A private jet sliced through the storm-ridden sky, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim glow of the Capital's city lights. The storm clouds above rumbled softly as if nature itself sensed the shift in fate. Below, on the most exclusive military airstrip, thousands of figures stood in perfect formation, their presence an undeniable force of authority.
As the jet's doors opened, a deathly silence overtook the airstrip. Then, as if answering an unspoken command, thousands of voices erupted in unison, their cries shaking the heavens:
"WE WELCOME OUR GENERAL, THE VICTORIOUS GOD OF WAR!"
The ground trembled beneath the deafening roar. Soldiers, high-ranking officers, and elites from the war council stood at attention, their backs straight, their eyes filled with reverence. These were men and women who had seen the impossible happen under his command. They had followed him into hell and emerged victorious.
And now, their leader had returned.
Kyle Clark stepped out of the jet, his long black coat billowing slightly in the cold wind. His golden eyes, sharp and unreadable, swept over the legions before him. There was no arrogance in his gaze—only a quiet, absolute dominance that made even the strongest men hesitate before meeting his eyes.
At his side, a man followed—broad-shouldered, clad in a decorated military uniform, and standing with the discipline of a soldier who had seen too many wars. This was Darius Cain, one of his most trusted generals.
Darius let out a low whistle as he adjusted his gloves. "Damn. They really rolled out the red carpet for you."
Kyle's lips curled slightly, though there was no humour in it. "It's to be expected."
Kyle Clark—the God of War, the Demon of the Battlefield, the man who had sent entire nations crumbling—let out a small chuckle, though there was no warmth in it.
"It never changes," he said, his voice even. "Arrogance, wealth, false power. It thrives here."
Darius glanced at him. "And your so-called 'family'—they don't know who you are?"
Kyle's gaze darkened. "No. To them, I am just another war hero returning home."
As they descended the steps, the storm intensified. A convoy of black SUVs awaited them, but Kyle ignored the vehicles and turned his gaze toward the distant skyline. "Before I see them, there's someone I need to visit first."
Darius nodded. "Your mother."
Kyle said nothing, but the tightening of his jaw was answered enough.
In the Capital…
The upper echelons of society were abuzz with rumours. The God of War had arrived. Every noble family, every politician, and every corporate giant scrambled to secure a meeting with the legendary warrior. None were more eager than the Clark Family.
Inside their grand estate, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. The Patriarch, Richard Clark, sat at the head of a long dining table, surrounded by his family. His eyes flickered with impatience as he addressed the room. "The God of War is coming to the Capital. This is an opportunity we cannot waste."
Seated to his left was Edward Clark, his eldest legitimate son and heir. "What do we know about him?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Very little," Richard admitted. "His identity has been kept a mystery. But a man of his caliber will recognize strength when he sees it. We must welcome him as an equal."
At the far end of the table, a woman scoffed. Madeline Clark, Richard's wife and a powerful figure in her own right, leaned back in her chair. "A warrior is still just a soldier, no matter how strong. He will respect power, and we have plenty of that."
None of them knew the truth. None of them realized that the man they sought to court was the very boy they had discarded like trash.
An Abandoned House, Far from the City…
The air smelled of damp earth and rotting wood. The small, crumbling house stood alone in the dark wilderness, far removed from the glittering towers of the Capital. Time had been cruel to this place. The paint had peeled away, the windows were cracked, and the roof sagged under years of neglect.
Kyle stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dirt path. He knew this place well—this was once his home.
Darius, following closely, frowned as he eyed the wreckage. "You sure she's still here?"
Kyle didn't answer. He pushed the door open, the rusted hinges creaking loudly in protest.
Inside, the air was stale, filled with the scent of decay and old memories. His golden eyes scanned the dimly lit room, locking onto a frail figure seated near a small wooden table. The candlelight flickered against her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.
His mother.
Sophia Clark.
The years had not been kind to her. The once-beautiful woman now looked aged beyond her years. Her fingers, once delicate and soft, were now rough with callouses, a testament to the hardships she had endured. Her frail frame was draped in patched, threadbare clothes—so different from the silks and jewels the other Clark women adorned themselves with.
For years, she had lived in exile, cast away like garbage. To survive, she had worked herself to the bone, doing whatever labour she could find—washing clothes for pennies, sewing until her fingers bled, scavenging for food when she had nothing left. And in those darkest moments, she had never once forgotten her son.
She turned her head slightly, her tired eyes filling with disbelief. Her lips trembled as if she feared this was nothing more than a cruel dream.
"You… finally came back," she whispered, voice hoarse from years of silence.
Kyle stepped forward, his voice steady. "I told you I would."
Tears welled in her eyes. Slowly, she raised a trembling hand and touched his face, as if she needed to confirm he was real. Her fingers, rough with hardship, met his warm skin.
Kyle looked down at her hand—dirt, scars, pain.
Gently, he took her hand in both of his, pressing it against his cheek. "I am back, Mom."
Sophia's resolve broke. With a choked sob, she threw her arms around him, clutching him tightly as if he might disappear. Her frail body trembled against his broad frame, years of grief spilling out all at once.
Darius, standing near the entrance, closed his eyes and exhaled. Wordlessly, he turned and stepped outside, his boots crunching against the gravel as he stood guard. He knew better than to interrupt.
He had seen what happened to those who dared to intrude on Kyle's moments of vulnerability.
Inside, the only sounds were Sophia's muffled cries and the steady, comforting heartbeat of the man she had never stopped waiting for.
Outside, the storm finally broke.
Tonight, the Capital celebrated the arrival of a legend.
But the storm had only just begun.