Destiny's Game* Chapter 8: The Blood We Inherit

---

Louis’ POV

I rember the first ti Father told I was to be the heir of the Alvara family. I was twelve.

He had called into his office — that sa room that always slled like old cigars and cedar — and said it so casually, like he was asking to pass him a pen. "You’ll take over one day, Louis. The Alvara na will rest on your shoulders."

At twelve, I didn’t even know what "taking over" ant. All I knew was that his tone left no room for refusal.

Mother argued, of course. She said I was far too young to be dragged into business matters. She wanted to focus on school, on piano lessons, on being a child. But Father just laughed. "He’s an Alvara," he said. "He doesn’t get to be a child."

I think that was the first ti I ever hated him — not for what he said, but for how easily he said it.

When I turned thirteen, he made good on his promise. I was formally introduced to the family business.

I thought it would be about numbers, investnts, maybe politics — the sort of noble things that made the Alvaras respected in the city. But that was just the surface. Beneath it, there was rot — hidden corridors in the company records, secret shipnts, coded transactions.

It wasn’t hard to put it all together once I saw enough.

The Alvaras didn’t just trade goods. They traded people.

They laundered money through fake charities. They sold chemical substances under disguised pharmaceutical labels. They funded wars under the pretense of "security projects."

And I was supposed to inherit it all.

At first, I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I was young, and Father made everything sound justified. "We maintain order," he’d say. "Without us, the city would crumble. Corruption isn’t evil when it’s controlled."

It sounded convincing back then. Maybe because I wanted to believe him. Maybe because I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t.

But when I saw my first deal go wrong — when a man was killed right in front of for "breaking contract" — sothing in cracked.

That was the day I realized what the Alvara legacy truly ant.

Power built on blood.

Wealth built on silence.

And — a boy who didn’t know whether to run or to obey.

Even now, years later, every decision I make still feels like a shadow of his. Every lie, every sacrifice — it all leads back to the sa foundation: Father’s empire.

And no matter how far I try to distance myself, the bloodline never lets go.

---

Father kept reminding that I was an Alvara — that I was born for this. That it was my duty, my blood, my destiny.

At first, I believed him. I was twelve, maybe thirteen, and all I ever wanted was to make him proud. He said I was the heir — that one day, the empire would be mine.

But as I grew older, I started to see what that empire really was.

The Alvaras weren’t noble businessn; we were kings of corruption. Our trade wasn’t honor — it was power, and power had its price. Trafficking, drugs, laundering... the kind of things that stain your soul until it turns black.

There were nights when I hated it — when I hated him. But I couldn’t leave.

If I tried, he would’ve killed . I knew it in my bones.

Charles never knew. He was the innocent one — the light that sohow survived in the shadows of our ho. I made sure of it. I didn’t want him anywhere near the things I’d seen, the things I’d done. It was better that way. Better that he was adopted — untouched by the Alvara bloodline that cursed the rest of us.

Sotis I wonder what he’d think if he knew the truth.

Would he still look at the sa way? Would he still call "brother" with that sa warmth? Or would he see for what I really am — the monster our father made?

Father used to say, "You’ll thank one day when you’re strong enough to lead."

But I didn’t feel strong. I felt hollow.

He beat into submission, strangled the hesitation out of until I learned to obey without question. So I obeyed. I climbed higher, faster, until I was standing where he once stood — at the top of the world, and at the bottom of humanity.

Now I’m the one pulling the strings.

The overlord of everything Father built — both the empire above and the rot beneath it.

And the cruelest part? I kept it alive.

Because power was the only thing keeping from collapsing completely.

I rember the first lesson my father ever taught about our family — the Alvaras.

He said, "Never forget where you co from, Louis."

He taught about the connection between the Alvaras and the Vales.

Our house was called Vale Manor, even though we were Alvara by na. I never understood why until I asked him one evening, and he seed so proud to explain.

He said the Alvara bloodline was born from the Vale household — that the Alvaras were once under the Vales, long before the generations split apart. Our great-grandfather, Veo Vale, broke away from the original Vale family to start his own branch. To honor that ancestry, our manor kept the na Vale, a reminder of where we ca from.

At the ti, I thought it was noble. I thought it ant pride, legacy, honor.

But now, looking back, I think it was just another chain. Another way of reminding that I wasn’t free — that I was still tied to a history I never chose.

Father used to say that the Vale blood was chosen. That those born under its mark carried both greatness and ruin.

I didn’t understand it then.

Now I think I do.

Everything about our house — the emblem, the crest carved into the marble floor, the motto no one ever says aloud — it all points back to Veo. The "grand ancestor," as Father called him, the man who supposedly forged the first pact that made the Alvaras what they are. So said he sold his soul for prosperity. Others said he simply had vision — a cruel kind of vision that saw profit in destruction.

Sotis I wonder if I’m still paying for that man’s choices. If every sin I commit, every secret buried beneath the house, is just an echo of his.

Bloodlines are strange things.

They bind you even when you want to tear them apart.