Battle Of Planets

The next day, the city of Elria stood still in ghostly silence.

For the first time in decades, no fights broke out on the streets, no alarms rang out, and no metallic footsteps echoed through the alleys. Holographic banners displayed the late president’s image draped over towering buildings, flickering solemnly. Giant digital billboards streamed his speeches, his victories, and his dreams for Elria, while soft orchestral music filled the city’s speakers.

A sea of people gathered in central Times Square, dressed in muted colors, heads bowed as a towering hologram of the president loomed above them. His final recorded message, one of hope and unity, played for the nation. From the wealthiest elites in sky-high towers to the working class in the underground sectors, all stood in silent tribute. Across the city, people watched from their homes, workplaces, and streets, their eyes glued to live broadcasts. Footage of the previous day’s destruction replayed in an endless loop, showing collapsed buildings, fire-lit skies, and the cost of the battle that had ravaged Elria.

"I still can’t believe he’s gone," a woman whispered as she watched the hologram. "He was supposed to lead us through this."

"He fought until the end," an elderly man next to her murmured. "But what now? Who will take his place?"

Seraphina stood at the forefront of the ceremony, barely holding herself together. Her father was gone. The man who had shaped this city and commanded respect was now just a memory flickering across the towering holograms. A void stretched where he once stood, vast and impossible to fill.

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms, waging a quiet battle against the grief that clawed at her throat. Tears threatened to spill, but she swallowed them back. She couldn’t break—not here, not now. The city was watching. Her father’s enemies were watching.

Standing beside her, her mother seemed carved from stone. Once regal and full of life, her face was now pale and inscrutable. She neither cried nor wavered. Yet the weight of her grief was evident in her posture—too still, too silent. The onlookers glanced at her with sympathy, murmuring their condolences, but none could comprehend what it meant to lose a lifelong companion, a partner in power and struggle.

Alex hesitated, his face still bruised from battle and his body aching from wounds that had yet to heal fully. Yet, his concern wasn’t for himself—it was for Seraphina. He took a quiet step closer, his voice low for her.

"You’re not alone," he whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a moment, her fingers twitched as if they wanted to reach out for him, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave the slightest nod, silently acknowledging his words.