A new name echoed through the halls of Xyprus Academy: Vaelric Thorne, sixteen years old, already a force of nature.
To many, he was the destined heir to the God of Fists. Born with brilliance in his mind, raw power in his body, and undeniable influence through his blood. The son of Damien Thorne — the man who once stood unmatched, whose fists shaped history.
But Vaelric was no Damien.
Where his father radiated quiet nobility, Vaelric wore arrogance like a crown. His presence demanded attention, his words cut with boastful pride, and his gaze held the chill of someone who expected the world to kneel. He did not inspire respect. He commanded fear.
Unlike Damien, who had never sought power for power's sake, Vaelric craved it. Not to defend. Not to uplift. But to dominate.
And yet—beneath the ego and sharpened ambition—something else burned.
A longing.
He was born in chains, forged from legacy. Every achievement, every compliment, every comparison—always shadowed by his father's name. Vaelric didn't want to be the second coming of a legend.
He wanted to become his own.
Not the next Damien Thorne.But the first Vaelric Thorne.