't last forever, they knew. The Rossi family would realize she was powerless, and they would come back with more men, or they would shell the house from a distance.
"We can't stay here," Anna said quietly. "It’s too dangerous."
"No," Giulio agreed. He looked at his arm. The indicator on dial was flashing red. "We have to move. North, maybe. Towards the Swiss border. I hear the Neutrality Zones are still holding."
"Leaving the graves…" Anna’s voice hitched.
"Your family isn't in the ground, Anna," Giulio said gently. "They are watching us, somewhere. You are the head of the family now. We can’t rebuild if we’re dead."
Anna looked around the dark, damp room. This was all that was left of an empire. And yet, looking at Giulio—bruised, battered, half made of metal, and looking at her with that unwavering care she didn’t deserve but craved from him desperately—she didn't feel poor.
She reached out and touched his face, her thumb brushing the soot from his cheek.
"Very well, Giulio," she said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Pack the peaches. We’ll leave at dawn."
Giulio bowed his head as he always did, a light smile dancing at his lips.
"As you wish, Anna."