The Bastard 〈EXTENDED〉

The Bastard doesn't seek a throne. He spits on bloodlines. He laughs at inheritance. While princes choke on tradition and merchants drown in ledgers, he moves like smoke through the spaces they forgot to guard.

They didn't give him a name. Just a mark in the margin of a ledger— illegitimate . A footnote before he could speak. But what the world calls a mistake, he calls fuel. the bastard

He learned young: the only family that won't betray you is the one you choose. The only law worth keeping is the one you carve yourself. The Bastard doesn't seek a throne

Because The Bastard isn't a title. It's a weapon. While princes choke on tradition and merchants drown

So he walks the crooked roads—knife in one hand, charm in the other. He'll drink with kings, pickpocket priests, and dance with death before breakfast. And when morning comes? He's already gone.

Unexpected. Unfiltered. Unforgettable.

He owes no loyalty. No debt. No prayer.