The light from the presentation screen flickered against Elijah Stane's sharp, composed features. He sat three rows from the front of the conference table, eyes fixed on the man at the podium—Walter Greaves. The name alone made his chest tighten.
Walter was presenting his creation. Every slide, every graph, every predictive module on that screen was Elijah's blood, sweat, and brilliance—the culmination of two years of research and late nights in the economics lab of their university.
> "The Stock Flow Analysis AI," Walter announced confidently, clicking to the next slide. The company logo—Triton Management Group, one of the top three business firms in the country—gleamed behind him.
"This model uses real-time adaptive algorithms to predict trade volume and asset volatility across multiple sectors simultaneously," Walter continued, as if he'd conceived it himself. "The accuracy margin outperforms our current system by nearly twenty percent."
The boardroom murmured in approval.
A few executives nodded, clearly impressed. The CEO, a silver-haired woman with eyes that could see through balance sheets and souls alike, leaned forward.
> "Remarkable work, Walter. This could redefine our analytical strategy for the quarter. You'll lead a task team to expand it company-wide."
A polite round of applause followed.
Elijah's fingers twitched against the polished table. Every fiber of his being screamed to stand up and expose the lie—but he didn't. His jaw was tight, his heart drumming against his ribs, but his face remained perfectly calm.
He forced a polite smile and even clapped once—because he knew this room wasn't the place for an outburst. Not yet.
---
When the meeting ended, the room gradually emptied, leaving behind faint echoes of corporate chatter. Walter caught Elijah's gaze from across the table, offering a smile that wasn't quite an apology, more a warning.
Elijah exhaled slowly.
He stood, collected his documents, and walked out in silence.
But inside, he was boiling.
---
He waited. Watched from the glass window on the twenty-ninth floor as Walter left the boardroom and disappeared toward the rooftop exit—the place he always went to smoke after major meetings.
Elijah followed.
The elevator ride was quiet, save for the low hum of the machinery. His reflection in the mirrored wall showed a man trying—barely—to contain the fury building behind his eyes.
The doors slid open with a soft chime.
The rooftop was bathed in the dying light of sunset, streaks of orange and violet stretching across the city skyline. The wind was sharp, carrying with it the faint hum of traffic far below.
Walter stood near the railing, cigarette in hand, smoke curling upward. He didn't turn around.
> "You followed me," Walter said flatly, exhaling a puff of smoke.
"You're damn right I did," Elijah replied, his voice low but shaking. "You just presented my work, Walter. My AI, my algorithm, my research—and you stood there like you built it."
Walter sighed, flicking ash into the wind.
> "Eli, you know how this company works. They wouldn't have given you the credit. You're new, untested. I have connections. I can get it funded. It's not personal."
Elijah's teeth ground together.
> "Not personal? You stole my entire project! My code, my data models, my damn presentation draft! You hacked my drive, didn't you?"
Walter turned then, his expression cool, detached—like someone explaining a business deal.
> "I took what you weren't ready to use. You're brilliant, Eli, but naïve. Triton doesn't reward idealism—they reward results. And I delivered."
Elijah's hands balled into fists.
> "You mean I delivered—and you put your name on it."
Walter stepped closer, his tone growing sharper.
> "Don't be stupid. You'll still benefit. Once the project goes public, I'll make sure you're listed as a contributor. Maybe even a senior analyst—if you don't ruin this with your temper."
That word—temper—set something off in Elijah.
He took a step forward, eyes blazing.
> "You think this is about a promotion? I built that AI from scratch! You stood beside me for months pretending to help while you were planning to rip it away. You're a parasite!"
Walter's smirk faded.
> "Watch your mouth."
> "Or what? You'll steal that too?" Elijah snapped. "You can't even think for yourself. You needed my work to matter, Walter."
Walter's jaw clenched. He tossed the cigarette aside, crushing it beneath his shoe.
