svaneti

"You look like you're checking if you're real." Ethan turned. Iona leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his massive chest, an unlit cigar wedged into a grin. "You're lucky you didn't turn red and ugly like Redstone." "I feel... heavy," Ethan admitted. "Good." Iona pushed off the wall. "Heavy hits harder. But let's see if you're just heavy or actually strong." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. It felt like being struck by a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet. "Come on. We are going on vacation." Ethan frowned. "Where?" Iona stopped. Turned around quickly. "To my homeland, baby. We have to test if you still got taste receptors intact." They went to the portal. Iona was already striding ahead, fast and purposeful. Ethan had to focus not to fall behind. A few minutes later, Ethan stood before a tower. Old. Stone. Scarred by time. "What are those towers?" Ethan asked. Iona answered without hesitation. "The people here used them for defense. They were always built close to settlements." Ethan stared at the towers. "Impressive. So being a sentry comes naturally to you." Iona spread his hands. "Of course. That's why I'm so good at it." The place rose from elevated ground, overlooking a small town nestled deep within green mountains. Everything felt quiet here—protected, almost hidden. "I hid here with Ani," Iona said, pointing toward the tower. "Before Arthur found us." Ethan looked around, still trying to place it. "Wait. Are we in Georgia?" "Yes," Iona replied simply. "Svaneti." He turned and started down the narrow path leading toward the town below. "Come on. Let's eat." A short while later, Iona returned, his arms full of food. They sat at a rough wooden table set beneath a tree. Leaves shifted softly overhead. "Try this," Iona said, almost commanding, his excitement barely contained. Ethan obeyed. His response came immediately, mouth still full. "This is incredible. What is it?" "Kubdari," Iona replied with unmistakable pride. Then he added, grinning: "I brought some to Franco. Thought he should learn what the word delicious actually means." Ethan laughed. "And?" Iona rolled his eyes. "He said it was food for poor people." Ethan raised an eyebrow. "That couldn't have ended well." Iona nodded once, smiling wider. "Arthur intervened." "So this is where you and Ani lived?" Ethan asked. Iona had already picked up a second kubdari. "No. Another region." Then, more quietly: "It's occupied now." Ethan looked up, interest sharpening. "What happened?" Iona's answer was brief. "War." For the first time, Ethan noticed it—the pain in his eyes. The heaviness behind them. A sadness that hadn't been there before. He didn't press. Instead, he shifted the subject. "Elizabeth said the mutation uses trauma. I was broken once. A cripple. And now Cirrus claims nothing can break my body." He looked at Iona. "What about you? What are your powers?" Iona paused, considering the question. "I was a weak kid. My father put me into MMA. It was a disaster." He gave a short, humorless smile. "They told me I punched like a girl. I got bullied. Physically. No matter how hard I tried, it didn't stop." Ethan listened closely. "Ani had to protect me." Ethan found it hard to believe—that this almost mythic figure, this wall of muscle and confidence, had ever been helpless. "And now?" Ethan asked. A familiar pride returned to Iona's face. "Now, very few beings can withstand my punch." As they finished eating, a man passed along the narrow path below the tree. Old. Bent. Wrapped in a faded coat too heavy for the weather. He stopped when he saw Ethan. Not the food. Not Iona. Ethan. His eyes lingered a moment too long. "Hello, younglings," the man said, his voice low. "Hello." They both answered. The man was already walking away. Over his shoulder, almost kindly, he added: "Be very careful. Monsters aren't born from power, my sons. They're born from pain." Ethan frowned. "What?" He disappeared down the path. Iona stared after him. "I don't know him. And I know everyone here." The old man disappeared from view. Iona and Ethan continued their conversation as if he had never passed by. "I see a lot of churches," Ethan said, staring toward the horizon. Iona nodded. "There are many churches here." Ethan asked his next question. "And you? Are you religious?" Iona thought for a moment, then said: "I was, when I was a child. But now that I live in a celestial city run by a five-meter hologram that gave us superpowers and keeps a floating sphere as an assistant... it's a little hard to stay religious." Ethan burst out laughing. "Yeah. That really does make it difficult." He set the food down on the table. "You know, I'm realizing now that I'm actually afraid to tell anyone close to me about this place. It sounds so insane." Iona kept eating, laughing through his mouthful. "But you believed it, didn't you?" Ethan shook his head. "No. Arthur tricked me—very intelligently. If he had told me outright about a shadowless celestial city, I would've turned around immediately and voluntarily sat myself back down in a wheelchair." Iona nearly fell out of his chair. Their laughter echoed across the whole area. When they finished eating, Iona suggested climbing to the summit of Mount Lahili to enjoy the view from above. Ethan agreed. Iona moved up the mountain like the wind, but Ethan didn't fall behind. Adrenaline flooded his body, mixed with his newly discovered strength and speed. He wove effortlessly between trees and bushes, his movements lighter than he expected, almost instinctive. Iona stopped and looked down at him from higher up. "So? Not tired yet?" Ethan shook his head, surprised. "No." Suddenly, Iona's expression changed. Not fear—curiosity. "There's a bear behind you," he said, nodding casually. Ethan turned. A black bear stood in front of him, balanced on its hind legs, nearly his height. Ethan raised his hand slowly. Not in defense. Not in threat. Gentle. "Hey. Can we have peace?" The bear hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then it lunged. Pain exploded up Ethan's arm as teeth sank into his flesh—violent, abrupt, unquestioning. He cried out, more in surprise than agony. The bear released him almost immediately and bolted into the trees, leaves and branches tearing in its wake. Ethan stood there, breathing hard. It hurt. But not the way it should have. He looked down at his arm. The skin was bruised, marked—but intact. No blood. No tearing. His hand trembled only slightly as he flexed his fingers. Ethan felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He hadn't been afraid when he reached out. He was afraid now. Iona stepped closer and examined the injured arm. "Impressive," he murmured, giving Ethan a light pat on the shoulder. "So. Do we keep going—or head back?" Ethan looked up at him and smiled. "Let's keep going." Not long after, they reached a vantage point that stole Ethan's breath. Green mountains stretched below them, guarded by snow-capped peaks that rose like sentinels, gazing down with quiet authority. Iona seemed to take even more pleasure in Ethan's exclamations than in the view itself, as if every expression of awe were a compliment paid directly to him. They stayed long enough to see it all beneath the moonlight. More beautiful than Ethan had expected. They returned to the city late that night.