The rain began long before dawn. Thin, silver threads fell endlessly from the clouds, tracing the skyline of City X, washing the color out of everything below. The day Sang-hee Anderson was laid to rest felt like the galaxy itself mourned her.

A convoy of quiet hovercars wound through the narrow streets toward the old hillside cemetery one of the few places in the city untouched by modern steel and hologlass.

Blaze walked at the front beside Jason, both dressed in dark suits. His umbrella hung uselessly at his side. The rain soaked through his white hair and ran down his face, mingling with the tears he refused to show.

The others followed in silence Lionel, Anastasia, Scarlet, Grim, Diego, and the rest of the Titans' roster. The sky reflected their mood: gray, heavy, and still.

At the small clearing, the coffin hovered on an anti-grav stretcher, descending slowly as the priest recited the final words of farewell.

"May her soul rest among the stars she so often dreamed beneath. May her warmth never fade from the hearts she touched."

Blaze said nothing. His gaze stayed locked on the coffin's smooth surface. The engraving on the lid a simple winged emblem shimmered faintly before the rain dulled its glow.

"She would've been proud, you know," Jason said quietly beside him, his tone soft but steady.

Blaze's voice was hoarse when he finally replied, "I never gave her the life she deserved."

Jason's hand tightened briefly on his shoulder. "You gave her hope, Dante. And that's worth more than anything."

But Blaze didn't answer. The rain fell harder, blurring the coffin's descent.

When the priest stepped back, Blaze approached alone. He crouched, placed a small white hairpin her favorite atop the lid, and whispered, "You don't have to worry anymore. I'll make sure no one forgets us again."

As he stepped back, the earth began to cover the coffin. Scarlet and Anastasia flanked him quietly. Scarlet reached out, her red hair dripping like blood in the rain. "You're not alone, Blaze. We're here."

He nodded once, unable to speak.

They gathered later that afternoon at a small diner not far from the cemetery an old-fashioned place with flickering lamps and steamed-up windows. The rain pattered endlessly against the glass, drowning the low hum of conversation inside.

Jason sat at the head of the long table, his usual authority tempered by grief. Across from him, Blaze sat staring into a cup of untouched tea.

Scarlet leaned on the table, watching him. "Your mom looked peaceful. I didn't expect that."

Blaze's lips twitched. "She always said she'd rest when I came home. Guess she kept her promise."

Lionel shifted uncomfortably. "It's not fair," he muttered. "She waited all that time, and now—"

Blaze cut in, voice low but sharp. "Life's never been fair, Lionel. You learn that early or you break trying to fight it."

An awkward silence followed. Even Grim, who usually had something to say, stared at his drink without a word.

Finally, Anastasia spoke softly, "She must've been proud. To see her son back… alive after a century."

Blaze gave a hollow laugh. "Alive, sure. But I came back to a galaxy that doesn't remember me, a team that replaced me, and a world that moved on. She was the only one who didn't."

Jason looked up. "That's why we're here. You still have people who care, Blaze. Family isn't just blood anymore."

The word family hit him harder than he expected. For a moment, the burning anger and grief in his chest gave way to something fragile gratitude, maybe. He nodded slowly.

Jason raised his cup. "To Sang-hee Anderson a mother who raised a fire too bright for the galaxy to forget."

Everyone lifted their cups. The clinking sound was soft, reverent. For a brief moment, the grief felt shared, the loneliness lighter.

But peace never lasted long in Blaze's world.

Across the city, beneath the neon heart of downtown, a very different gathering took place.

The Hunters' base was hidden beneath an abandoned freight terminal, a place that smelled of rust, ozone, and secrets. In the dim underground chamber, holographic figures shimmered around a metal table faceless silhouettes flickering with static.

"The subject known as Blaze attended a funeral today," one of them reported. "He's emotionally unstable. The time to exploit that is now."

Another voice rasped through the static, colder, commanding. "No. Let him grieve. Pain sharpens purpose and when his fire grows too bright, then we strike. Our true objective lies with the data embedded in his Titan code."

A third hologram leaned forward. "And Diego?"

The leader's tone darkened. "Our contact still plays the fool. But he won't hold out forever. Remind him who keeps his record sealed."

The holograms flickered out, leaving only the hum of generators and the faint echo of rain dripping through cracks above.

Outside the diner, Diego stood in the rain, his hood pulled up. He waited until the others left before pulling out his comm-link. A distorted voice answered.

"You missed your report, Diego."

He exhaled slowly. "Not now. It's not the time."

"You don't decide the time. You're deep enough to earn his trust — we need intel before the tournament starts."

"I said not now!" Diego hissed, glancing back at the diner's glowing windows. "He just buried his mother. I'm not—"

The voice cut him off, suddenly calm. "You remember the deal, don't you? We buried your past, Diego. One leak, one breath about your old life, and you're done. We'll remind the Federation what you did."

A long silence followed. Diego's grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Fine," he muttered. "But don't push me."

The line went dead.

He slipped the comm-link back into his jacket and looked up at the sky. The rain had turned heavier, washing away the last of the daylight.

"Lo siento, hermano," he whispered under his breath. "You don't deserve what's coming."

Later that night, Blaze returned to mom apartment alone. The lights were off, the air thick with the smell of damp wood and silence.

He walked straight to his mother's room. Her scent still lingered faintly jasmine and clean linen. He sat on the edge of her bed, tracing the outline of her photo frame with his thumb.

She looked so alive in it smiling, her hair tied up, eyes warm and proud.

He rested his forehead on his fist. "I should've come sooner."

No answer. Only the steady patter of rain outside.

He rose after a long time and stepped outside to the balcony. The city stretched before him neon rivers cutting through towers of glass and smoke. His reflection in the window looked like a ghost from another era.

Lightning flashed, and for a heartbeat, he saw the fire in his eyes again the fire that had once made him a legend.

"I'll keep my promise," he said softly to the storm. "To her… and to myself."

The thunder rolled in response, deep and distant.

He closed his eyes and stood in the rain, letting it soak through him until the numbness faded until only the burning resolve in his chest remained.

The next morning, the Titans' dorms were eerily quiet. The team's group chat buzzed with messages of support, but Blaze didn't reply.

Jason looked out his office window at the rain-soaked city and sighed. "You'll rise from this, kid," he murmured. "Just don't let the fire burn you first."

Far away, Diego deleted another message from the Hunters, his expression unreadable.

And Blaze… still stood in the rain long after dawn broke, his heart heavy, but his eyes fierce like a storm waiting to move.

The galaxy might've forgotten Dante Anderson once. But this time, it would remember Blaze.

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