There were no mornings in the Executor's Citadel—just time segments regulated by quantum clocks and security schedules. Kael awoke in a bed softer than anything he'd ever touched, wrapped in sheets that cost more than a slum building.
He felt out of place.
And not just because of the room's sleek obsidian walls or the hovering display drones whispering stock reports in six languages.
It was in the silence.
For someone who'd grown up with the noise of smog vents, alley shootouts, and malfunctioning robo-taxis, this kind of quiet felt alien. Dangerous.
He dressed slowly, pulling on the tailored gray suit laid out for him. Nanoweave fibers, biometric seals, climate-adaptive threading. It hugged his form like armor.
A screen blinked on.
Your morning briefing begins now.
Executor Lyra appeared on the display.
"You've passed the first test. Barely. Now the real war begins."
Kael rolled his eyes. "You have a gift for encouragement."
"I have a gift for survival. Something you'll need if you want to keep your skull intact. Today you meet the Board of Executors."
"I thought I was in charge."
"You're the heir. Not the ruler. Not yet. Drayven Industries has twenty-seven Executor Houses, each controlling an arm of the empire. They've been waiting years to fight over the Protocol. You walking in is a declaration of war."
Kael frowned. "And you're on my side?"
"I'm on the winning side. Make sure it's yours."
The Hall of Executors was circular, massive, and intimidating by design. Holograms of the twenty-seven seats glowed around a central platform. Some appeared in person, others as avatars—each one a powerbroker in their own right.
Kael stood alone in the center, hands folded behind his back.
A woman with obsidian skin and gold circuitry woven into her cheeks leaned forward first. Executor Marell.
"The street rat lives," she said with a bitter laugh. "Jarek must be clawing the coffin walls."
"Try not to insult him while standing in his house," Kael replied coolly.
A heavyset man with glowing red eyes scoffed. Executor Sano, weapons division. "You think sarcasm makes you a ruler?"
"No," Kael said. "But watching you sweat during last night's stock collapse does."
Marell narrowed her eyes.
Kael kept his face unreadable, but inside, he was trembling.
Lyra had warned him about this moment. The Board didn't just control subsidiaries—they ran fleets, AI fleets, black-ops teams, even semi-legal time distortion tech. Each one wanted a piece of the Protocol.
One mistake, and they'd tear him apart.
But Kael hadn't survived the slums without learning to lie like a king.
A new voice rang out—cool, artificial, and commanding.
The heir has passed Trial One. In accordance with Protocol Doctrine, the succession will proceed pending further evaluation. Objections may be lodged formally.
"Objection," said Marell instantly. "His DNA is unproven."
"It's on record," Lyra's voice snapped as she stepped into the chamber. "Verified by the Protocol Core."
"Even if it's real," Sano growled, "he's untrained. Unproven. A child among lions."
"Then throw me in the den," Kael said. "Let's see who bleeds first."
A tense silence.
Then someone chuckled.
A pale man with silver eyes and a diamond-embedded suit. Executor Vale. Communications, espionage, and corporate media.
"Well said," Vale purred. "He's got teeth. And teeth are useful in our business."
"Useful isn't enough," Marell said. "The heir must earn the keys. He must undergo the Trial of Inheritance."
Lyra stiffened. "That hasn't been invoked in a century."
"It is within our rights," Marell insisted. "And if the heir fails… the Protocol passes to the Board."
Kael tilted his head. "What's the Trial?"
Vale smiled. "Survive for seven days. No bodyguards. No access to Dynasty resources. You'll be dropped into a hostile zone where Drayven Industries faces resistance. You solve the crisis, gain control of the local asset, and return alive."
"And if I don't?" Kael asked.
"Then you're dead, and we divide your inheritance."
Kael looked at the hovering AI core above the chamber, glowing like a silent god.
Then he turned back to them and nodded.
"Send me."
Six hours later, Kael was in a stealth pod screaming through the upper atmosphere toward one of the worst zones in the Drayven map: Sector 14, Exo-Terra Reclamation Zone, also known as "The Steel Grave."
It was a lawless crater filled with scavenger kings, rogue miners, and ex-military warlords.
And somewhere in it was Facility K-9, a Drayven experimental energy lab that had gone dark three months ago.
"We lost 400 staff in the first two weeks," Lyra explained in the pod. "Survivors report AI corruption, hostile mechs, and sabotage. Then… silence."
"You want me to waltz into that and fix it?"
She leaned forward. "I want you to own it. Reclaim the lab, restart production, and extract all valuable data. Do it in seven days. And do it with no army."
"I'm allowed gear, right?"
She handed him a sleek black case.
Inside: a custom smartblade, two injector vials of reflex-boost serum, a short-range comms ring, and a slim bracelet with Drayven insignia.
"What's the bracelet?"
"Authority badge. If anyone still loyal is in there, that symbol is your only chance at commanding them."
"And if no one is loyal?"
Lyra didn't answer.
The pod's screen lit up. Landing in T-minus 3 minutes.
Kael strapped in, took one last breath, and stared at the wasteland below.
It looked like hell had been strip-mined and forgotten.
The pod hit hard. Kael stumbled out, coughing in the dust and heat.
Around him, the Steel Grave stretched endlessly—jagged metal ruins, scorched terrain, and skeletal frames of industrial towers.
He activated his visor.
Scanning...Warning: High levels of radiation. Environmental hazard protocols engaged.Lifeforms detected: Unknown.
He set his path toward a collapsed rail line, where an old Drayven logo was still barely visible on a rusted magtrain hull.
It was silent.
Too silent.
Then came the whirring.
He turned just in time to see a humanoid mech vault from the ruins, twin saw-arms spinning.
Kael rolled left, drawing the smartblade. The mech hissed—a corrupted unit, its core glowing sickly red.
He leapt forward, ducked under the first swing, and stabbed upward through its neck joint.
Sparks erupted. The mech spasmed, then collapsed.
Kael stood over it, panting.
"Day one," he muttered. "Hello, legacy."