The wind cut down the capital streets of Zeraph with surgical precision, guided by the layout of vertical spires that split the sky. At the center of the city stood the Control Tower, a black obelisk stretching beyond the clouds, surrounded by a constant hum from the shielding dome above. Even the Exotics kept their distance from this place.
Beneath its shadow, a boy stood alone.
His name, as far as anyone knew, was Kael Draen.
He hadn't been born with it.
Four years earlier, at the age of ten, he had been exiled from his House, stripped of his identity, and given a new one. It was tradition — brutal, calculated, and absolute. House Rehaven didn't raise heirs. It released them into the wild and let survival determine worth.
But exile wasn't abandonment.
Each child received more wealth than most citizens would earn in a lifetime. Along with it came a guardian — an assistant, trained from childhood to protect and monitor the heir. Their loyalty was ensured by conditioning and blood-bound contracts. They followed orders, gave advice when needed, and were ready to die at a moment's notice.
Kyron's guardian had done exactly that.
Two years ago, someone tried to assassinate him. He still didn't know who. A sibling, most likely. Possibly a rival House. Whoever it was, they underestimated him — and underestimated Elira. She gave her life shielding him from the explosion. Her final act was to press a silver chain into his hand, a corestone at its center glowing faintly blue.
He had worn it ever since.
Kyron didn't speak during the days that followed. He didn't cry. He didn't rage. But something inside him shifted. Before that moment, he still believed in logic. In strategy. That if he was clever enough, prepared enough, he could stay ahead of the game.
But the game didn't care about preparation. It only cared about outcome.
So, he adapted.
He buried his grief and started learning.Politics. Alien warfare. Energy theory. Genetic manipulation. Bloodline protocols. Anything that could give him an advantage.
Kyron had always been different. His mind processed information at a rate that defied categorization. Hyperintelligence was the word thrown around in early assessments. But even that didn't fully explain it.
He didn't just think faster. He thought deeper.
He remembered everything. He saw patterns others missed. He understood people not through what they said, but through what they hid. It was more than intellect. It was insight.
And he used it to build something — a structure of information, tactics, and calculated restraint. Every day since his exile, he had added to it. Not for revenge. Not out of anger.
For survival.
Because somewhere out there, his siblings were doing the same.
The rules of the House were simple. Only one heir could rise. The rest would disappear — some quietly, others violently. The name Rehaven was feared across planets not because of its size, but because of its efficiency. No emotion. No hesitation.
The Control Tower in front of him wasn't just a symbol of Zeraph's authority. It was also the last place he would see before being sent off-world. At fourteen, every child — regardless of caste — was transported to Gamma, the military and academic world that shaped future leaders, soldiers, and weapons.
Tomorrow was his fourteenth birthday.
Kyron didn't flinch as a low-altitude shuttle passed overhead, its engine thrumming against the shielded skyline. His eyes remained fixed on the tower, on the future it represented.
He was ready.Not because he wanted to be.But because he had to be.