Odoacer

Ethan is a 28-year-old just trying to survive the grind of San Francisco, juggling bills, rent, and dreams that seem farther away every day. But one night, everything changes when two strangers show up outside his apartment with a revelation that shatters his ordinary life—his long-lost uncle, whom he believed dead for years, has only just passed away. As the closest male heir, Ethan isn’t inheriting a small fortune or a fancy car. Instead, he’s been left a kingdom—a real one—along with all the political intrigue, enemies, and centuries-old problems that come with it. Suddenly thrust into a world of power and danger, Ethan must navigate treacherous alliances, fend off assassination attempts, and learn what it means to lead a nation on the brink of chaos… all while wondering if his next cup of coffee might be his last.

Chapters Will be released Mondays and Fridays

A Kings choice

The soft hum of foghorns sliced through early morning funk as Ethan Grayson stepped from his two-story apartment. A cold breeze tugged at his jacket, that kind of chill to cut straight through bone. The smell of freshly brewed coffee came out from the corner café and mingled with the taste of salt the ocean winds carried. The city was just waking up just like another predictable day in a predictable life.

Ethan put in a pair of earbuds and hit play, already aching to cut off the world with music. His morning was always coffee, commute, survival. Stability was his life he did not want or need drama. His thumb hovering over the button as a sleek, black car rolled silently onto the curb and parked,

The engine hummed softly, the cars shine sending lights from the morning son into my eyes.

The driver's door opened. Then the two men stepped out, their dark suits They moved in unison, like dancers in a very well-choreographed dance routine. One held a leather briefcase; the other kept his hands free, his fingers twitching with readiness for action.

Ethan's hand paused mid-air. He tugged out one earbud Yeah?"

The taller man stepped forward. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back, his expression polished and unreadable. "Conrad Voss," he said smoothly, offering a business card Ethan didn't reach for. "This is Mr. Patel. We represent the estate of your uncle, Lucien von Arkel."

Ethan stared at him, placing the name. It was one of those memories you couldn't quite remember. "I think you've got the wrong guy. My uncle died when I was a kid."

Voss's thin smile didn't waver. "Your uncle passed away three days ago." His voice was smooth. "You are his only living male relative."

The word landed like a stone in Ethan's stomach. He blinked, his mind grappling for meaning. "Heir to what? Some antiques?"

Patel cleared his throat. His eyes sharp, calculating—never left Ethan's face. "Not quite. You've inherited the royal rights to the throne of Veldoria."

Ethan let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "What? This has got to be some joke. Was this Mason getting back at me? Where's the camera?

"This is no joke," Voss said. He fished out of his briefcase a pile of documents, filled with various seals and different signatures. "We have actual documents tracing your heritage back quite far. Your claim is legitimate. The title would, in case you refuse, be taken by a long-lost cousin with less-than-noble intentions."

"I don't have intentions," Ethan said grumpily. "I don't even have a plan for lunch."

Patel stepped forward, his voice low but weighted with importance. "Veldoria is a nation scarred by decades of communist rule. It is a fragile place, rebuilding from the ground up. Your uncle saw the monarchy as a means of stability-trading oil for food, ensuring no citizen starved. But the future requires more. It needs a true leader.

Ethan rubbed his temples. "Look, I'm nobody i can't even get my landlord to fix my heater. Why would anyone trust me to run a country?"

Voss clasped his hands behind his back. "Because it's your birthright. And because the people of Veldoria believe in legacy. Bloodline carries weight."

"Bloodline," Ethan scoffed. He paced, the weight of the moment pressing down. "I'm nobody's savior. I'm not a king."

He did, still staring at Patel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means kings are made, not born." Patel's face relaxed some now, a flicker of something almost like compassion in his eyes. "You don't have to know today. You just have to choose."

Ethan felt a tug-of destiny, of something larger than himself but the fear clawed at the edges stomach twisting with anxiety. He wasn't ready. He wasn't anyone.

Give me a day," he said, his voice thick with doubt.

Pat nodded once. "A day. But no more. Time waits for no man, Mr. Grayson. Least of all kings.

Chapter 1