HEIR TO HAVOC

Born from the embers of a shattered home,
He walks a path where silence roams.
No names, no faces, just whispers of pain,
A storm in his soul, like a beast untamed.

He was cradled by grief, raised by despair,
With justice as breath, and fury laid bare.
The past is a riddle, the truth draped in mist,
Each heartbeat a question, each step a clenched fist.

Who lit the match that stole his light?
Who cast his world into endless night?
He hunts the void with burning eyes,
A ghost among men, where vengeance lies.

Not for glory, nor for fame-
But to give their memory a name.
And until the blood-stained truth is known,
He is not a boy. He is wrath, alone.