ZAYDEN CROSS THE IRON GUARDIAN

Ashes of Vengeance

The storm didn’t stop until dawn.

The rain had washed the city clean, but for Zayden Cross, nothing could wash the blood off his hands.

He stood by the window of the safe house — an abandoned warehouse turned into a fortress. Outside, the skyline of Gravemarch City gleamed under faint light. Inside, the air was thick with silence.

Behind him, Rhea sat by Luca’s bedside. The boy slept soundly, unaware of how close death had come. His small hand clutched the edge of the blanket like it was a lifeline.

Zayden hadn’t slept. Not since the hospital.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the gunfire flashing against white walls, the nurse’s scream, the scent of smoke and antiseptic blending together — and the face of Specter, the man he’d killed once, staring at him through the fire with one good eye.

Rhea broke the silence. “He’ll be okay. The doctor said the trauma will fade.”

Zayden didn’t respond. His reflection in the window looked like a ghost — the outline of a man who had already died but refused to fall.

“Zay…” Rhea stood. “You can’t keep blaming yourself. None of this was your fault.”

He turned, his voice low, gravel scraping through the words.

“Everything that happens to me — to him — is my fault. You know that.”

“Draven started this war—”

“I let him,” Zayden snapped. “I should’ve ended him years ago.”

Rhea flinched. She’d seen Zayden angry before, but this was different — this was rage with purpose. The kind that changed men into monsters.

He reached for the holster on the table, sliding in his handgun with practiced precision.

“I’m done waiting for his next move.”

Rhea stepped forward. “What are you planning?”

Zayden glanced at her, and in that moment, she saw the truth: the protector had turned into the hunter.

“Draven built his empire on fear,” Zayden said. “I’m going to make him choke on it.”

---

By midday, Gravemarch City buzzed with rumors.

Anonymous tips, police scanners lighting up, whispers in underground channels.

A single message spreading like wildfire across the underworld:

> The Iron Wolf is back.

It started with a warehouse explosion on the East Docks — a fireball so bright it turned night into day. No one saw who did it, but a single calling card was found among the ashes — a steel wolf insignia, etched into a bullet casing.

Then came the second hit.

A convoy carrying Draven’s arms shipment was ambushed on the interstate. No survivors. The footage from a nearby drone showed a figure standing atop the wreckage, coat flaring in the wind, walking away as the flames rose behind him.

Zayden Cross was sending a message.

---

In the safe house, Rhea watched the city news feed flicker on the old television.

“Another explosion rocks Gravemarch,” the reporter said. “Authorities suspect the return of a former military operative known as—”

Rhea switched it off before the name came out.

Luca stirred in his sleep. “Mom?” he whispered.

The word made Rhea freeze.

He wasn’t calling for her. He was dreaming of his mother — the woman Zayden had lost five years ago.

Zayden walked in then, drenched from rain, the smell of smoke clinging to him.

He paused by Luca’s bed, brushing the boy’s hair aside gently. The contrast between the blood on his hands and the softness of that gesture broke something in Rhea’s chest.

“You’re scaring the city,” she said quietly.

“That’s the point,” he replied.

She stepped closer. “You can’t protect him by burning everything down.”

“I’m not protecting anymore,” Zayden said. “I’m avenging.”

---

Flashback: Six Years Ago

The desert sun was merciless.

Zayden and Draven stood side by side in combat gear, dust and sweat mixing into their scars. They were brothers-in-arms once — soldiers in a covert division no one talked about.

But when the government disbanded the unit, Draven saw opportunity.

He took what they built — the weapons, the technology, the secrets — and sold them to the highest bidder.

Zayden walked away. Draven called it betrayal.

The last time they saw each other before the war began, Draven had said:

> “You don’t get to walk away clean, brother. Blood follows men like us.”

He was right. The blood had found its way to Luca.

---

Back to Present

Night again.

Zayden stood over a map spread across the table. Red circles marked every one of Draven’s outposts.

The next target: The Black Harbor, a shipping terminal and front for Draven’s smuggling routes.

Rhea walked in, arms crossed. “You’re going after him alone again?”

“Always,” Zayden said without looking up.

She frowned. “You used to believe in teamwork.”

He looked up, eyes cold. “I used to believe in mercy.”

Rhea didn’t argue further. She just said, “Then at least promise me one thing — come back alive. Luca needs his father more than the city needs another ghost.”

Zayden hesitated. For a heartbeat, the rage cracked.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “But not as the man I was.”

---

The Black Harbor was a graveyard of steel and silence.

Cargo ships loomed like sleeping beasts, and the air reeked of oil and salt.

Zayden moved like a shadow, his footsteps soundless over wet concrete.

Ahead, guards patrolled in lazy rotations — men who thought they were safe.

He watched them through the scope, eyes steady. One by one, they dropped — silent, precise kills.

He made his way to the central office, where crates of weapons were stacked.

Then he saw it — a screen flickered to life.

Draven’s face appeared, grainy but unmistakable.

> “You’ve been busy, old friend,” Draven’s voice echoed through the speakers.

“Burning down my city won’t bring her back.”

Zayden froze.

Draven smiled on the screen, tapping the side of his head. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know where you were headed next? You think you’re the only one who learned to play dirty?”

The room began to beep — a soft, rhythmic sound that made Zayden’s blood run cold.

Explosives.

He turned just as the first blast tore through the floor. The force threw him against a wall, debris raining from the ceiling. Fire spread fast, consuming everything.

Zayden coughed, pulling himself up, blood dripping from his temple.

Draven’s voice still played through the broken speakers:

> “You started a fire, Zayden. Let’s see if you can survive your own flames.”

Zayden staggered to the exit, flames chasing his shadow. He barely made it out before the entire dock erupted — a wall of fire lighting up the night.

He collapsed on the ground, breathing hard, staring up at the sky.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed — faint and meaningless.

He laughed softly, a sound halfway between madness and pain.

Then his communicator buzzed. Rhea’s voice crackled through:

> “Zayden? Are you alive?”

He smiled bitterly, watching the black smoke curl into the heavens.

> “Alive enough,” he said. “Tell Luca I’ll be home soon.”

He hung up before she could reply.

The fire reflected in his eyes — twin embers of vengeance  refusing to die.

And as he walked away from the burning harbor, the city whispered his name again,

a name spoken in fear and awe alike:

> “The Iron Wolf.”