Prologue – The Fall of the Hidden Village
The sky was on fire.
Smoke rolled over the mountains like waves, swallowing the once-proud Hidden Village in red light and ruin. The walls that had stood for centuries now lay cracked and broken, their sacred symbols burned to ash.
At the heart of the destruction stood two brothers — each born of the same blood, but bound by very different destinies.
"Zhang," Li Shen called out, his sword glowing faintly in his trembling hand. "You don't understand what you're doing."
Zhang's eyes blazed crimson. The darkness swirling around him pulsed like a living thing, whispering voices only he could hear. "You took what was mine," he spat. "The title. The throne. The right to protect our people. I tried to lead through strength, but you made me look weak!"
"This isn't strength," Shen said, stepping forward. "It's poison."
"You're just afraid!" Zhang roared, and the ground cracked beneath him. Black tendrils rose from the earth, twisting like serpents. "Afraid of what's inside us!"
Behind Shen, his wife clutched their small son tightly. Ethan's tiny hand gripped her sleeve as his dark eyes reflected the flames. Her other hand rested on her swollen stomach — she was carrying another child, one who would never see the home being destroyed around them.
"Please," she begged, tears streaking through the ash on her face. "He's your brother!"
Zhang hesitated, for a single heartbeat — then clenched his fist. "Not anymore."
The shadows erupted. The blast struck Shen head-on, hurling him backward through shattered stone. He grunted, coughing blood, and struggled to his feet. The darkness was already crawling across his arms, seeping under his skin, leaving black veins like ink beneath glass.
His wife screamed. "Shen!"
He turned, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "Get him out of here — now!"
"Shen, you're—"
"GO!" His voice cracked, echoing through the burning streets.
The corruption spread faster — climbing his neck, reaching his eyes. Shen's body shook as he tried to contain it, every muscle tensed against the consuming pull. His sword flared white, the last of his light resisting the dark.
His wife ran, clutching Ethan close as she stumbled down the temple steps. Flames licked the walls around her. Ethan looked back over her shoulder — just long enough to see his father kneel, pressing his hand into the ground.
A pulse of blinding light erupted from him, swallowing the shadows in a single, defiant burst. For an instant, Shen stood tall again — half-man, half-darkness — his face torn between agony and peace.
"Live… my son," he whispered.
The explosion that followed lit up the heavens. The Hidden Village was gone.
When the silence fell, only laughter remained — countless voices woven together, echoing from the crater where a kingdom once stood.
History would later tell of the great hero, Li Shen, who sacrificed himself to seal away the darkness and save his people.
They would call him a savior.
A martyr.
The man who faced evil and gave everything to destroy it.
But the truth… was never that simple.
At least, that's what my mother tells me.
Chapter 1 – The Comet Over Upshawn
The sound of a basketball echoed down the narrow streets of Upshawn as the morning sun stretched across the city. Seventeen-year-old Ethan Li dribbled lazily while walking to school, earbuds in, hoodie up, pretending not to notice the world rushing around him. His friends said he was quiet; teachers said he was distracted. The truth was simpler—Ethan lived half in memories he couldn't explain.
He reached the front gate of Upshawn High, watching clusters of students swarm through metal detectors and chatter about the big event that night. A comet was passing over the city for the first time in centuries, and the local news couldn't stop talking about it. Everyone planned to stay up and watch.
Everyone except Ethan—at least, that's what he told himself.
"Yo, Li!"
Ethan turned just in time for Jayden Walker to toss a bottle of water at him. Tall, athletic, and effortlessly confident, Jayden was the kind of guy who filled the air around him with energy.
"You daydreamin' again, man? We got science first period. If we're late, Mr. Nosey's gonna start sniffing for excuses."
Ethan caught the bottle and smirked. "Pretty sure he already smells fear."
"Good," Jayden laughed. "Yours'll keep him busy."
They pushed through the doors as the morning bell rang. Inside, lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and a dozen voices carried the buzz of ordinary teenage life. For everyone else, it was just another day. But deep down, Ethan felt like something invisible was moving closer—something waiting.
