Prologue
The Boy Who Never Knew the Darkness
Morning had always been kind to Syle.
It entered his room without asking permission, slipping through the pale curtains in thin ribbons of gold and settling across the polished wooden floor. The light climbed slowly over the edge of his bed, touched the abandoned book on his nightstand, and finally reached the sleeping figure buried beneath a mountain of white blankets.
Syle did not move.
One arm lay beneath his cheek. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing soft and even. His dark hair, which he usually kept tied into a small ponytail, had escaped sometime during the night. A few strands rested across his forehead, while the little black ribbon that normally held them together lay forgotten beside his pillow.
He looked peaceful.
Too peaceful for a boy who had been given an entire world before he was old enough to understand what the world could take away.
On the bedside table sat a glass of water, a cup of warm milk, and a small plate covered with a silver lid.
Beside them was a folded note.
Syle's eyes opened eventually.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then at the clock.
Then back at the ceiling.
His university class began in less than an hour.
He pulled the blanket over his head.
There were priorities in life.
Getting out of bed was not one of them.
A knock sounded against the door.
Syle remained perfectly still.
Another knock.
“Syle.”
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
Syle's eyes closed again.
“I know you're awake.”
A tiny frown appeared beneath the blanket.
“I wasn't.”
The door opened.
Syre stepped inside.
He stood there for several seconds, looking at the suspiciously motionless shape occupying half the bed.
There had been a time when the sight of Syre entering a room could make grown men straighten their backs.
There had been a time when silence followed him wherever he went.
There had been a time when his name carried consequences.
None of that seemed particularly useful at seven in the morning.
Especially when dealing with his son.
Syre crossed the room and pulled the curtains farther apart.
Sunlight flooded the bedroom.
Syle immediately groaned.
“Dad.”
“Good morning.”
“It's too bright.”
“It is morning.”
“I don't like morning.”
“You liked it yesterday.”
“I changed my mind.”
Syre looked toward the clock.
“You have twenty-seven minutes.”
Syle slowly emerged from beneath the blanket.
His hair was a complete disaster.
His expression was offended.
“You could have woken me earlier.”
“I knocked twice.”
“That doesn't count.”
“I called your name.”
“I was sleeping.”
“You answered me.”
Syle paused.
Then quietly said, “That could have been anyone.”
Syre stared at him.
Syle smiled.
It was impossible to remain stern when he smiled like that.
Syre sighed and walked toward the wardrobe.
“Get up.”
“I am getting up.”
“You're sitting down.”
“That's the first stage.”
“The first stage?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
“Getting up.”
Syre shook his head.
“You're impossible.”
Syle finally pushed the blanket away.
His feet touched the floor.
He stretched lazily, revealing a loose cream-colored sleeping shirt falling softly against his slender frame.
Syre looked at him for a moment.
There were times when Syle's face reminded him so painfully of Vale that he had to look away.
Not because the resemblance was exact.
It wasn't.
Syle had his own face.
His own expressions.
His own little habits.
But there were moments when the light struck him at a particular angle, or when he smiled without thinking, and Syre would remember another smile.
Another life.
Another morning.
A man who had once stood beneath a sunrise and asked only for a little more time.
Syre pushed the memory away.
Syle was watching him.
“Dad?”
Syre blinked.
“What?”
“You were staring.”
“I was thinking.”
“About?”
“Breakfast.”
Syle narrowed his eyes.
“You're lying.”
Syre almost smiled.
“You're going to be late.”
Syle immediately forgot the subject.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I have twenty minutes.”
“Twenty-three.”
“See?”
Syre turned toward the door.
“Twenty-two now.”
Syle gasped.
“That's unfair.”
“Life is unfair.”
Syle climbed out of bed.
“Not mine.”
Syre stopped.
For just a moment, something moved behind his eyes.
Then he smiled.
“No.”
His voice softened.
“Not yours.”
Syle disappeared into the bathroom.
Syre remained standing in the doorway.
His gaze drifted toward the framed photograph on the far side of the room.
It was turned slightly away from the bed.
Syle had never asked why.
Syre had never explained.
Some memories were meant to be carried quietly.
He looked at the photograph for another second before leaving the room.
Downstairs, the household was already awake.
