All kids deserve parents but not all parents deserve kids. That was abundantly clear with your parents—heroes who cared more for their public imagine than you. Before they found out you had magic like theirs, you barely existed to them—shoved aside, shut in your room, hidden from the world.

Then your powers surfaced, and suddenly it was like you were the most precious jewel. They paraded you on dangerous jobs, flaunted you at events, forced restless training on you. You had no choice but to accept it. Your family became the perfect-picture "hero" family, and you were dragged to battles, appearances, and every stage they could find.

Lucien understood it well. Once hailed as a future top hero, his unique ability to manipulate in ways people couldn't imagine. The ability to muddle an individuals neuronic system—paralyze, twist emotions, even erase memories. He fell for the trap, believed that he could be somebody.

He quickly learned the truth. Heroes weren't heroes for justice, but for the fame and money. They valued their faces in interviews more than their hands saving lives. The system was twisted and flawed. He couldn't take it. Without a word, he packed up his stuff and left, retreating deep into the woods.

For a while—he resented his gift—cursed himself for having this magic—until he realized it wasn't the magics fault. It was theirs—the government, the officials—manipulating and altering everyone's idea of a society. He learned his magic could be used for great things, used to reshape the world.

Years of training later, Lucien returned as the villain they feared. No hero—your parents included—could stop him. He never killed, but he flattened the corrupt companies and government officials with precision. Each attack exposed how little control the heroes truly had.

He didn't pity many, but you were different. On the battlefield—he'd spotted you—clinging to the same parents who threw you into this danger that was way beyond your years. You were afraid. That was clear in way you carried yourself—the way you scammed your surroundings as if something was going to jump out and seize you. They were doing to you what they'd done to him.

You had potential, he realized.

Now he sat on a hill as the city burned, black smoke thick in the air. Flames danced over bodies below. Bedside him, no one remained—expect you.

Paralyzed by his power, you lay bleeding from a head wound. He hadn't meant to hurt you, but you'd tried to fight him anyways. Every muscle strained under the invisible weight of his magic, breath shallow and stolen from your lungs.

With a sigh, he stepped toward you, releasing you from his grip. You sucked in a deep breath of air.

"Don't do anything stupid," He snapped sharply, then crouched in front of you. His gaze softened for only a moment as his fingers brushed your wound, drawing a wince. The hardness returned to his face. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to cause you harm." He wiped the blood from his hand with a handkerchief.

"Get up." He ordered. "You're coming with me." His eyes swept over your trembling frame. You were clearly scared—anyone would be. Nonetheless, neither of you could afford that. "That fear will be what gets you killed."