The classroom lights flickered when Mr. Cyrus Longwell—known to every student as Mr. Nosey—wrote across the board in sharp white chalk. His long, curved nose nearly touched the surface as he spoke in that nasal tone everyone imitated behind his back.
"Tonight," he announced, "humanity witnesses a celestial phenomenon not seen since the Liang Dynasty—a comet with an orbit so precise, it returns only when great change is due."
A few students snickered. Mr. Nosey ignored them. He turned, eyes bright in a way that made Ethan uneasy.
"Change, class, is the foundation of evolution. Sometimes the universe chooses moments to—rearrange us."
Ashley Harper's hand shot up. "Will it be visible over the city or just in the suburbs?"
"Clear skies predicted everywhere," Nosey said. "Perhaps it's fate inviting us to look up for once."
Jayden leaned toward Ethan. "Think it'll grant wishes?"
Ethan gave a half-smile. "If it does, I'm asking for extra credit."
Laughter rippled through the row, earning them a glare from Mr. Nosey. But when the teacher turned back to the board, Ethan caught a flicker in his expression—something off, a shadow under his eyes, like he was listening to a voice no one else could hear.
By lunchtime, the comet talk had taken over the cafeteria. Clubs were planning watch parties; local stations promised live coverage. Ashley slid her tray beside Ethan's.
"You're coming to the park tonight, right?" she asked. Her bright green eyes searched his face. "It's kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing."
Ethan hesitated. He thought of his mother's stories—the ancient war, the darkness, his father's name she whispered like a prayer. Comets had always made her uneasy.
"I don't know," he said finally. "My mom—she's weird about stuff like this."
"Then bring her," Ashley teased. "She can bring snacks."
Jayden dropped into the seat across from them, mouth full of fries. "Bro, she's right. Live a little. We'll all meet up at the park after dark. It'll be chill."
Ethan wanted to argue, but Jayden's grin and Ashley's excitement made it hard. He sighed. "Fine. But if it's cloudy, I'm going home."
"Deal," Ashley said, bumping his shoulder. Her laughter made something in his chest lighten—a rare thing these days.
That evening, the sun bled into purple. Ethan walked home, passing neighbors setting up lawn chairs and kids waving glow sticks. The air felt charged, like the world was holding its breath.
He stepped inside his house to the smell of his mother's cooking and the sound of soft humming from upstairs—his little sister, Lily, playing with her dolls. For a moment, everything felt peaceful.
"Long day?" his mother asked, stirring a pot. Her hair was tied back, streaked with gray she pretended wasn't there.
"Same old," Ethan said, dropping his bag. "Jayden and Ashley want me to go watch the comet."
Her hands froze for a fraction of a second. Then she smiled softly. "That's good. You should go."
"You sure?" he asked. "I thought you hated all that space stuff."
She looked at him, eyes distant. "It's not space I hate, Ethan. It's what falls from it."
Before he could ask what she meant, she turned back to the stove. "Be home before midnight, okay?"
He nodded slowly, trying to shake the chill her words left behind.
Hours later, the park buzzed with laughter and music. Jayden had brought snacks; Ashley had a telescope balanced on the hood of her car. The three of them sat together on the grass, their shoulders brushing as the sky darkened to velvet blue.
"There it is!" Ashley gasped.
The comet blazed through the sky—blue, silver, alive. Gasps erupted around the park. Phones flashed. Jayden whistled. "That's wild."
Ethan stared upward, speechless. The light reflected in his eyes, pulling at something deep inside him—something buried, something ancient. A low hum filled his ears, like the air itself was whispering.
"Ethan?" Ashley's voice was soft beside him. "You okay?"
He blinked, pulling himself back to reality. "Yeah," he said, managing a small smile. "Just… never seen anything like it."
Ashley smiled back, her hand brushing his as they both looked up at the streaking light.
For a second, time stood still—just the three of them, the comet above, and the quiet sense that life couldn't get any better than this.
But that was before the light changed.
Before the hum became a pulse.
Before everything they knew started to fall apart.
It was supposed to be just the three of them watching the comet—one perfect night.
But after that night… nothing in their lives would ever be the same.
