I woke up in a world where everything seemed distorted, where the past and the present intertwined in an endless spiral. When I passed out, the memories of my previous life on Earth surged with overwhelming force. The fog of my existence seemed to lift from my mind, revealing the raw truth of who I had been and what I had lost. Every fragment, every recollection, like a deep cut in my soul, left me stunned, but at the same time, awakened something deep within me. The weight of what I had lost, the pain of betrayal, all seemed to consume me. But at the same time, there was a sense of clarity that, for the first time, made me understand what my existence truly meant.
In my previous life on Earth, I never had an easy existence. From childhood, I lived with my mother in a modest house. To many, our house would have been just another simple home, with used furniture and plain walls. However, there was something special about that place, something I couldn't comprehend as a child but would later realize. The house was simple, yet full of warmth and security, as if it were imbued with my mother's presence. Her energy filled every corner, and even in its modesty, I knew our home was a refuge, something no one else could understand.
My mother was an ordinary woman, or at least, that's how the world seemed to see her. But to me, she was an extraordinary figure, not because of wealth or status, but because of the way she managed to balance tenderness and toughness. The house, though modest, was always tidy, but there was something unusual about its arrangement. Among books and toys scattered across the floor, there were weapons hidden in every corner, as if my mother didn't want to hide who she truly was from me. Or perhaps, as if she were preparing me for what was to come, for what destiny had in store.
I, for my part, was an unusual child, not out of vanity, but because I didn't fit the molds of normality. With an IQ above 199, my mind was like a living archive, full of memories. I remember everything, every fragment of my childhood, from the day I was born to the smile of my mother when she held me in her arms. I remember her face during the delivery, her messy blonde hair, the sweat running down her forehead, and her blue eyes shining with tears of relief and happiness. Her smile at that moment was etched into my soul, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
I was able to speak at six months old, something completely out of the ordinary. But my mother didn't seem surprised. She simply smiled at me, saying that I was special. In her eyes, I was a prodigy. I never questioned that, because the only thing I knew was that she loved me in a unique way, as if she were both my protector and guide.
By the age of one, I took my first steps. The house, with its three bedrooms, three living rooms, a spacious kitchen, plus a gym and a pool, seemed like a castle to me. Though my mother insisted that our house was humble, I knew it was rich in love, and that was more than enough for me.
My life with her was complete. We spent the whole day together. Every morning, my mother would prepare breakfast: scrambled eggs, hot toast, and fresh orange juice. It was a simple meal, but to me, it was a true feast. Afterward, we would walk through the garden. She would teach me about the flowers, about life around us. Teaching me about roses, about how to care for plants, seemed like her way of showing me the resilience of life and the beauty in simple things. It was wisdom she tried to pass on to me, without hurry, as if she wanted to show me how vast and complex the world could be.
However, among these happy memories, something began to trouble me. Gradually, I noticed that there was something in my mother's eyes, a sadness she hid. She seemed to look out the window as if she were waiting for something or someone. But nothing ever came. She never spoke of it, and I never asked, but the small pauses, the fleeting glances, never escaped my notice.
When I turned two, something unusual happened. I developed a love for books. My mother's office, filled with books on psychology, philosophy, and politics, soon became my favorite place. One of the books that most attracted me was *The Prince* by Machiavelli. The words in that book seemed to resonate within me in a way I couldn't explain. I didn't understand everything, but something inside me felt that it made sense. As my reading increased, my mother told me that I didn't need to grow up so quickly. She seemed concerned, but there was something in her voice that told me my life would be different from other children's.
By three, I had read almost the entire library. At the same time, I played with blocks and toys. My mother told me I was still a child and didn't need to rush my childhood, but I felt that something inside me was hungry for more. I felt that my mind craved more knowledge.
