*October 8th, 2011*

     Kyralia walked down the bustling sidewalk of New York City, taking in the technological marvels surrounding her. Seventy years had passed since the world had changed beyond recognition. Machines were everywhere, and technology had leapt forward in ways she hadn't expected. At first, the pace of progress had been overwhelming, but over time, she adapted to the new world.

Her life had been full, too. She stayed on as an SSR agent, working alongside Peggy, supporting her through challenges, and becoming an unshakeable team. Together, they fought against all odds, facing battles and sexism alike. But as the years went on, Peggy aged, while Kyralia remained unchanged—her youthful glow untouched by time. To fit in, she cast an illusion spell to appear as though she, too, was ageing, though she could only watch as friends around her grew older, married, had children, and even grandchildren. Sometimes, Kyralia couldn't help but wonder about the life she had yet to live.

Her reflection in the café window broke her daze, reminding her how quickly time passed—what seemed like the blink of an eye to her, was a full life for others. She took a sip of her coffee, the warmth soothing her, the caffeine igniting her senses. As she set the cup down, she smiled at the pink lip stain it left behind.

"Another, Kira?" a familiar voice asked from the counter.

Kyralia glanced up and returned the smile, her gaze softening. "I shouldn't," she replied with a playful sigh, "But I will."

The waitress laughed and filled her cup with another steaming pour. Not a drop spilt. Without another word, she moved on to other customers. Kyralia wrapped her hands around the cup, savouring the warmth, her gaze drifting to the busy New York street. There were still no hover cars, though Howard had promised them long ago. But then again, Kyralia didn't need one to soar.

The traffic slowed with the time of day, and as she watched the city hum along, her attention was drawn to the television above the counter. The screen flickered with the image of the local news station.

"Turn it up," an elderly man near the counter requested, his voice carrying a weight of authority despite its frailty. The waitress obliged, and the volume increased.

"Another sunny but cold day in New York," the anchor said in his thick Brooklyn accent, before suddenly pausing and tapping his ear as if receiving new information. "This just in—A bank robbery is underway. Armed men have stormed the bank and are holding hostages. It's unclear how many are inside."

Kyralia's heart skipped a beat as the camera zoomed in on the bank's front, police cars lining the streets and a SWAT team standing by. The image shifted to a window inside the bank where a young girl, no older than eight, with raven-black ponytails, was visibly terrified. Her face twisted in fear before she was dragged from view, replaced by a masked man holding a military-grade machine gun.

Her eyes narrowed. These people needed help, and fast. Without a moment's hesitation, Kyralia shot up from her seat, her departure unnoticed except for the ringing bell above the door. She left a few bills on the table and vanished, as though she had never been there.

A few moments later, Kyralia stood high on a rooftop, armour gleaming in the sunlight, as she was across from the downtown bank. Her blade was in hand, ready for action. She surveyed the building, trying to find an entry point while keeping herself hidden from the armed men inside. The hostages, she knew, would be gathered together.

Her ears tuned in to the sounds inside—distressed cries, the frantic murmur of frightened voices. Ignoring the outside noise of sirens and police radios, she focused on the people in the bank. She had to get inside, fast.

With a swift gesture, green smoke billowed from the ground and enveloped her. The next instant, she stood inside the bank, above the chaos. The bank's towering dome ceiling and ornate edges only added to the tension in the air. She looked down just in time to see a man in a ski mask wielding a military-issued gun.

Kyralia's eyes narrowed further. Something didn't feel right. This wasn't just a simple robbery.

With a flick of her wrist, she shot green energy at the man, binding his legs and mouth in an instant, pulling him up to her. The man dangled, helpless, before her, upside down. She spun him around with a casual flick of her finger, his wide eyes locking with hers.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice cold and commanding. "And why are you robbing this bank?"

Instead of answering, the man chuckled, as if her questions amused him. Kyralia's patience thinned. "Speak. Or meet the cold edge of my blade," she threatened, drawing her sword and pressing the tip lightly to his throat.

The man's eyes widened in fear. He muttered, "We're just a group of guys trying to get rich."

Kyralia's gaze hardened. "You're lying."

A quick pressure from the sword convinced him to speak up. "We were hired to storm the bank, make no demands, and plant a bomb that'll take out a ten-block radius."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" she pressed, pushing the tip of her sword slightly deeper.

"I-I don't know," the man stammered, fear overtaking him. "All I know is that the bomb's set to go off soon, and it'll take us all with it."

There was no hesitation in her next move. She slammed her fist across his face, knocking him unconscious.

Without wasting another second, Kyralia leapt from her perch and landed gracefully on the ground. She didn't slow down. The clock was ticking. She ran toward the corridor that led to the bank's main lobby. She didn't even flinch when she reached the door and forced her way through.

Kyralia shattered the wooden door with a single, forceful blow, sending splinters flying in all directions. The sudden noise caught the men off guard, causing several of them to duck as the debris scattered. They quickly spun to face her, momentarily frozen in fear. The brief hesitation in their stance gave her the advantage. She quickly assessed the situation—five armed men and a group of hostages pressed against the marble wall, no more than twenty people, ranging in age from children to the elderly.