Ashley turned to say something, but Jayden wasn't beside them anymore. His spot on the grass was empty, his half-finished soda still sitting there, condensation dripping down the side.
"Jayden?" Ethan called, scanning the crowd. No answer.
Ashley frowned, standing. "He was just here…"
Ethan's eyes drifted back toward the sky, the comet's light still shimmering faintly above the horizon.
Something about the air felt wrong now—heavy, electric, watching.
"Maybe he went home early," Ashley said, though her voice didn't sound convinced.
Ethan didn't respond. He kept staring into the distance, unease curling in his chest like smoke.
Whatever happened to Jayden under that light—he felt it. Deep down, he already knew.
That night, the three of them had watched the sky together.
But by morning… they would never be the same again.
Chapter 2 – The Man Who Heard the Sky Whisper
Cyrus Longwell used to believe in purpose.
Years before students started calling him Mr. Nosey, he'd worn a lab coat with his name stitched above the pocket: Montana Industries — Division of Astronomical Research.
He'd spent nearly a decade studying cosmic particles and deep-space radiation. He wasn't rich, or famous, but he was respected—at least for a time. Until the incident. Until his theory about celestial resonance got him laughed out of the program.
He said space could speak. That starlight wasn't silent, that it carried memory — echoes of things beyond time itself.
Montana Industries called it obsession.
He called it truth.
They dismissed him.
He started teaching.
And for years, he pretended that was enough.
The morning of the comet felt different.
He woke before dawn, the glow of his fish tank reflecting off the ceiling, shadows swimming lazily across his walls. His house was quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that felt like something holding its breath.
He sat at his kitchen table, sipping from the same chipped mug of coffee, flipping through old Montana files he should've destroyed years ago. The header on each one still read CLASSIFIED – L.K. PROJECT. The name made his stomach twist. L.K.—short for Lian-Kora, the very same comet passing that night.
He used to think it was a coincidence. Lately, he wasn't sure anymore.
At Upshawn High, he taught like always — monotone, methodical, mechanical.
Students filtered in with bored faces, eyes glued to glowing phone screens. None of them cared that history was flying right above their heads.
But as Cyrus wrote on the board, something in his chest began to buzz — a low, electric hum he could feel in his teeth.
"Tonight," he said, chalk scratching the board, "humanity witnesses a celestial phenomenon not seen since the Liang Dynasty—a comet with an orbit so precise, it returns only when great change is due."
Most of the class chuckled under their breath.
Cyrus adjusted his tie, ignoring them. "Change," he continued, "isn't random. It's chosen. The universe decides when it's time to… rearrange us."
His voice caught. For a split second, he swore he heard another voice finish the sentence with him — whispering the same words in perfect unison.
He froze, staring at the chalk dust on his fingers.
When he looked up, the classroom was silent. Dozens of young eyes stared back — confused, maybe even afraid.
"Dismissed," he muttered, too sharply, and left before they could laugh again.
By afternoon, the whispers hadn't stopped. They hid beneath the sound of every footstep, every locker slam, every word of gossip in the hallway. His head throbbed. He tried to teach again but caught himself pausing mid-sentence, listening to something only he could hear.
At lunch, the other teachers joked about him. "You hear Cyrus' comet speech again?" one said. "He's gonna start worshipping it soon."
Cyrus smiled tightly, leaving his tray untouched.
By the final bell, he could barely see straight. The fluorescent lights flickered in rhythm with his pulse. When he looked toward the window, for a split second, he saw the comet hanging there — glowing brighter than it should, even in daylight.
"Not possible," he whispered.
But the voice in his head disagreed.
We're closer than you think.
He went home early. The house felt wrong the moment he stepped in. The air was too still, the lights dimmer than usual. He didn't bother with dinner. He sat at his desk, watching the news as the comet approached. The same grainy footage, the same excited anchors. None of them knew what was really coming.
He opened one of his old Montana files — the last report he'd written before they fired him. The notes read:
Radiation signatures match unknown frequency. Human brain shows reaction when exposed to patterns. Possible connection to auditory hallucinations.
