A sharp jolt coursed through Alexander's body as he regained consciousness. His mind was sluggish, his vision blurred. The sterile scent of metal and machinery filled his nostrils as he tried to adjust to the unfamiliar environment. As his senses sharpened, he realized he was inside a plane—no, something far more advanced than any aircraft he had ever seen. The walls were sleek, embedded with intricate digital panels displaying unknown metrics. The hum of the engines was eerily smooth, as if defying the laws of physics. Despite the apparent velocity, there was no turbulence, no sense of motion—just an unnatural stillness that made it feel like he was floating through space.
He forced himself to sit up, his muscles still stiff from unconsciousness. As he turned to look outside, a vast ocean stretched beneath him, its dark expanse endless. Where was he? How did he get here? Before he could piece together an answer, the door to his chamber slid open with a soft hiss.
An older man, appearing to be in his late fifties or early sixties, entered the room. He carried himself with quiet authority, his sharp gaze softened by an air of familiarity. Two armed guards flanked him, their presence both protective and intimidating. The man offered a small nod, a silent greeting that Alexander found himself instinctively mirroring.
The man finally spoke, his voice warm yet firm. "You've been through trials no ordinary person could endure, Alexander. The fact that you are here proves you are meant for something greater. You now know the truth—that those you called your parents were not your real ones. But we do know who they are."
Alexander felt his breath hitch. "My… real parents?" The words felt foreign on his tongue.
The man stepped closer. "You have always known, haven't you? The dreams. The moments of familiarity in things you should not recognize. They were never just dreams."
A deep unease settled in his chest. "Then why don't I remember?" he demanded.
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat and produced a small, smooth pill, offering it with an outstretched hand. "This will help."
Alexander hesitated. But what did he have to lose? He took the pill and swallowed it. The effect was immediate.
A tidal wave of his most important memories crashed over him, pulling him into a past that had been locked away.
The sharp cry of a newborn pierced the dimly lit chamber. The air was thick with tension, breaking only when a voice finally announced, "Young Miss Rivanka, it's a healthy boy."
A woman, radiant despite her exhaustion, exhaled deeply. She wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to the doctor cradling the small, fragile infant. "Tell Williams… Tell him his son has arrived."
The room was a blend of stark efficiency and quiet luxury, a space where technology and comfort intertwined seamlessly. Smooth panels lined the walls, emitting a soft, golden glow that bathed the chamber in warmth, softening the edges of the sleek medical equipment humming faintly in the background. Rivanka lay on a cushioned bed, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like a halo, her face flushed with exertion but alive with a fierce, unshakable pride. The doctor, a wiry man in a pristine white coat, held the infant with steady hands, his movements deliberate as he turned to an attendant hovering nearby.
"Quickly," Rivanka added, her voice trembling slightly with fatigue but resolute. "He'll want to know now."
The doctor nodded, handing the child to a nurse who whisked it away to clean and swaddle. Rivanka's eyes followed the tiny bundle as it disappeared through a doorway, a mixture of longing and triumph flickering across her features. She sank back against the bed, her chest rising and falling as she fought to steady her breathing, her hands clutching the sheets as if anchoring herself to the moment. Attendants moved around her silently, adjusting monitors and offering murmurs of reassurance, but her focus remained on the empty doorway, waiting for the news to reach its destination.
Far away, high above the world, a private aircraft sliced through the night sky. The cabin was a masterpiece of understated elegance—polished wood paneling gleamed under recessed lights, leather seats creaked faintly under weight, and the air was crisp with the hum of climate control. Williams sat alone, one hand resting on the armrest, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished surface. His face was a mask of calm, almost impassive, but his eyes—sharp and piercing—betrayed a quiet anticipation as they traced the glowing grid of city lights sprawling far below.
A soft chime broke the silence, followed by a voice through his discreet earpiece: "The young master has been born."
A rare smile touched Williams' lips, softening the hard lines of his jaw. He leaned back in his seat, the leather creaking under his shift in weight. "Turn the plane around," he said, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable authority that filled the small space. "We're going home."
"Yes, sir," came the pilot's clipped response, and the aircraft banked smoothly, its engines purring as it altered course. Williams closed his eyes for a moment, the smile lingering as the news settled over him like a long-awaited victory. The city lights faded from view as the plane climbed higher, cutting through the clouds toward a destination hidden from the world. He pressed a hand to the window, the cool glass a contrast to the warmth blooming in his chest, and murmured to himself, "My son."
An island emerged from the depths of his mind—massive, hidden, untouchable. High towers lined its perimeter, sentinels of an impenetrable stronghold. The estate at its heart made even the grandest palaces seem insignificant. It was a land of technology beyond comprehension, where warriors moved like shadows and power was absolute. This was home. His home.
He saw himself as a child, a whirlwind of energy adored by all, yet molded by discipline. The air was thick with the scent of salt and earth, a cool breeze tugging at his clothes as he dashed across a courtyard. The ground beneath his bare feet was smooth stone, polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the endless blue sky above. Around him, soldiers in sleek combat gear moved with fluid precision, their faces hidden behind visors, their rifles humming with a faint energy. Barrels etched with intricate symbols glinted in the sunlight, a testament to craftsmanship he couldn't yet understand.
