Tyler Freeman—though stripped of his name, heritage, and title—grew up as Tyler Halden, the "adopted stray" of the Halden household. While he was fed and clothed, love was a concept that never entered those cold, crumbling walls. Gregov had done his duty, nothing more. His wife, Helaine, treated Tyler like an inconvenience. Their two sons reminded Tyler daily that he was "lucky to even eat their food."
Despite the emotional neglect, Tyler was sharp. Smarter than his "brothers," stronger in both will and body. At school, he outshined them. He took to reading, street-fighting, math, coding—anything that made him feel like he mattered. He never knew who his real parents were, only that Gregov found him "abandoned on a doorstep."
Every birthday passed with silence. Every achievement was met with shrugs. When he got accepted into Crimora Metropolitan University, a top-tier college for elite talents, Tyler held the acceptance letter like it was a golden ticket out of hell.
But freedom was not given. It was stripped.
On the morning of his eighteenth birthday—just a week before college orientation—Gregov summoned Tyler into the parlor. The other Halden boys stood behind him, smug and satisfied.
"You're of age now," Gregov said coldly. "We've fulfilled our debt. You have no place here anymore."
Tyler blinked. "What?"
"We've paid for your food. Your shelter. Now you're a man. Find your own way. We're not funding your college, your housing, nothing."
Tyler stood there, stunned. "I… I've done everything you asked. I never asked for anything."
"And now we ask you to leave."
Helaine stepped forward and dropped a tattered duffel bag by his feet. "You've got two hours."
That night, Tyler sat on the roof of an abandoned building, watching the artificial lights of Crimora flicker in the distance like a neon graveyard. His acceptance letter was crumpled in his hand, and all he had was a duffel bag, fifty credits, and a name he didn't know was his.
But even in despair, something burned inside him—a cold flame, an instinct. A voice buried so deep it echoed through his blood. Not words, just… pressure. Like destiny had its eye on him.
The next morning, he started working two jobs. During the day, he unloaded shipments for a seedy warehouse. At night, he cleaned a weapons manufacturer's floor for minimum credits. And still, he showed up for his first day of college.
He was the poorest student on campus. But he was there.
As the semester went on, whispers followed him. A professor with a strange eye said he'd seen Tyler's face before—on a portrait in a museum, centuries old. A student tried to pickpocket him once and saw something strange flash across Tyler's skin—like a golden sigil. A corporate recruiter asked if he had noble ties.
And late at night, Tyler started dreaming of a woman in white, crying in the rain.