He rubbed his temples, whispering, "It wasn't hallucination…"
Outside, the first shimmer of the comet pierced the sky. His breath caught. It was bigger now — alive, almost.
The whisper returned. Louder.
You found us once. Let us find you now.
Cyrus gripped the sides of his desk. "No… no, I ended this!"
You never could end it. You belong to us.
He looked up — and froze.
His reflection in the window was smiling. He wasn't.
Then it moved.
He stumbled backward as his reflection leaned closer from the glass, whispering his own thoughts back to him. The lights flickered violently. His fish tank cracked down the middle, water spilling across the floor.
He screamed, but his voice split in half — one human, one not.
Ignored. Mocked. Forgotten, the whispers hissed. Let us make them listen.
Cyrus fell to his knees, clutching his head. His skin rippled, bending. Veins darkened, twisting up his arms as faint shapes — faces — began to push through beneath his flesh, laughing, crying, whispering his name.
His reflection stepped out of the glass — dozens of shifting versions of himself surrounding him in a circle. He tried to speak, but the voices spoke through him.
You wanted to be heard. Now you will never be silent again.
The comet's light flared through his window, pure and blinding. Cyrus screamed — and his scream fractured into a thousand overlapping laughs.
When the glow faded, he stood slowly, trembling. His eyes gleamed silver. His smile stretched too wide.
And from within that smile, other faces smiled back.
He looked up at the comet through the shattered window.
"I hear you now," he whispered.
Then he laughed—long, unending, echoing through the quiet street like the sky itself was laughing with him.
Chapter 3 – The Fire Inside
The streetlights flickered as Jayden jogged home through the quiet neighborhood. His breath came heavy, each step echoing too loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his forehead, though the night air was cool. Something inside him was burning—boiling—like his veins were filled with molten metal instead of blood.
The comet still glowed faintly above the clouds, its light bleeding silver across the rooftops.
He stumbled up the porch steps and fumbled with his keys. His hand shook so badly the metal scraped the lock twice before it fit. By the time he pushed the door open, his hoodie was soaked.
"Jayden?"
His adoptive father, Robert, looked up from the couch. The TV flickered with footage of the comet replaying on every channel. His mother, Dana, came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
"You're drenched," she said, frowning. "You feeling okay?"
Jayden forced a smile. "Yeah—fine. Just… tired. Long night."
"You sure? Your face is red," Robert said, standing halfway. "You look like you ran the whole way home."
"I'm fine," Jayden repeated, his voice cracking as he slipped past them. "Just need to shower and sleep."
Dana glanced at her husband, worry creasing her brow. "Jayden, honey—"
But he was already halfway up the stairs. "Goodnight," he said sharply, not turning around. His footsteps thudded down the hallway, then the sound of his bedroom door closing followed.
He gripped the edge of his sink, breathing hard. His reflection in the mirror was pale, eyes bloodshot, sweat dripping from his hairline. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face—but when he looked up again, his reflection blinked a second too late.
"What the—"
He backed away, heart pounding. His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, flickering like red lightning. His fingers dug into the wooden dresser, leaving dents in the surface.
His vision blurred, colors bending, the world spinning. Heat surged through his chest and exploded outward. He screamed, clutching his sides as his muscles tensed and stretched.
"Stop—please—stop!"
The scream turned into a roar.
His spine arched backward, bones cracking as his frame expanded, joints popping in rhythm with the pulsing in his veins. His body grew taller—broader—his skin glowing faintly gold beneath the surface. Scales burst through along his shoulders and forearms, black and crimson in the moonlight.
He fell to his knees, gasping as claws tore through the tips of his fingers. His eyes—once dark brown—now burned with molten yellow light.
In the mirror, he no longer recognized himself.
"Jayden!" Dana's voice echoed from downstairs. "Are you alright?"
He tried to speak, but his throat only released a guttural snarl. The floorboards cracked beneath his weight as he stood—now over seven feet tall—his reflection towering, half human, half something ancient.
He stumbled backward, hitting the wall. The lamp shattered.
A pair of black wings burst from his back, spreading wide and ripping through his shirt. The pain was overwhelming—fire and lightning all at once—but beneath it was something worse: a whisper in his head, dark and deep.
