The SUV surged forward, navigating through the labyrinthine side streets of the city with surgical precision. The tinted windows turned the outside world into a blur of motion and shadow. Inside, Ethan sat motionless, jaw tight, one hand still clutching the flash drive as if it were a detonator.
Cassian, seated across from him, remained eerily calm. The flickering light from the dashboard occasionally caught the silver streaks in his hair, but there was nothing aged in his posture. His eyes were alert, scanning, measuring.
"I need answers," Ethan finally said. "Not riddles. Not cryptic warnings. Straight answers."
Cassian nodded slowly, as if he had been expecting the demand. "Then listen carefully. Because once I start, you can't unknow any of it."
Ethan crossed his arms but leaned in.
"Your father," Cassian began, "wasn't just a billionaire or a tech pioneer. He was a threat. To them. To the real powers behind the curtain. That's why they erased him. And that's why you're in danger."
"Them? Be specific," Ethan said coldly. "Because vague shadowy groups sound like bedtime stories for paranoid mercenaries."
"They're real," Cassian replied without flinching. "The Ascendants. A covert syndicate formed by conglomerates, old-money dynasties, and ex-intelligence cabals. They manipulate markets, elections, even wars. Your father discovered their existence during his rise—and used his influence to quietly counter them."
The SUV slowed and veered underground, into a private parking facility shielded from satellite and street surveillance. The heavy steel door slid shut behind them.
Inside, a concealed elevator waited. Cassian led the way, pressing his palm to a biometric scanner that triggered a low chime.
As the elevator descended, the air changed. Cooler, sterile. Ethan's mind churned. Ascendants. Syndicates. Hidden war rooms. What the hell did I just step into?
The doors opened into a chamber that looked like something out of a spy thriller. A war room. Monitors covered the walls, cycling through live satellite feeds, coded transmissions, biometric readouts, and encrypted overlays. At least half a dozen operators worked at their terminals in silence.
Ethan scanned the space, taking in everything—the sleek security turrets in the corners, the reinforced bulkhead doors, the faint scent of ozone and machinery.
"This is one of your father's legacy sites," Cassian said. "Off-grid. Autonomous. Fully secure. We call it Safehouse Four. Welcome to the Network."
Ethan stepped forward slowly. "This is... beyond anything I expected."
"You haven't seen the worst of it," Cassian said grimly.
He approached a secure console and inserted a keycard. The largest screen lit up, displaying a lion with mechanical wings—part heraldry, part circuitry—encircled by the Latin phrase Fiat Lux in Tenebris.
"Let there be light in the darkness," Ethan murmured.
Cassian nodded. "Your father's motto. And the creed of the Arclight Initiative."
"You're telling me he ran some kind of secret resistance?"
Cassian tilted his head. "He built a firewall between the world and the Ascendants. Not with armies, but with information, influence, and infiltration. He had eyes in their boardrooms, backdoors into their systems, and allies in their shadows."
Ethan stared at the lion sigil. It felt surreal. Like he'd stumbled into a mythology that had suddenly decided he was part of its prophecy.
"And now he's gone," he said quietly. "And they think I'm the key."
"Because you are," Cassian replied. "Not just symbolically. Literally. He encrypted the master ledger—everything he knew about the Ascendants—to respond only to a genetic match. You."
Ethan exhaled sharply, his voice low. "That's insane.
Cassian walked to a table and unlocked a matte black case. Inside lay a compact firearm, a biometric watch pulsing with faint blue light, and a sealed letter.
"Your inheritance," he said.
Ethan picked up the letter first. The handwriting was unmistakable. His father's.
He read the first line:
If you're reading this, it means I've failed to return—but it also means you survived. And for now, that's enough.
A lump formed in his throat, but he shoved it down. No time for sentiment.
"What's next?" he asked.
Cassian nodded approvingly. "Training. Briefings. We bring you up to speed. But first—there's something else."
He tapped a sequence into the console. The monitors changed—now showing surveillance stills from across the city. One caught Ethan's attention instantly.
It was him. Taken from a traffic cam. His face, circled in red. Labeled: PRIORITY TARGET – ETHAN ALDEN.
Ethan froze.
"They've already activated their network," Cassian said. "Every camera, every drone, every bounty hunter with a connection. You're not just a target. You're a public enemy in their narrative."
"Why?" Ethan whispered. "Why smear me?"
"Because it isolates you. Discredits you. Makes people think you're the threat—not them. And once you're dead, the truth dies with you."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "So if I don't fight back, I'm just a headline. A scandal. A dead billionaire's disgraced son."
Cassian studied him. "But if you do fight back…"
"…then I become the last firewall," Ethan said quietly.
He looked down at the gear, at the digital watch now synced to his vitals. At the gun. At the letter.
A legacy left not in luxury—but in war.
Ethan slipped the watch on, felt its cold precision adjust to his heartbeat. The soft beep that followed sounded like a countdown.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't have to.