Heaven's Last Heir

On the northernmost frontier of Vespera, where towering mountains swallowed the horizon and the sea relentlessly battered jagged black cliffs, stood a prison that officially did not exist.

It wasn't marked on civilian maps. Commercial aircraft were forbidden from flying over it, and even satellites captured little more than endless forests buried beneath layers of permanent clouds.

The people of Vespera knew it simply as Blackstone Military Penitentiary. The government called it Facility Zero.

For decades, Blackstone had been the final destination for the most dangerous men in the country—serial killers, terrorists, assassins, former warlords, military traitors, and other criminals whose names were so notorious that the government had eventually stopped allowing the public to hear them.

Some were sentenced to life imprisonment. Others arrived with execution dates already stamped on their files. Very few ever walked through Blackstone's gates again.

Among the people of Vespera, there was an old saying: 'If Blackstone closes its gates behind you, your grave has already been dug. There was no way out.'

And yet, this morning, those enormous iron gates were opening. Not for an incoming convoy. Not for an execution. But for a single prisoner.

Something even stranger was happening inside the prison. Thousands of inmates stood outside their cells, pressed against the iron bars as they watched the courtyard below.

On the lower floors, hundreds of unchained prisoners had gathered along both sides of the road leading toward the main gate.

There were no shouts, insults or arguments. Not even the usual curses exchanged between rival inmates. Only silence.

Several guards instinctively tightened their grips on their rifles. A young officer glanced nervously at the prisoners surrounding them.

"Sir..." he whispered. "Are they planning a riot?"

The elderly warden beside him chuckled.

"A riot?" He shook his head. "No."

The young officer frowned. "Then what are they doing?"

The old warden's gaze settled on the prison building. "They're saying goodbye."

"To a prisoner?"

"You've only been stationed here for a month." The warden smiled faintly. "So you wouldn't know."

His expression softened. "The man leaving today is the reason most of the people standing here are still alive."

Before the young officer could ask anything else, a heavily tattooed inmate stepped forward.

He was a notorious serial murderer who had been convicted of killing more than a hundred people. Yet the hardened expression he usually wore was nowhere to be seen.

Brother Jordan..." His voice trembled slightly. "Thank you."

Another inmate lowered his head. He had once been one of the most feared assassins in Vespera.

"If not for you..." His voice became hoarse. "I'd have died three years ago."

He looked toward the prison building. "That snake's venom had already reached my heart. Every doctor had given up on me."

His eyes reddened. "Brother Jordan saved me."

One voice became two. Then ten. Then fifty. Soon, the entire prison seemed to come alive.

"Thank you, Brother Jordan!"

"We'll never forget you!"

"Take care of yourself!"

"We'll behave ourselves!"

"Wait for us! We'll get out one day too!"

The enormous prison echoed with their voices. Then came the sound of wheels.

CREAK.

The crowd gradually fell silent. A wheelchair slowly emerged from the prison building. The man sitting in it wore a faded prison uniform. Both legs were wrapped in old bandages, the fabric stained with patches of dried blood.

He looked barely twenty-five. Six years inside Blackstone should have left him gaunt and broken. Yet his striking features remained untouched by the harshness of the prison.

Black hair fell loosely over his forehead, framing sharp brows, a straight nose, and a clean, refined jaw. But it was his eyes that captured everyone's attention. They were deep, clear and serene. Like a tranquil lake before dawn.

There was no hatred in them. No bitterness or excitement at finally being free. Only an extraordinary calmness.

He sat perfectly straight, his hands resting naturally on the arms of the wheelchair. Even dressed in faded prison clothes, he possessed a quiet dignity that made the hardened men around him instinctively lower their voices.

The wheelchair stopped. Jordan Hallow looked at the sea of criminals surrounding him. A faint smile touched his lips. "You'd better keep your promise."

Several inmates exchanged nervous glances. His smile widened.

"If I hear you've caused trouble again..." He rested one hand against the armrest. "I'll personally come back."

"Hehehe!"

Laughter erupted through the courtyard. A few prisoners wiped at their eyes while laughing. For a brief moment, the most feared prison in Vespera didn't feel like hell. It felt like home.

An elderly warden slowly approached. The stern expression he had worn for decades had softened.

"My granddaughter asked me to give you something before you leave."

He handed Jordan a neatly wrapped paper bag. Inside were freshly baked cookies, a child's drawing, and a small handwritten note.

Jordan unfolded it carefully. [Big Brother Jordan, thank you for saving my life. I hope these cookies taste better than the last ones. Please come visit me one day. I will make you more cookies when you come]

He stared at the crooked handwriting for several seconds. Then the corners of his lips lifted. "I will."

The warden's eyes reddened slightly. "She'll be happy to hear that."

Jordan folded the note carefully and placed it back inside the bag. "Thank you."

The warden nodded before taking hold of the wheelchair. "Ready?"

Jordan looked toward the massive gates in the distance. For the first time in six years, they were open. He nodded. "Let's go."

The wheelchair began moving. As he passed through the rows of inmates, something strange happened.

A notorious murderer quietly removed his prison cap. A former warlord placed his fist over his heart. An infamous political terrorist lowered his head. Nobody instructed them to do it. They simply did.

One after another, hardened criminals bowed their heads as he passed.

"Goodbye, Brother Jordan."

"Take care."

"Don't forget us."

"We'll behave."

"Until we meet again."

Their voices followed him all the way toward the gate. He never looked back. But his hand tightened slightly around the little paper bag resting on his lap.