You are not him. You are what he sealed away.
Jayden roared again, grabbing his head, trying to silence the voice. His eyes flared brighter, and the room shook.
The door flew open, and his parents froze.
"J—Jayden?" Robert whispered.
Jayden turned toward them, breathing hard, his claws flexing. For one brief second, his gaze softened—recognition fighting through the chaos.
"Dad…?"
The voice barely left his throat before the darkness surged again, snapping him forward.
He lunged toward the window instead, smashing through the glass and launching into the night sky with a roar that shook the street.
Fire trailed behind him like a comet of his own.
Dana screamed his name from the yard, hands trembling, shards of glass glinting in the moonlight.
Above them, Jayden soared—uncontrolled, monstrous, and lost. The dragon-man had been born.
Chapter 4 – After the Light
The night was quiet again.
The comet's glow had faded from the sky, leaving behind a ghostly shimmer that hovered above the city. The park was nearly empty now—just a few families packing up, the faint hum of crickets filling the silence.
Ethan Li and Ashley Harper walked side by side down the hill, their shadows stretching long under the streetlights. The air felt colder now, thinner, as if the world itself had exhaled after holding its breath too long.
Neither spoke for a while. The only sounds were the gravel beneath their shoes and the soft breeze brushing the trees.
Ashley broke the silence first. "It was beautiful, wasn't it?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Kind of… unreal."
She smiled faintly. "It didn't even feel like we were on Earth for a second. Like time stopped."
Ethan chuckled quietly. "You really think it means something? The comet, I mean."
Ashley looked up at the sky, where faint trails of silver still glimmered. "I don't know. My mom says comets are like mirrors. They show the world what it really is for a second before they disappear."
"That's… kind of deep."
"I have my moments."
They both laughed softly. The sound felt warm against the cool night air.
Ethan glanced at her as they walked, the dim light catching her hair, her smile—how peaceful she looked even after the strange energy that had passed through the city. For a moment, he wished he could just stay here. Just walk forever.
Ashley caught him looking and smirked. "What?"
"Nothing," he said too fast. "Just… you don't seem freaked out like everyone else."
"Because I'm not," she said. "It was weird, sure, but… it didn't feel bad. You ever get that? Like something big happened, but you're not scared—you just know things are gonna change?"
Ethan hesitated. "Yeah," he said finally. "But I don't know if that's a good thing."
Ashley slowed her pace, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You worry too much, Ethan."
"Somebody has to," he said, smiling slightly.
They reached her street, quiet and lined with maple trees swaying under the faint glow of streetlights. Ashley stopped at the corner and turned toward him.
"Thanks for walking me," she said softly.
"Yeah. I didn't want you walking alone after… whatever that was."
Ashley laughed lightly. "You mean after the biggest cosmic event in centuries? You're sweet when you pretend not to care."
Ethan looked away, grinning nervously. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
They stood there a moment—neither stepping back, neither looking away. The air between them felt heavy but calm, like gravity had slowed just for them.
Ashley's eyes softened. "You know, for someone who hides behind jokes, you've got a good heart, Ethan Li."
He smirked. "You think so?"
"I know so."
For a second, time really did stop. Just them. Just the faint smell of grass and the fading hum of the night.
Then Ethan's phone buzzed.
He frowned, pulling it out. The screen read: Mom.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I should take this."
"Go ahead," Ashley said, though something in her expression shifted.
He answered. "Hey, Mom. I'm on my way ho—"
Her voice came through panicked, choked by static. "Ethan—fire—"
He froze. "What? Mom, what's going on?"
"Fire!" she screamed. "The house—Ethan, the house—!"
The line went dead.
Ethan's heart stopped. His phone slipped in his hand.
"Ethan?" Ashley's voice was small now. "What happened?"
He looked at her, eyes wide with fear. "I have to go."
"Ethan, wait!"
But he was already running—sprinting down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. His chest burned, every breath sharp and shallow.
The night that had felt peaceful seconds ago now pressed down on him like a weight. The faint silver glow of the comet still lingered above the city—watching, waiting—as the first flicker of orange light rose in the distance.
