Chapter One: After the Fall

A festival plaza below. Tonight marked the fifth anniversary of the Weaver’s public debut; twenty thousand cameras were pointed toward this building. She was going to die on a live broadcast. At the sixth second, silver light appeared. It did not shoot from a rooftop. It blossomed around her waist first, then extended toward the opposite tower, as if the result had arrived before its cause. Translucent webbing snapped tight. Her ribs groaned and her body swung into a wide arc. The crowd’s gasp became a tidal wave. A black-and-silver figure swept along the line. He caught her with one arm and made a second swing twelve meters above the plaza. His winged cloak crossed the giant screens. Behind the mask’s mirrored lenses, his eyes looked exhausted.