In a world where nearly every individual possessed a unique ability known as a "Trigger," chaos and order existed in a fragile balance.
These powers manifested in adolescence, ranging from elemental manipulation to superhuman strength—some even defying the laws of physics.
But with great power came great recklessness.
Crime rates skyrocketed as people abused their abilities, leading to the rise of a new profession—Heroes.
Government-sanctioned and idolized by the public, Heroes stood as the last line of defense against the lawless. They were ranked, celebrated, and entrusted with maintaining peace.
Yet, not all stories of power were glorious.
Some were tragedies.
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Deep within the high-security prison block of Ironhold Penitentiary, a lone figure sat in the darkest cell, wrists bound behind his back, eyes wrapped in thick bandages.
His long, messy white hair draped over his shoulders like a ragged cloak. The other inmates whispered about him—some in fear, others in twisted admiration.
"Hey… you hear that? A Hero's here."
*"No way. Who'd be stupid enough to come down here?"*
"It's Flamestar. Number Ten."
The boy didn't react. He never did.
Then, the heavy door of his cell groaned open.
Light spilled in, followed by the crisp click of armored boots. A woman stood before him—tall, confident, her crimson and gold uniform emblazoned with the insignia of the Hero Association. Flamestar.
"So," she began, arms crossed, **"this is where they've been keeping you."**
Silence.
She sighed. "You know, I read your file. Petty thief. Minor offenses. Then… one day, you were responsible for the death of Empire Gold—the Number One Hero."
Still, the boy said nothing.
Flamestar stepped closer, her voice softening, "They threw you in here with the worst of the worst. No trial. No second chances. Just… gone."
Her fingers reached for his blindfold.
The inmates held their breath.
With a careful tug, the bandages unraveled—revealing his eyes.
Left eye: a burning, unnatural red.
Right eye: a piercing, glacial blue.
For a moment, Flamestar hesitated. Then—
CRACK!
A spectral fist wreathed in blue fire slammed into her chest, launching her across the cell and into the opposite wall.
The inmates erupted in cheers as the boy stood, his restraints burning away like dust.
A ghostly knight clad in azure flames materialized behind him, its hollow gaze locked onto Flamestar.
"You should've kept me locked up," the boy said, his voice quiet but razor-sharp.
Guards rushed in, weapons drawn, but Flamestar raised a hand, "Stand down. I've got this."
She wiped blood from her lip, noticing something strange—her Trigger wasn't activating.
The boy tilted his head, "Why are you here?"
Flamestar took a deep breath, "I came to ask you to become a Hero."
The entire prison block burst into laughter.
"Him? A Hero?!"
"Kid killed Empire Gold! He's a monster!"
The boy smirked, "They're right. I belong here. I was born to be a villain."
Flamestar shook her head, "No. What happened that day was an accident."
His smirk vanished.
"I know the truth," she continued.
"There's a way for you to return to society. To change how people see you." She stepped forward, undeterred by the spectral knight still hovering at his side, "And no matter what anyone says… I believe in you. I see the good in you."
The jeers grew louder.
"Good? He's a killer!"
"Only place he belongs is a cage!"
Flamestar ignored them. Slowly, she approached the boy—and hugged him.
He stiffened, his spectral knight flickering in confusion.
"You have a golden heart," she whispered. "It's just surrounded by poison."
For the first time in years, his power deactivated. The knight dissipated. The eerie glow in his eyes dimmed.
And then, in a voice so quiet only she could hear—
"Give me a name, since I don't have one."
Flamestar pulled back, smiling.
"Arthur. The Nameless Hero."