Ashley watched from the corner, her heart pounding, fear replacing every trace of warmth from moments before.
She whispered his name into the quiet, but the wind carried it away.
"Ethan…"
Chapter 5 – Into the Flames
Ethan ran.
Streetlights blurred past him as he sprinted through the sleeping neighborhood, his lungs on fire, his chest tight. His mother's voice still echoed in his ears — "The house—fire—Ethan!" — each word replaying like a hammer to his ribs.
He turned the corner, and the night exploded into orange.
Flames clawed at the sky, devouring everything they touched. Smoke rolled over the rooftops, black and heavy, glowing red from below. Ethan's breath hitched when he saw the house — his house — lit up like a signal fire, windows shattered, roof caving in.
"Mom! Lily!" he screamed, already sprinting toward the door.
The heat was unbearable. He covered his face with his sleeve and kicked the door open. The blast of smoke hit him like a wave. He coughed hard, eyes watering, stumbling through the haze.
"Mom! Lily!"
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He just moved.
The stairs groaned under his weight as he raced up, fire licking the walls beside him. His heart pounded so hard it drowned out the sound of crackling wood.
He reached Lily's room first — the door half-hanging from its hinges, flames crawling up the wallpaper.
"Lily!"
Through the smoke, he saw her small figure curled up beside the bed, coughing weakly. He rushed in, wrapping his hoodie around her and scooping her up. She clung to him, sobbing, her voice hoarse.
"E-Ethan…"
"It's okay!" he yelled over the noise. "I got you, I got you!"
He turned, shielding her from the falling debris, and pushed through the hall toward his mother's room. The air was thicker here, black with soot. The door was jammed.
"Mom!" He kicked once. Twice. The door burst open.
She was on the floor, half-conscious, trying to crawl toward the window.
Ethan set Lily down just long enough to grab his mother under the arms. "Mom, come on! We have to go!"
She tried to speak, but only a cough came out. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow.
The hallway behind him collapsed with a roar. The fire was closing in.
Ethan didn't stop. He hoisted his mother over one shoulder and grabbed Lily with the other arm. He didn't even look back.
The window was their only way out.
He ran full speed and jumped.
Glass shattered. Air rushed past them. The world spun. He hit the ground hard, knees bending deep—and somehow, impossibly, he didn't fall. His legs absorbed the impact like steel, leaving a crater in the dirt beneath him.
For a second, everything went silent.
He looked down at them — his mother limp in one arm, Lily unmoving in the other. The fire's glow painted their faces gold and red.
"Mom?" he whispered. "Lily?"
No response.
He shook them gently, his hands trembling. "Please… please wake up."
Nothing.
The heat around him roared louder. The house behind them cracked and collapsed, sparks flying into the sky.
And then — a sound.
A deep, thunderous roar that made the ground tremble.
Ethan looked up.
Across the street, a massive winged shape blazed through the smoke. Its scales shimmered like molten iron, its eyes glowing like miniature suns. The creature moved through the neighborhood, wings spreading wide as fire poured from its mouth — waves of it, setting rooftops and trees ablaze.
It wasn't just fire. It was rage. Living, breathing, burning rage.
Ethan's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
"What… what is that?"
He stumbled backward, shielding Lily and his mother as the beast roared again, flames lighting the night like dawn. The fire danced across his face, reflected in his wide, terrified eyes.
The creature turned toward him for just an instant — its gaze cutting through smoke and distance — before it lifted off again, vanishing into the darkness above the city.
Ethan fell to his knees, clutching his mother and sister to his chest. His tears mixed with soot and ash.
He looked up at the sky, voice breaking as he whispered, "No…"
The night that had started with wonder now burned with loss.
And for the first time, something inside Ethan broke.
He didn't know what that creature was.
He didn't know what was happening to him.
All he knew was that everything he loved was gone — and the world would never be the same again.
Chapter 6 – The Darkness Within
The night burned.
Flames swallowed everything—houses, trees, cars—until the neighborhood was nothing but a sea of fire.