"Alexander!" a deep voice called, resonant and familiar, cutting through the roar of the wind and waves. He spun around, his tiny heart leaping with excitement, and saw Williams striding toward him. His father towered over the courtyard, his dark coat billowing behind him, boots clicking against the stone with every measured step. His face was stern, carved from years of discipline, but his eyes softened as they met Alexander's.
"Papa!" Alexander squealed, toddling forward as fast as his little legs could manage. Williams knelt, catching him in a strong embrace that lifted him off the ground, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them. The soldiers faded into the background, their disciplined ranks parting silently to give them space.
"You're getting faster," Williams said, his voice rumbling with a rare warmth that vibrated through Alexander's small frame. He ruffled Alexander's hair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But you still can't outrun me."
Alexander giggled, squirming in his father's arms. "I will someday! You'll see!"
Williams chuckled, a deep, rolling sound that echoed across the courtyard like distant thunder. "We'll see about that, little storm." He stood, lifting Alexander effortlessly onto his shoulders, the boy's small hands gripping his father's hair for balance. "Come on. Your mother's waiting."
They crossed the courtyard, the soldiers resuming their patrols as if nothing had happened. The estate's massive doors loomed ahead, sliding open with a soft hiss. Inside, the halls were vast, lined with towering columns of dark metal that gleamed under recessed lighting. The air carried a faint hint of lavender, a subtle contrast to the fortress's imposing exterior. Rivanka stood at the far end of a grand room, her silhouette framed by a massive window overlooking the churning ocean. She turned as they entered, her face lighting up with a smile that made Alexander's chest ache with a longing he couldn't name.
"There's my little whirlwind," she said, her voice soft but carrying a strength that matched her husband's. She reached out, and Williams handed Alexander over, his small arms wrapping around her neck as she pulled him close against her chest.
"He's been running circles around the guards again," Williams said, crossing his arms with a mock sigh that didn't hide the pride in his tone. "They're starting to complain."
Rivanka laughed, the sound bright and musical, filling the room with warmth. "Let them complain. He's keeping them sharp." She pressed a kiss to Alexander's forehead, her touch grounding him in a way that made the world feel safe. "What did you do today, my love?"
"Chased the big ones!" Alexander chirped, pointing at the soldiers stationed along the walls. Their visors hid their faces, but he imagined them smiling back at him, their stern exteriors cracking just for him.
"Did you now?" Rivanka's eyes sparkled with amusement as she shifted him to her hip. She glanced at Williams, a playful glint in her gaze. "He's got your spirit."
"And your stubbornness," Williams shot back, his tone dry but laced with affection. He stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder as he looked down at their son. "He'll need both, I suppose."
The days stretched on in a blur of joy and discovery. Alexander saw himself darting through the estate's endless halls, his small hands grasping at tools and gadgets as tutors introduced him to a world he couldn't fully grasp. He sat at a low table, a sleek tablet in front of him, its screen flickering with patterns and numbers. A tutor—a woman with sharp features and a calm voice—guided his fingers across the display, teaching him how to trace commands that made lights flicker and machines hum.
"Good," she said, her tone approving as he completed a sequence. "You're a quick learner, Alexander. Quicker than most."
He beamed, his chest swelling with pride, and glanced toward the doorway where Rivanka watched, her arms crossed, a quiet smile on her lips. The lessons weren't just games—they were preparation, though he didn't know it yet. Outside, he ran through training grounds, ducking under wooden beams and scrambling up ropes despite his small size. His laughter rang out, high and clear, as guards cheered him on, their voices muffled behind their helmets but unmistakably encouraging.
"Look at him go!" one called, lowering his rifle to watch. "He'll be leading us someday."
"Only if he learns to listen first," another teased, earning a ripple of laughter from the group.
Rivanka watched from a balcony above, her hands resting on the railing, her pride evident in every line of her posture. Williams joined her sometimes, standing silently at her side, his gaze tracking their son's every move. They didn't speak, but the air between them hummed with a shared understanding—a promise, a plan, a future they were building for him.
Then the moment came.
The day he was taken.
A new memory surfaced, darker and quieter, heavy with a weight he hadn't felt before. He was older now, perhaps three, standing in a sterile chamber buried deep within the estate. The walls were cold and unyielding, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and metal—a stark contrast to the warmth of the halls above. In the center of the room sat a pod—its transparent surface shimmered with faint blue lights, cables snaking from its base to connect with panels that blinked and beeped in a steady rhythm. The space felt clinical, detached, a place where decisions were made without room for softness.
Rivanka stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her grip tighter than usual. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with worry she couldn't hide. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice low and directed at someone behind them.
Williams stepped into view, his face set in a hard line, his jaw tight with resolve. "It's necessary," he said, his tone firm and unyielding, leaving no space for argument. "He'll be stronger for it. We've discussed this."
Alexander looked up at his mother, sensing the tension in her touch. "Mama?" he whispered, his voice small and uncertain, seeking the comfort he'd always found in her.
