BORN OF AN ASSASSIN
"In a city gripped by fear, where freedom is a forgotten word and every shadow could mean death, the people live like animals—caged, watched, silenced. The powerful rule with iron fists, stealing not just liberty, but hope. Movement is a crime. Speech is dangerous. Dreams are treason.
But in the depths of their despair, the citizens whisper of a savior—
Not a hero.
An assassin, a person who will change their story a person who fear no man, fear no government, a person who will show no mercy for the wicked
Born of the darkness.
Forged by the pain.
The protector they never expected.
The reckoning no tyrant can escape."
The rain fell in thin, oily streams—more like tears from the sky than anything meant to cleanse. Dareth hadn't seen a clear day in years. The clouds hung heavy, like the fear that pressed down on its people.
Maybe the whispers are true.
On the corner of Deadwell Avenue, a boy named ZYLON no older than twelve a boy that will eventually change the entire country story a boy whos history will be known as the legend of the assassin crouched beneath a broken vending stall. He didn't dare move. Not because he was tired. Not because he had nowhere to go.
But because the Sentinels were out.
Three of them passed by in silence, armored in matte black with glowing red visors scanning the streets. Their boots echoed on the cracked pavement like war drums. No one dared to breathe too loud. Not anymore.
The city had fallen long ago—not to war, but to control. The kind that seeps into every crevice of life. Cameras blinked from rooftops. Drones buzzed overhead. Words were monitored, faces tracked, and anyone who asked questions… disappeared.
Children grew up without voices. Parents forgot how to hope. Resistance was not crushed—it was erased.
And yet, a whisper had begun to stir.
A name.
No one knew if it was a man, a myth, or something worse.
"The Ghost."
"The Blade in the Dark."
"The One Who Strikes Back."
In alleyways, it was spoken like a prayer. In government chambers, like a curse.
The first sign had been the General's death. Choked by his own command drone. No witnesses.
The second, the archives fire. Every surveillance record from Sector 12—gone.
Now, the regime was hunting shadows. But what they didn't understand was simple.
This city didn't need another rebel.
It needed someone unseen.
Someone merciless.
A protector with blood on their hands and no face to name.
A flicker of movement—rooftop, six stories up.
The boy looked up just long enough to see a silhouette slip across the rain-slick edge. Not a Sentinel. Not a drone.
Something… else.
And for the first time in a long time, the boy allowed himself a thought he hadn't dared whisper aloud.
The life of ZYlon is about to change
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