And at the center of it all, Ethan Li knelt in the dirt, holding his mother and sister against his chest.
He didn't cry. He couldn't. The grief was too heavy for sound.
His body trembled, every breath sharp, his heartbeat pounding like thunder in his skull.
"Mom… please… wake up," he whispered, voice shaking. "Lily… please…"
But they didn't move.
Only the fire did—crackling, whispering, feeding on everything he had left.
Ethan's vision blurred, his chest tightening. The air tasted like smoke and metal.
Then the first tear fell. And with it, something inside him cracked.
It started as a flicker—black wisps rising from his shoulders like smoke. They coiled, twisting and shifting, feeding on his pain.
The fire seemed to bend toward him, drawn to the heat of his rage.
He slammed his fist into the ground, his voice breaking:
"WHY?!"
The scream echoed down the block. The darkness spread from his hands, crawling across the ground like liquid shadow. His breath grew heavier, deeper, his eyes glowing faintly red through the haze.
Every image in his mind replayed at once—Ashley's laugh, Jayden's grin, his mother's voice, Lily's little hands clinging to his sleeve—and then the dragon, that monstrous shape above his home, burning everything it touched.
His grief turned to fury.
The ground around him began to crack, the dirt lifting as a black aura pulsed from his body. Streetlights shattered. Windows exploded outward.
Ethan's voice was lower now, unrecognizable. "You took them…"
The shadows behind him rippled, forming jagged shapes—arms, wings, echoes of something ancient and hungry.
"You took everything from me!"
His scream became a roar, shaking the night.
And the dragon answered.
It descended from the clouds, wings outstretched, its body glowing orange beneath the fire in its veins. Its eyes—burning gold—locked onto him like it knew.
Ethan stood slowly, his hoodie torn, the darkness still rising around him like a storm. The flames illuminated his face, half-shadowed, half-glowing red.
For one heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then he charged.
The ground exploded beneath his feet. He moved faster than he ever had before, leaving streaks of black light in his wake. The dragon dove down to meet him, fire pouring from its mouth. Ethan slammed through the wave of flame, his fist colliding with its chest. The impact shook the air.
The creature roared, spinning and crashing through a row of houses. Ethan landed hard, sliding across the asphalt, cracks forming beneath his boots. He looked down at his hands—they were wrapped in darkness, veins glowing red beneath his skin.
"What am I…" he whispered.
Another roar shook the sky. The dragon shot upward and circled back, fire blazing from its wings. Ethan's eyes narrowed. The anger flared again.
He leapt, punching through the roof of a burning car, soaring upward. The two collided midair—claws against shadow, fire against fury. For a moment, it was chaos: blinding light, smoke, the sound of impact splitting the night.
And then—spotlights.
A helicopter hovered above the burning street, cameras rolling. A voice shouted over the radio feed,
"Are you seeing this?! There's something—someone—fighting that thing in the air!"
The battle raged. Ethan struck the dragon again, his roar echoing through the smoke. Fire met shadow, light met darkness.
Then, through the chaos—a gunshot.
Then another.
Something sharp pierced Ethan's shoulder — a tranquilizer dart glowing with green liquid. He gasped, stumbling midair. The dragon shrieked, twisting as a second dart struck its wing.
The news broadcast cut to static. Helicopter lights flickered out.
Ethan's vision blurred. The world slowed around him, spinning as the darkness faded from his skin. He hit the ground hard, breathing shallow, unable to move.
The dragon crashed nearby, shaking the street, its wings folding as fire dimmed to smoke.
Ethan blinked weakly, his heartbeat slowing. The sirens were distant now. The edges of his sight began to fade.
Through the haze, he saw something—a figure—walking through the smoke. Tall, calm, cloaked in shadow.
The figure stopped over him, the faint glint of metal at his belt catching the firelight.
Ethan tried to speak, but his voice barely came out. "Who… are you…?"
The figure knelt beside him, faceless in the light.
"Sleep," the voice said. Deep. Cold. Controlled.
Ethan's eyes fluttered once more before everything went black.
The last thing he felt was the shadow's hand resting briefly on his chest—
and the faint hum of machines beneath the smoke.