At four, I began studying mathematics, physics, and chemistry. My mother hired a tutor, but soon I realized he was more of a subordinate to her than a true teacher. In no time, I went from student to master, surpassing him with ease. This didn't bring me joy, but somehow, it made me understand that there was a chasm between what I knew and what the world around me understood.
At five, I finished what would be the equivalent of high school. My mother, worried that I was losing my childhood, tried to slow things down. We started conducting scientific experiments together, which gave me a sense of belonging. I didn't fully understand what she was trying to teach me, but I felt that she wanted to prepare me for something much greater, something beyond my understanding at the time.
It was also at five that I began my physical training. My mother said:
"Now you are the man of the house. You need to learn to protect yourself."
The training began with runs in the gym. She would challenge me to complete circuits, always controlling my endurance and ensuring I didn't overdo it. It was simple, but there was a seriousness in her words. Gradually, she began showing me action movies. As a child, I thought it was just fun, but soon I realized that those violent and heroic scenes had a purpose. They were lessons in disguise, teaching me what it meant to be strong and what it meant to survive in a world where weakness had no place.
On my sixth birthday, life took a dark turn.
The party was magnificent. The house was decorated with colorful balloons, there was a huge cake, and my mother seemed happier than ever. But that very night, something changed. She took my hand and led me to the car. Her expression was serious, almost tense. We drove to a dangerous neighborhood, and when we arrived, she said:
"Wait here, dear. I'll come back to pick you up."
She left me in a dirty alley, lit only by a broken yellow light.
I waited. Hours. Days. Weeks. Hunger, cold, and hopelessness began to gnaw at my mind and body. The wait dragged on until I finally realized she would never return. Slowly, what had been an innocent, hopeful child transformed into a lost soul, forced to steal to survive, to fight other boys, and eventually, to learn to hide in the shadows.
At eight, my appearance was unrecognizable. My blonde hair was dirty, my eyes, once bright, now seemed empty. I lived like a shadow, always alert, always moving, but never noticed. Then, one dark night, I found an injured woman. She was being pursued by armed men. When the pursuers approached, I was forced to act.
"She ran that way," I lied, pointing in the opposite direction.
One of the men didn't believe me. He pointed a gun at me and fired. I felt the bullet hit my neck, and everything went dark.
When I woke up, I was in a cold place, my senses confused. Before me was a woman with an imposing presence, observing me, her eyes measuring every part of me.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and firm.
"Nael," I replied, trying to gather strength.
"Do you want to live?"
"Yes."
"Then, you need to learn to survive."
Thus began my true training. It wasn't just a physical process, but a deep dive into the unknown. The training forced me to face my fears, to fight for my survival.
After the abandonment, my life sank into a dark abyss. From a very young age, I was trained to survive in ways most people could never comprehend. Survival wasn't just about food and shelter; it was about the invisible battles, the strategies, and the mind that had been forged through hardship and loneliness.
At eight, I began my training under a mysterious woman, a figure who would shape my future in ways I could not yet understand. Her harsh lessons pushed me to the limit, but over time, they became my foundation. She taught me how to survive—how to adapt to any environment, how to move unseen, how to mask my presence until I became nothing more than a shadow. She was relentless, and so was I, absorbing everything she taught me with a coldness and unwavering focus.
At nine, my training shifted. The woman began focusing on mental discipline, shaping my ability to remain stoic in the face of the toughest circumstances. I learned to keep my thoughts hidden, to control every part of myself, to speak only when necessary—less was always more. Everything I learned, I stored in my mind, ready to be unleashed at the right moment.
At ten, I started learning the art of assassination. The techniques were brutal and varied. Poison, blades, firearms—each tool, each technique became part of me, as natural as breathing. I became a weapon, trained to kill with precision and efficiency. There was no hesitation. There were no room for mistakes. Yet, I felt no satisfaction with it, no pride—only the need to complete the task and move on. Emotions, desires, or regrets—those were luxuries I couldn't afford.
