Dawn had not yet fully broken, but the sound of Axel Halcyon's leather shoes already sliced through the silence of the villa's corridors. His heavy, arrogant stride seemed designed to rouse the household servants from their brief sleep. Behind him stood a young man, his hair still damp from the mop he had just used on the marble floor. The boy moved like a shadow trailing his master: soundless, unnoticed.
He knelt before the polished floor, which still felt cold beneath his palms. He wiped away stains with bare hands — no gloves, no cloth, only his palms and his own spit. His knees ached, his nails were cracked, yet he kept working, his head bowed deep. He was Reyn Arkana.
"This wall must shine until it can reflect my sins," Axel said, his voice heavy with its familiar disgust. He kicked the dirty bucket toward Reyn with his gleaming leather shoe. The filthy water splashed, dousing Reyn's face — a mix of soap, grime, and contempt soaking his skin. But Reyn did not lash out. He had no anger left to display openly. He only nodded, his dim eyes only able to watch the blurred reflection of his face on the floor.
Then, amid that humiliation, he whispered — a promise meant only for himself. "If one day this floor reflects my face, I'll make you kneel on it."
Axel either did not hear, or pretended not to. A cold laugh echoed from the balcony above. The voice was clear, sharp, and dripping with mockery.
"Funny, the dog can talk."
It was Serena Halcyon's voice. The family's daughter. The rightful heiress. Cold, elegant, cruel, and beautiful in the most piercing way. Reyn did not look up. Still... his eyes watered a little. There was something broken behind those wounded eyes. Yet there was also something that remained whole: his will to live. He would not die here — not before he had answers.
That day, he was more than a slave. He was a laughingstock. The kitchen cook "accidentally" dumped hot soup on his back, leaving a burning red mark. The gardener sprayed him with a hose while he cleaned a car, chilling his body in the still-freezing morning. Even the little pampered dog — belonging to Serena's spoiled younger sibling — peed on his foot, and everyone laughed, deeming such treatment deserved. Every day was a new torment, a brutal reminder that his place in the world was little more than trampled dust.
Everyone in that house... considered Reyn no more than an object. A piece of furniture to be moved, used, and discarded. And Reyn knew: he was nobody. An orphan plucked from an institution, brought here as a servant, nameless, without an origin worth mentioning.
But at night, when everyone slept deep in their dreams and the security cameras inexplicably went off at certain hours, he would go to the locked old library. That library was the only place that held truths, hidden behind thousands of untouched books. The room smelled of old paper and dust, warmer and more honest than the whole of the house.
He used a stolen key he had fashioned from a wax impression. He stole time from breaks he shouldn't have had. He lived a stolen life that should have ended long ago.
In that secluded place he read — ravenous, fueled by grievance. The library stored archives more valuable than all the Halcyons' money. He studied:
The convoluted structure of the Halcyon Group, reading each director's name and the lines of power.
The underground distribution routes used for illicit business.
Old audit reports, hunting for gaps he could exploit.
Handwritten internal memos from Leonhart, filled with secret plans.
And among all those piled documents, he found something that stopped him cold: a letter of appointment signed by his own mother.
Name: Ayla Arkana
Position: Director of Operations — Eastern Branch
— ten years ago.
Why had he never heard of this? For years he'd been told his mother was a cleaning staffer, a lowly employee of no consequence. Why were there no photos? Why were the household so certain she had been a desperate servant who killed herself?
Reyn stared at the name for a long time. The hands that a moment before had been muddy now held a sheet of paper heavy with meaning. He read the name again and again, as if trying to recall a face that had dimmed. Then he let out a bitter laugh — not a laugh of joy, but a painful, scornful chuckle.
"So I'm not just a dog... I'm a dog thrown from the throne." A truth more painful than any insult.
Morning returned him to reality. Kicked by Axel, spat on by the gardener, and called by a different slur each day: "storage trash," "failed human," "family defect."
But beneath every humiliation, he answered only one thing in his heart:
"I'd rather be humiliated than forgotten. Because those who are humiliated... are not dead yet."
Axel summoned him to the lower office, a room full of monitor screens. There, Axel sat in a luxurious leather chair, his face suggesting malicious intent. He gave a brutal order — one that could get Reyn killed.
"Get the files from my father's study. Old financial records. But don't let him know. If he finds out... I'll make sure your eyes aren't only blind. I'll burn them alive."
Reyn nodded, accepting the order without showing emotion. His steps toward Leonhart Halcyon's study were slow, but behind those dim eyes, a war was kindling. A hatred long kept was turning into fire.
Inside Leonhart Halcyon's cold, spacious study, Reyn found not only financial documents. He found a small photograph hidden behind a thick book. A photo of his mother, Ayla Arkana, standing beside Leonhart. They were smiling, as if there were a bond deeper than mere colleagues.
And tucked behind that photo, a small scrawl in faded ink, as though written in haste:
"Forgive me, Ayla. The Arkana legacy must die with you."