> "You think the world's fair? You think talent alone gets you anywhere? Wake up, Eli. The world's full of people like me—people who win while dreamers like you get buried under your own principles."
Elijah's voice broke with fury.
> "Then I'll bury you with me!"
---
They lunged almost at the same time.
Walter grabbed Elijah's collar, and Elijah swung his fist across Walter's jaw. The blow echoed through the rooftop, sharp and raw. Walter staggered but recovered quickly, slamming his shoulder into Elijah's chest. They struggled, shoving each other against the railing, the city yawning open behind them.
> "You're insane!" Walter barked, trying to push him off.
"You're a thief!" Elijah roared back, grabbing Walter's coat and pulling him closer. "You'll never get away with this!"
Walter's fist connected with Elijah's cheek. Pain burst across his face, but he didn't let go. He struck back, landing a blow against Walter's ribs. They grappled, each punch more desperate than the last—rage drowning reason.
A sharp crack of metal as Walter's elbow hit the railing. The force made it groan beneath their weight.
> "Let go!" Walter shouted, panic flickering in his eyes.
"Not until you admit it!" Elijah shouted back, pushing forward, his shoes scraping against the rooftop edge.
Walter's face twisted, fear and anger tangled together. He threw a wild punch—instinct, not intention.
His fist slammed into Elijah's chest.
Time slowed.
Elijah's breath caught as his foot slipped on the concrete. The edge vanished beneath him.
> "Wait—Eli!" Walter's voice cracked. His hand shot out, fingers brushing Elijah's sleeve, but the momentum was too strong.
The world tilted. The skyline flipped.
Wind rushed past Elijah's ears in a deafening roar. The city blurred—a kaleidoscope of lights and glass.
He saw Walter's pale face above, eyes wide in horror, shouting his name.
Then—impact.
The world went white.
---
He felt himself bounce off something metallic before darkness swallowed everything. The sound of shattering glass, screams below, and the distant wail of sirens faded into static.
His body screamed with pain, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even tell where he was.
His vision flickered in fragments—the crumpled hood of a car, blood pooling near his hand, the faint smell of gasoline and burnt rubber.
Through the haze, he saw movement. Walter—running down the company steps, face pale, shouting something.
Eli's breath came in shallow gasps. His chest felt crushed, bones shattered, but one emotion still burned stronger than pain.
> You stole everything from me…
He wanted to scream it, but his throat wouldn't move. Only blood.
> You'll pay for this, Walter.
His world blurred again. He saw streetlights swirl like distant stars. His thoughts tangled.
> I can't die… Not like this. Not by your hand…
Then, everything went black.
---
Silence.
Then—sound.
Not noise, but something different.
Cry.
A baby's cry.
Eli blinked, or at least thought he did. His senses were wrong—everything felt enormous, bright, strange. The ceiling above shimmered with crystal light.
He turned his head—or tried to—and saw a golden chandelier glittering above him, reflecting across marble floors and velvet curtains.
And hands. Large, rough, but gentle, lifting him.
The man holding him had black hair streaked with silver, and eyes that gleamed like molten gold. His aura carried weight, power, and something ancient.
> "From today," the man said, his voice deep and commanding, "you shall be called Elias Starborne."
Eli—or whoever he was now—blinked up at him in confusion.
> Starborne? What kind of cringe fantasy name is that?
His mind spun. Why am I so small? Where am I?
The man smiled faintly, unaware of the storm inside the newborn's mind.
> "You will carry the blood of dragons and the name of our house proudly, my son."
The name echoed in his thoughts. Elias Starborne.
Somewhere deep inside, Elijah Stane—the betrayed, broken economist—felt the last fragments of his old world fade. But in their place, something else stirred: fury, memory, and the faint, unmistakable hum of destiny.
And though he couldn't speak, a promise burned quietly within him.
I'll never be powerless again.
The chandelier's light danced across his newborn eyes—like the shimmer of gold coins.