At eleven, I was sent on my first real mission. I had to eliminate a high-profile target—a man who had wronged a powerful figure. The mission went smoothly, but the experiences, the bloodshed, remained etched in my mind forever. I was changing. I was no longer the child I had once been, loved and cared for. I had become someone else, forged in the flames of survival and cruelty.
The following years only intensified my transformation. As I grew, my missions became more complex, and the risks higher. By fifteen, I had already earned a reputation—a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of those who knew who I was. I was an assassin, a master at what I did, capable of destroying entire organizations without leaving a trace. The world had become my playground, but it was a world filled with darkness, a place where trust and loyalty were just empty words without meaning.
And in the midst of it all, there was one constant—Nayara. She was my partner, my closest ally, and for reasons I couldn't fully understand, our bond grew deeper each year. She was everything I wasn't—human, full of emotions and ambitions. Yet, she was also a weapon like me, trained by the same hand, molded by the same darkness. We were partners in every sense, our paths intertwined. She was the 'Number 1'—the best of us—and I was the 'Number 0,' her shadow, her complement.
Our relationship, though close, was devoid of typical affection. There was no room for such distractions in our work. We operated as a team, executing missions with precision, but nothing beyond that. Our loyalty to each other was unwavering, but it was a loyalty forged in blood, not human warmth.
Until the moment everything changed—the moment I discovered the truth. The truth about my family, about my past, and about Nayara.
I found out she was my sister. It was a revelation that shook my core. The Queen, our master, finally revealed the secret that had been kept from me all those years. My mind spun as I processed the information. Nayara, the woman I had fought with, trained with, and trusted—was my sister. The same blood ran in our veins, though we were in worlds so different.
I went after her, expecting to confront her, to find answers. But my search led to the most painful realization of all: I would never reconcile with my past. My mother, the woman who abandoned me, was a mystery I would never understand. I couldn't forgive her for what she had done, for leaving me to rot in the streets. Yet, I couldn't escape the desire to understand, to know why.
It was during this time that the mission came up—a task so impossible that it would either break me or strengthen me. We were sent to recover sensitive information, information that could change the course of the entire continent's history. It was a trap, a test, and I almost refused to participate. But I went, and it was there that everything began to unravel.
Nayara, my sister, was captured during the mission. She was taken, and I found myself faced with the realization that everything I had known was beginning to unravel.
The mission turned into chaos. The information we were after was locked away in a heavily guarded facility, and I had to rely on my skills—not just as a fighter, but as a hacker, as a tactician—to get us out alive. I infiltrated the system, retrieved the data, and fought my way through to rescue her. In the end, it wasn't just about survival; it was about something deeper—something that had been buried beneath years of training and emotional suppression.
When we finally escaped, I thought we were free. But Nayara had other plans. She betrayed me, pointing a gun at my chest and pulling the trigger. The coldness in her eyes, the indifference with which she did it—it was a stark reminder that in this world, no one was truly safe. Not even family.
As I lay on the ground, blood pouring from the wound, my life flashing before my eyes, I felt a strange peace. I had lived a life of shadows, of secrets, and of violence. But in that moment, I was free.
Or so I thought.
When I woke up, I was no longer in the place I had known. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with my mother. The woman who had abandoned me, the woman who had left me to die in the streets, was standing before me. Her gaze was soft, but there was a weight to it, a heaviness that I couldn't comprehend.
"Hello, my son," she said, her voice gentle yet cold.
I couldn't speak. I was numb. I didn't know what to feel—anger, sorrow, confusion. All of it swirled inside me, but I kept silent. This was the woman who had shaped my fate, who had abandoned me, and yet, here she was.
Her silence hung between us like a thick fog, and for a moment, neither of us knew what to say. The years of training, the pain, the betrayal—it was all there, pressing down on me. But I didn't show it. I couldn't. I was a shadow, a weapon, and that was all I knew how to be.
She looked at me with eyes full of regret, and in that moment, I realized that nothing would ever be the same again.