The Prodigal Heir

Archibald McManus the Third grew up in wealth, but the night of the car crash shattered everything. His mother was killed, his right arm mangled and replaced with a golden prosthetic, and suspicion burned in him that his father had orchestrated it all. From then on, Archibald’s smiles at council dinners were masks, his every thought bent toward one purpose: tearing down the empire his father built on silence and blood.

When he found the rebels, they gave him more than shelter—they gave him a weapon to channel his grief. Bradston taught him to fight, Big Ma gave him patience, and Archibald honed himself into a sniper. With his golden arm steadying every breath and shot, he became the unseen hand in their battles, striking from a distance with precision that bordered on unnatural.

To the nobles, he is still the polished son of the Holy Council. To the rebels, he is their marksman and strategist. And to himself, he is a boy with a mission: every bullet fired is a step closer to avenging his mother and dismantling the empire that stole her.