She knelt in front of him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that she fought to keep at bay. "You're going to be brave for us, aren't you?" she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with a trembling hand. "Just for a little while. It's… it's important."
He nodded, trusting her completely even as a flicker of fear stirred in his chest. Her smile was strained but steady, and she stood, stepping back as Williams gestured to the technicians waiting nearby. They moved forward, their white coats rustling faintly, guiding Alexander toward the pod with gentle but insistent hands. Its lid hissed open, revealing a cushioned interior filled with a clear, shimmering liquid that rippled faintly under the lights.
He hesitated, glancing back at his parents. Rivanka's hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white, while Williams stood tall, his posture rigid. "It's okay," Rivanka said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "We'll be right here when it's over."
Williams placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression unreadable but his grip firm, anchoring her. "Go on, son," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.
Alexander climbed into the pod, the liquid cool against his skin as he settled inside. It lapped at his legs, then his chest, a strange sensation that made him shiver. The lid closed over him with a soft click, sealing him in, and the world outside blurred through the transparent surface. He saw his parents standing there, Rivanka's hand pressed against her mouth, Williams' arm around her shoulders, holding her steady.
A technician's voice filtered through the pod, calm and detached. "Initializing enhancement sequence." A prick stung his arm, sharp and sudden, and a rush of warmth spread through his veins. His vision swam, colors bleeding together, and he felt his body grow heavy, sinking deeper into the liquid. The hum of the machines grew louder, a steady pulse that matched the beating of his heart, and then—silence. Darkness swallowed him whole.
January 2, 2013.
A silent farewell. The weight of decisions beyond his understanding. The estate was hushed, its usual bustle replaced by a solemn stillness that seeped into every corner. Alexander stood in a grand study, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and screens displaying maps he couldn't yet read. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and ink, a grounding scent undercut by the tension hanging in the air. Williams sat behind a massive desk, a single glass of amber liquid resting untouched before him, his hands folded in front of him like a man bracing for battle.
Rivanka stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her back to them both. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass, its dark waves rolling under a gray sky, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. Alexander, barely three, stood in the center of the room, his small hands fidgeting at his sides. He didn't know why they'd brought him here, didn't understand the weight in his father's eyes or the rigidity in his mother's shoulders, but he felt it all the same.
"Are you ready?" Williams asked, his voice firm but softer than usual, carrying a note of something Alexander couldn't place—regret, perhaps, or resolve.
Alexander looked up at him, his wide eyes searching for answers. He didn't know what was happening, didn't grasp the gravity of the moment, but he nodded, because that's what they wanted from him. His father's gaze held his for a long moment, unblinking, and then he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
Rivanka turned then, her face pale, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her composure. "Williams—" she started, her voice breaking on his name, but he raised a hand, cutting her off sharply.
"It's decided," he said, his tone final, a wall slamming down between them. "He'll thank us one day. This is for his future."
She took a step forward, her hands dropping to her sides, fists clenched. "He's just a child," she whispered, the words raw and pleading. "We could wait. We could—"
"No," Williams interrupted, standing now, his chair scraping against the floor. "The world won't wait. And neither can we."
The journey to the facility was brief, a silent ride in a sleek vehicle that hummed beneath them. Alexander sat between his parents, their hands resting on his shoulders, their silence louder than any words they could've spoken. The vehicle moved through tunnels beneath the estate, the walls smooth and featureless, lit by faint strips of blue light that cast eerie shadows across their faces. Rivanka's fingers tightened on his shoulder, her touch a lifeline he clung to, while Williams stared straight ahead, his jaw set like stone.
They arrived at an underground chamber, its cold walls lined with machines that clicked and whirred in a relentless rhythm. Technicians in white coats moved around them, attaching sensors to Alexander's skin with practiced efficiency, their voices a low murmur he couldn't follow. A table stood in the center, its surface smooth and metallic, surrounded by screens displaying streams of data in a language he didn't know.
"Memory suppression," one technician said, adjusting a screen as numbers scrolled across it. "Physical limitation protocols engaged. We'll keep the core intact, as instructed."
Alexander looked to his mother, searching for the reassurance he'd always found in her, but her eyes were fixed on the floor, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Williams stood beside her, his hand on her arm, his face a mask of resolve that didn't waver even as she leaned into him, her shoulders shaking faintly.
A helmet was placed over Alexander's head, its weight unfamiliar and heavy. A voice whispered through it, calm and mechanical. "Initiating sequence." Pain flared briefly, sharp and bright, like a needle piercing his skull, and then the world dissolved into darkness. He felt his mother's hand slip away, heard his father's steady breathing fade, and then there was nothing—only the void, swallowing him whole.
When he awoke, he was alone in a sterile room, no trace of the island, the estate, or the family that had shaped him. He was just another orphan, his past erased, his future rewritten.
The visions stopped as abruptly as they started. Alexander gasped, his body trembling. The weight of his true self settled onto his shoulders like a long-forgotten burden.
He looked up at the man before him, his breath ragged. "I… remember."
The man's faint smile never wavered. "Welcome back, Young Master Alexander Ironhart."