Her gaze locked onto the young girl from the window. The men, now aware of her presence, raised their weapons, aiming their guns at her. Kyralia's eyes narrowed with a cold focus as she moved faster than they could react.

In one swift motion, she lunged forward, grabbing the closest man's gun and yanking it from his hands. She snapped it in half effortlessly, then swung the broken weapon back into his face with a force that sent him reeling. The remaining men were still too stunned to respond. The hostages watched in a mix of awe and fear, unsure of whether to be relieved or terrified. Kyralia's sword cut through the air with a precise slice, severing one of the men's guns cleanly in two. The man's fearful eyes, barely visible beneath his ski mask, made her smile faintly as she tossed him aside, throwing him into the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious but not kill him.

The other three men, now desperate, began firing. Bullets zipped toward her, but Kyralia's reflexes were sharper. Her sword danced in the air, deflecting the bullets with expert precision, protecting herself and the hostages from harm. Within seconds, their guns were empty. This was her moment.

She threw her sword with incredible force, sending it slicing through the air toward the men. They turned to dodge, but the blade rang out as it embedded itself several inches into the marble wall, cracking it around the impact point. Distracted by the sword's trajectory, Kyralia took her chance. She rushed forward, grabbing the first man by the nape and hurling him into another, sending both sprawling to the ground in a tangled heap.

The last man, panicked, aimed his gun directly at Kyralia's face, his hands trembling.

"I'll do it!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. Kyralia didn't flinch. She only smirked, watching the shaking finger on the trigger. In the blink of an eye, she reached out and seized the barrel of his gun, wrenching it upward with ease. The man's shock at her strength was palpable as he released the weapon, allowing it to fall from his grasp. Before he could recover, she delivered a sharp strike to his face, knocking him out cold.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Kyralia turned to face the hostages, who were now visibly relieved.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked softly, her tone warm and reassuring. The hostages nodded, none of them appearing physically harmed. But before anyone could fully relax, a voice rumbled from behind her, sending a wave of fear through the group.

"Well, if it isn't the wannabe hero."

Kyralia spun around, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword. The hostages gasped as a man in a ski mask stepped into view, his appearance different from the others. He wore a bomb jacket, the red countdown timer clearly visible—only a minute and a half remained.

"You can't stop this," he bellowed, his voice thick with malice. "You can't possibly stop what's coming."

Her gaze hardened as she met his eyes. "I know I can stop you from hurting these people, and countless others," she shot back, stepping closer, her movements slow and calculated. "So how about you turn that off, and we can talk?"

The man's chuckle was low and ominous. "I've heard stories about you... The Golden Lady. Appearing out of thin air, leaving without a trace. A woman who does the impossible, and yet nobody knows who you truly are. Just a hero to the people."

"I'm just a woman fighting to protect people who can't protect themselves," she replied, her voice calm but unwavering. "Killing these people won't satisfy whatever twisted desire you have. It will only add to the bloodshed."

The man scoffed and reached for a small device at his side, pressing a red button that Kyralia knew was the detonator.

"I'll blow us all up. Ten blocks will go with us!" he screamed, holding the device tightly, his finger hovering over the button. Her eyes flickered to the bomb, then back to him. Something clicked in her mind. She knew why he had chosen this bank.

"I know why you picked this place," she said, her voice steady. "If you blow this bank, there's a gas line running directly to other buildings. It would cause a chain reaction of explosions."

The man's face twisted with fury. "And the whole world will see!" he spat, but Kyralia shook her head, unfazed.

"No, they won't," she replied, her resolve firm.

With a speed that could not be matched, she raised her hand in a claw-like gesture, trapping the man in a ball of green energy before he could even react. The explosion detonated within the sphere, but the energy shield absorbed the blast, containing it. As the force of the explosion began to subside, Kyralia slowly clenched her fist, compressing the energy field until it collapsed completely, extinguishing the explosion entirely.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of her releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She let her hand fall to her side and turned to face the hostages, who were now visibly relieved.

"You're all safe," she assured them, her voice gentle. She walked toward them, her eyes softening as she approached the young girl who had been so terrified. Kyralia crouched down to the girl's level.

"I love your pigtails," she said, smiling warmly. "The monsters are gone. There's nothing to be afraid of." She extended her hand to the girl, offering comfort in her presence.

The girl, still scared but filled with trust, took Kyralia's hand, letting herself be lifted to her feet. She held her hand firmly, guiding her as they made their way out of the bank.

Before they left, Kyralia extended her hand toward her sword, which vibrated in the marble wall before flying into her grasp. She smiled at the familiar feeling, while the young girl's eyes lit up with wonder.

As they exited the building, the scene outside was chaotic, with police and paramedics tending to the hostages. The cameras flashed, and Kyraliq knew her face would be plastered across every news outlet soon enough. She had been a hero before—since 1945, in fact—and today was no different. But as they walked into the street, she caught a glimpse of something on the television that made her pause.

A man she thought had died sixty-sixty years ago...

Pushing the thought from her mind, the crowd parted, and as the cameras snapped, Kyralia knelt down once more to meet the girl's eyes. Without a word, the girl wrapped her tiny arms around her neck, unable to fully reach but offering a silent gesture of gratitude.

And in that moment, Kyralia knew this was the only reward she would ever need...

*********

For the Final time: