The Usurper’s Path

“History does not repeat itself—we are the ones who walk the same roads, stumble on the same stones, and call it fate.”

The memory struck like a whisper through time. Wrex sat quietly, his head leaned against the cold glass of the armored vehicle as the night rolled by in silence. Outside, the fractured world moved on—peaceful on the surface, broken beneath.

He was just a child in the memory, watching his grandfather stoke a dying campfire. The warmth was scarce in the cold war years—both literal and political. Those were times when men still dared to believe in honor before illusion, and power had a price that couldn’t be hidden by government slogans or royal smiles.

“Remember, boy,” his grandfather had said, voice hoarse from battles he never told anyone about, “when they give you everything, they’re only making sure you never ask for anything else.”

Wrex didn’t understand back then. But now… the embers of understanding glowed.

As a teen, Wrex had stumbled upon an old journal hidden beneath the wooden floorboards of his grandfather’s workshop. Its leather cover was cracked, but its words burned with clarity:

“He will come—a child born into chains but raised by fire. He will see the truth in lies, and in his rebellion, humanity shall know freedom again. The cycle must end. Even if he must burn the world to light a new path.”

A prophecy? Or a warning?

Now, in the present, Wrex clenched his jaw. It was never about just escaping. It was about breaking the cycle. And maybe… maybe it had always been about him.

Inside the mobile command of the Persecutors—Facilis’s most feared but secretive unit—plans were being exchanged in hushed tones. Wrex sat across from Rizor, eyes focused, breathing slow.

“You’re important to both sides, Wrex,” Rizor finally admitted. “The Royals think they can mold you. The True Residents believe you’re the key to legitimizing their claim.”

“And the Persecutors?” Wrex asked.

Rizor smirked. “We think you’ll pick a side... or carve your own.”

The vehicle hummed toward the outer perimeter of Maconia, the ancient land beyond the Wall of Lions—territory held by the royal bloodline for over two centuries.

As the conversation continued, encrypted screens lit up one by one, displaying ongoing missions.

Elsewhere, Loria sat in a high-tech observation facility hidden beneath one of the safer districts—still untouched by the recent chaos. But she could feel the tide turning. Protests. Sirens. News feeds laced with calm-sounding lies. The Royal Family’s recent “demonstration of necessary power” wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

The woman who had saved her now acted as her guide—showing her things never mentioned in any academy or government-approved archive.

“Montlaif isn’t energy,” the woman whispered. “It’s control.”

Control… masked as light.

Loria’s resolve grew stronger with every revelation. And that resolve had a name—Wrex. The boy she had once known. The man now walking the path no one else dared to. If they were going to label her a traitor, so be it.

She smiled faintly. Let them.

Later that night, Rizor met in secret with three other masked operatives. Their conversation was cryptic but revealing.

“We let the Royals think he’s theirs,” one of them said, pointing to a digital model of Wrex’s DNA pattern.

“He matches?” another asked.

“More than enough. If he awakens what sleeps inside, he could disrupt Montlaif itself.”

“The Usurper?” a third voice asked in awe.

“Not yet,” Rizor replied. “But soon. He doesn’t know what his mind holds. But the moment he recalls—truly recalls—he’ll either be our salvation… or our doom.”

At dawn, Wrex found a brief moment of peace. Standing by a small metallic stream outside their temporary camp, he watched the sunrise.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted something strange: on one of the data pads left behind by a careless officer, a surveillance image caught his eye—Fozic.

He was standing calmly in front of a resistance banner. But it wasn’t just any emblem—it bore the unmistakable crest of the Outcasts. A group believed to have been wiped out decades ago. A group that stood against both the Royals and the Residents.

His breath caught.

“What is this…?” he whispered.

Rizor’s voice called from behind, but Wrex didn’t turn.

“No power is greater than the ambition of a kind and strong-willed man. One who knows that some sins must be made… for others to be freed.”

Somewhere, far beyond the Wall of Lions, an old prophecy began to awaken.

The one true human—once a boy, now a weapon—would either liberate or annihilate. And Rizor… he held secrets not yet spoken.

As the sun fully rose, a new arc was dawning—one that would tear down the lies of centuries.