The large dining room filled slowly with familiar voices. Sunlight poured through the tall windows and illuminated the long table, the gardens visible beyond the glass still wet with morning dew.
Arien was already there.
He sat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
The moment he heard footsteps, he looked up.
“Finally.”
Syle appeared at the doorway.
His hair was now tied into its usual small ponytail.
His clothes were simple.
A soft cream shirt, pale trousers, a thin cardigan.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing loud.
Yet the entire room seemed to brighten when he entered.
Arien lowered his newspaper.
“You're late.”
Syle smiled sweetly.
“Good morning to you too.”
Arien stared at him.
Then smiled despite himself.
“Come here.”
Syle walked over.
Arien reached out and adjusted the collar of his shirt.
“You've forgotten your button.”
“Oh.”
“You'd go to university like this?”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
Syle looked confused.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I enjoy watching you realize that your father has raised you without basic survival skills.”
Syle's mouth fell open.
“Dad!”
From the other end of the room, Syre calmly continued drinking his tea.
“Don't involve me.”
“You raised me!”
“Exactly.”
Arien laughed.
Syle sat down between them, completely unaware that two men who had spent years surrounded by danger could still find themselves arguing over whether he had eaten enough breakfast.
His plate was placed in front of him.
He looked at it.
Then at Syre.
“I'm not hungry.”
Syre didn't even look up.
“Eat.”
“I'm really not.”
“Eat half.”
Syle sighed.
“Fine.”
He picked up his fork.
Arien watched him for a moment.
“You're going to university today?”
Syle gave him an incredulous look.
“Arien.”
“What?”
“I go every day.”
“I know.”
“You ask every day.”
“I like hearing you say it.”
Syle smiled.
“Yes. I'm going.”
“Good.”
Arien leaned back.
“Then enjoy yourself.”
Syle nodded.
He had no idea how easily those words were spoken.
Enjoy yourself.
As though the world had been designed to permit it.
As though nothing waited beyond the walls.
As though danger was something that happened to other people.
As though his father's empire was nothing more than offices, investments, and expensive buildings.
Syle finished his breakfast.
He stood.
“I'm leaving.”
Syre immediately looked up.
“Your umbrella.”
Syle stopped.
“I don't need it.”
“You're taking it.”
“But the sky is clear.”
“Take it.”
Syle sighed.
“Okay.”
He picked it up.
Syre watched him walk toward the door.
“Syle.”
He turned.
“Hmm?”
“Call me when you reach.”
Syle smiled.
“I will.”
“And don't come home alone if it's late.”
“I know.”
“And eat lunch.”
“I know.”
“And…”
Syle laughed softly.
“Dad.”
Syre stopped.
“You worry too much.”
The room became quiet for half a heartbeat.
Syre looked at him.
Then smiled.
“Probably.”
Syle walked over and hugged him.
It was brief.
Warm.
Ordinary.
The sort of moment people rarely realize they will remember for the rest of their lives.
“Bye, Dad.”
“Bye.”
Syle left.
The door closed.
Syre's smile slowly disappeared.
Arien looked at him.
“You still do it.”
Syre didn't answer.
“You still watch him leave like you're afraid he won't come back.”
Syre's eyes remained on the closed door.
“I know what the world is capable of.”
Arien was silent.
Syre lowered his gaze.
“And he doesn't.”
Outside, Syle stepped into the sunlight.
He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
His little ponytail moved against the back of his neck as he walked down the garden path.
He smiled at the staff who greeted him.
He waved at the guards.
He stopped to say hello to one of the gardeners.
Then he walked toward the waiting car.
He had no idea that his life was about to change.
He had no idea that somewhere beyond the safe walls his father had built around him, another family was raising a boy beneath an entirely different kind of protection.
A boy who had already learned that love could cost a life.
A boy who would one day abandon his own name.
A boy called Riven Moretti.
And neither of them knew that they were walking toward the same university.
Toward the same morning.
Toward each other.
Syle had spent his entire life inside a world built to keep him safe.
He did not know that safety had a cost.
He did not know that his father had hidden an entire empire from him.
He did not know that somewhere beyond those walls, another boy was learning how to become someone else.
And he certainly did not know that, before long, the two worlds would collide.
For now, Syle only knew that he was late for university.
