Volume 1: Origins of the Phantom Band
It was a normal Tuesday afternoon at Hollow Creek Elementary, or at least, as normal as anything ever got when Jake Tetravin was around.
The gym echoed with the thud-thud-thud of a bouncing basketball as Jake dribbled his way across the court like a storm in sneakers. His crimson red hair was soaked with sweat, sticking to his forehead as greenish-blue eyes gleamed with excitement. The crowd of fourth-graders sitting along the bleachers cheered and shouted, some waving handmade signs that read things like "Go Jake the Jet!" and "CRIMSON STRIKE!"
Jake smirked.
He loved that.
"Alright, Tetravin," Coach Halley called out, stopwatch in hand. "Let's see if you can break your last record—forty points in five minutes."
"Oh, Coach," Jake spun the ball on his finger like a magician, "forty? Pfft. You might as well crown me school legend right now."
"Less talk, more hoops."
The whistle blew. Jake exploded.
He dashed forward, bouncing the ball low and fast, weaving past his classmates like they were cones on a training field. His body moved with the swagger of someone who knew they were the main character of the moment.
Spin move. Dribble. Crossover. SWISH. The ball sliced through the net with pinpoint precision.
"BOOM!" Jake shouted, throwing both arms in the air.
Three baskets later, he leapt from just inside the free throw line and launched a daring jump shot. The ball kissed the backboard and dropped cleanly into the net. The gym roared. Even Coach Halley cracked a grin.
Jake landed and pointed at a group of kids near the bleachers. "That one's for the history books!"
"You're so full of yourself," someone groaned from the sidelines.
Jake turned to wink. "Correction: I'm full of victory."
Just as he was about to take another shot, the final whistle blew.
"Time!" Coach Halley shouted. "Forty-four points. New record."
Jake dropped the ball with theatrical flair. "Ladies and gentlemen… that's how the Crimson Jet flies."
The class erupted into cheers, groans, and laughter.
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Later That Day...
After training ended and the sweaty chaos of the gym faded, Jake stuffed his basketball into his backpack, high-fived Coach Halley, and ran outside under the bright afternoon sun.
The playground shimmered with golden light. That's where she was.
Sitting on a park bench near the jungle gym, swinging her legs back and forth like she had all the time in the world, was Isabella Sherman—Jake's cousin, best friend, and the closest thing to a grounded voice in his chaotic life.
She had her usual bubbly smile on, her long black hair with blue highlights tied up in two cute pigtails, each held by a purple bow. Her outfit looked like a rainbow exploded in harmony: white T-shirt, a flowing pink skirt, and purple shoes with pink laces.
Jake ran over, waving like he hadn't just shattered the school's basketball record.
"Bellaaa!" he sang out. "Guess who just rewrote gym class history?"
Isabella looked up, her navy-blue eyes gleaming. "Let me guess… you again?"
"Ding ding ding! Jake Tetravin: sports legend, champion of the court, future interdimensional hero—"
"You tripped on your shoelace last week during a layup," Isabella pointed out with a grin.
Jake paused. "That… was a strategy stumble."
"Sure it was."
The two laughed as Jake plopped down beside her, still sweating. She handed him a bottle of apple juice from her backpack without a word.
He took it and cracked it open. "You're the best, Izzy."
"I know," she said with a proud smile, before looking up at the sky. "You feel that?"
Jake blinked. "Feel what?"
Isabella's smile faded into something curious—like she was listening to a distant sound no one else could hear. "The wind's weird today. It smells like… cinnamon and static electricity."
Jake raised a brow. "That's oddly specific."
"Something's coming," Isabella said dreamily.
Jake took a long sip of his juice, narrowed his eyes at the clouds above, and then looked back at her.
"Well, whatever it is," he said, grinning wide, "I bet it's gonna be awesome."
And from beneath the earth, far below the sleepy town of Hollow Creek…
something ancient stirred awake.