ZAYDEN CROSS THE IRON GUARDIAN

The night howled with the cry of engines as a black helicopter sliced through the storm clouds, its blades roaring like a beast that refused to die.

 Below, the sleeping city glittered — cold, heartless, and unaware of the monster it had created.

Inside the chopper, a man sat in silence.

Zayden Cross.

The world once called him The Iron Guardian, commander of the Shadow Legion, the deadliest special force ever forged by human hands. Five years ago, he led thousands into the bloodiest battle of the century… and never returned. His name was carved into war memorials. His medals were given to his family in a box sealed with tears.

They said he died a hero.

They were wrong.

Zayden hadn’t died. He had been buried alive — by betrayal, by politics, by the people he once protected.

Now he was coming home.

The helicopter landed on a dark, abandoned airstrip on the outskirts of Asterion City. Rain lashed against the windows as the rotors slowed to a stop.

The door opened, and cold wind rushed in, whipping against Zayden’s face. His sharp features were marked by years of battle — scars across his jaw, eyes that had seen too much. He wore a black tactical coat, its insignia torn off long ago. The man who stepped onto the wet tarmac was not a soldier anymore.

He was a storm given human form.

“Commander,” one of the Shadow Legion men began, saluting.

“Don’t,” Zayden said, his voice low and hard. “The Commander died five years ago.”

His second-in-command, Kane, lowered his gaze. “Sir— I mean, Zayden— what’s our next move?”

Before Zayden could reply, his phone buzzed.

 He hadn’t seen that number in years.

 When he opened the message, the world seemed to stop.

Your son won’t last the night.

For a moment, the howling wind vanished. The world fell into silence — only his heartbeat remained, thunderous and wild.

Zayden’s fingers tightened around the phone until the glass cracked.

 He said nothing. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was enough to make even seasoned soldiers step back.

“Prepare the vehicle,” he said. “We

The SUV tore down the highway, rain hammering the windshield as lightning illuminated Zayden’s face.

 He stared straight ahead, his mind spiraling into memories he’d spent years trying to bury.

Five years ago.

 The war zone of Dragora Valley.

Gunfire had lit the skies like fireworks.

 His unit had been ambushed. Dozens died in minutes. He’d fought to the last breath, protecting his men — until the missiles came.

The enemy shouldn’t have known their position.

 Someone had leaked it.

 Someone from his own government.

He had survived the explosion by sheer will — but when he returned to camp days later, wounded and bleeding, he saw the official broadcast:

 “Commander Zayden Cross — Killed in Action.”

They erased him.

 They buried the truth.

 And while he fought to survive in exile, his family was left alone in a city .

By the time Zayden reached St. Haven Hospital, dawn was breaking.

 He moved through the corridors like a ghost in human form — silent, cold, unstoppable.

 Nurses froze. Security guards stared.

 Every step he took carried the weight of a thousand battles.

Room 307.

He stopped at the door, hesitating for the first time in years.

Inside lay his son, Liam. Pale. Hooked to tubes. Machines beeped in soft, cruel rhythm.

 Beside him sat Mia — Zayden’s younger sister. Her eyes were swollen from crying. When she saw him, her breath caught.

“Zayden…?”

 Her voice trembled like a prayer.

 “I— I thought you were—”

“Dead?” His lips curved in a bitter smile. “Seems the world enjoys killing me.”

Tears filled her eyes as she threw her arms around him, shaking. “It’s been five years! We buried an empty coffin!”

He didn’t respond. His gaze locked on his son’s face — the boy who had been only six when he last saw him. Now eight, fragile, fighting for life.

“What happened to him?” Zayden asked quietly.

Mia’s expression darkened. “It was poison. The doctors said it wasn’t an accident. It’s something rare — engineered, deliberate. They think… someone targeted him.”

Zayden’s fists clenched. The air around him thickened with silent fury.

“Where’s Ava?” he asked after a moment.

Mia froze.

 Zayden’s wife.

 The woman he had vowed to protect above all else.

“They took her,” Mia whispered. “Two months ago. The Syndicate — the same people who own half this city. She tried to fight them, Zayden. She tried to protect Liam. They said… they said she crossed them. No one has seen her since.”

Zayden’s heartbeat slowed.

 Cold, deliberate calm replaced the storm.

 He leaned down, kissed his son’s forehead, and whispered,

 “I’m home now, buddy. And I’m not leaving again.”

Then he turned to Mia.

 “Who runs the Syndicate now?”

She hesitated. “A man named Viktor Draven. He rose fast — took control of the underworld, politicians, the corporations. He— he has everyone in his pocket.”

Zayden’s jaw tightened. “Not everyone.”

Hours later, Zayden stood alone on the hospital rooftop.

 The city stretched before him — steel, glass, and rot.

 The same skyline he had once sworn to protect. Now, it was the enemy’s fortress.

He could still hear the voices of the dying soldiers in his head — the promises he’d made, the oaths he’d broken.

 He closed his eyes and let the rain wash over him.

“Draven,” he murmured. The name tasted like blood. “You took my wife. You hurt my son. You think the Iron Guardian died… but I’m right here.”

A crack of thunder rolled across the sky as if answering his vow.

That night, in a skyscraper downtown, Viktor Draven poured himself a glass of wine. The city glittered beneath his penthouse window — his empire.

 When his assistant entered, trembling, he looked up lazily.

“Sir,” the man said, “we have a problem. The hospital reported… someone fitting Zayden Cross’s description. He’s alive.”

Draven froze for half a second — then laughed softly.

“Impossible,” he said, swirling the wine. “The war hero? The one who vanished in Dragora Valley? He’s a ghost.”

“Yes, sir,” the assistant said nervously. “But… there’s footage.”

Draven’s smile vanished. He placed the glass down.

“So the ghost came back,” he whispered. “Let’s remind him — ghosts don’t belong among the living.”

Back at the hospital, Zayden stood by Liam’s bedside as the machines beeped steadily.

 He touched the boy’s hand — small, cold, fragile — and swore silently to himself.

You took everything from me once. This time, I take it all back.

His eyes hardened. The storm within him had finally found its purpose.

Outside, the city lights flickered again — as if the darkness itself bowed before his rage.

The Iron Guardian had returned.

 And this time, no one would survive his wrath