I stare at my arm, my chest tightening with every passing second. The mark doesn't fade. It glows faintly, crimson red, like embers burning under my skin. My sleeve feels suffocating as I pull it back up, hoping I'm imagining things. I pull it down again. Still there.
There's no way a random old man could just brand me.
I study the symbol, tracing its edges with my eyes. Dragon Keeper. Dragon Keeper. Dragon Keeper. The words echo in my mind like a curse, like some kind of command I don't understand but already obey.
I flop into my chair and boot up my computer. The glow from the screen illuminates my face, but it does nothing to calm the anxiety bubbling inside me. I search frantically: symbols, ancient markings, tattoos, anything that looks remotely like the strange emblem seared into my arm.
What if it doesn't go away? My parents are going to flip. My mom is going to lecture me for hours, my dad will look at me like I'm crazy. And how the hell am I supposed to explain that a strange old man grabbed my arm while I was walking home on my very first day of school?
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. "Relax," I whisper. "You don't even know what it is yet. Maybe it'll go away."
I pull my sleeve down and force it to stay there. At least for now.
Scrolling through endless pages, I stumble across a tiny, almost forgotten Wikipedia article. Sengoku Period, Japan. 1500–1600. It talks about a secret ninja clan that believed dragons still roamed the earth. That they were protectors. Guardians. Rarely seen. Slowly fading into myth.
There are images too—men and women in robes of red, blue, green, and gold. Their stances look rigid but commanding, like warriors who have seen centuries of battle. One of them has the exact same symbol burned into his arm.
Nothing else. No Dragon Keeper. No explanation. Just the mark.
I slam the laptop shut and slump back on my bed. "I still don't know what this thing is," I mutter. "This is so dumb."
I close my eyes, and suddenly a voice echoes in my head.
Come find me. Go to Redwood City. Downtown. Old coffee shop.
My eyes snap open, heart pounding so hard it feels like it will burst out of my chest. "Again?" I whisper. "This is the third time this week. Why won't it stop?"
The image is burned into my mind: the old man, white beard, hood over his face, piercing blue eyes. He looks ordinary, homeless almost. Nothing about him screams power. And behind him, a small blue coffee shop tucked between two taller buildings.
I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. I go downstairs. The floor creaks beneath my feet as I pour a cup of instant ramen and retreat to my room. I eat slowly, half-listening to the hum of the refrigerator, half-watching the mark on my arm flicker faintly under my sleeve.
Sleep comes easily that night, but not peacefully. My dreams are heavy, dark, and full of whispers I cannot understand.
I wake up exhausted, my alarm blaring. My hand smashes it, shattering the plastic. I freeze. Pieces of the alarm are stuck to my palm. My skin is fine. No scratches. No cuts.
I rush to the mirror. My eyes glow orange. Not like a cat, not like a normal reflection. Something alien, something deep and molten, burns in my irises. I splash water on my face, blinking rapidly, and the glow fades, replaced by my usual brown.
I get dressed, zip up my backpack, and pause at the bottom of the stairs. My parents are talking in the kitchen, their voices crisp and clear. Every word, every inflection, sounds amplified, like I'm standing right next to them.
"I wonder how his first day went," my dad says.
"It was probably good," my mom replies. "You know him—well-mannered. I hope he isn't struggling."
I swallow hard, shocked. How can I hear them so clearly from across the room?
"Hi," I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
They turn, smiling. "How was school?" my mom asks.
"It was good," I lie. "I made a friend."
"You did?" my dad perks up. "When can we meet him?"
"Soon," my mom says, hugging me tightly. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks. I gotta go," I mutter, heading toward the door.
"Walk safe," they call after me.
Outside, the world is sharper, brighter, louder. Birds sound impossibly close, every rustle of leaves echoes, and even the wind feels alive.
I meet him on the way to school. "What's up?" he asks.
"Not much," I force a smile, scanning the streets for the old man.
"What are you staring at?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "Don't worry about it."
We reach school and Ava walks up. "Hi, William. Hi."
"Morning," I say. He nods silently.
She talks about her new job at the city news agency, about strange accidents, about things that feel off in the city. I nod, agreeing. He nods too.
I ask her, "Where's Shin?"
"Running late."
"Good."
She laughs. "Why's that?"
"If he saw me with you, he'd probably try to threaten me," I say.
She smiles. "Don't worry. I'm pretty sure you could handle yourself."
"That's crazy," I say. "He's huge. I'd get destroyed."
She tilts her head and smirks. "Hey, don't underestimate yourself."
Class starts. Same seat, same window. But this time, I notice her fully—the way sunlight glints off her hair, the freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint scent that floats in the air.
My arm burns. I glance down. The symbol beneath my sleeve glows faintly, crimson, alive. I quickly pull the sleeve over it again.
Everything feels sharper. Sounds, smells, the air around me. My heart races. My vision flickers orange, then normal. Orange, then normal.
I clutch my chest. Something is happening inside me.
I raise my hand. "Miss Maldiva, may I use the bathroom?"
"Sure, make it quick," she says.
I practically stumble out of class, eyes scanning, heart hammering. I reach the bathroom and lock the door.
My eyes flare orange. Not like a cat. Not like a human. Something else. Something ancient.
My arm burns hotter. The symbol glows crimson, blazing into my skin as if it has its own heartbeat.
I gasp, gripping the sink. "Why am I able to do this?" I whisper. "This shouldn't be possible. I'm… I'm not normal."
I straighten up. My decision is made. I have to find him.
Even if it means skipping class. Even if Mom and Dad lose it.
I have to find the old man.
I have to know what this means.
Think, William. Think.
Panic won't help. Panicking never helps.
There's a smart way out of school. A normal way. The nurse.
I steady my breathing, gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles pale. My reflection looks wrong. Too pale. Too sharp. My eyes feel hot, like there's something behind them waiting to break free.
I splash water on my face one last time. Cold. Grounding. I dry off, pull my hood up, and force my legs to move.
Back to class.
Miss Minova is definitely going to be annoyed. I was gone way longer than five minutes, but I'll deal with that if I have to. Right now, I just need out.
I step into the classroom. The noise drops slightly. Ava looks up immediately, her expression tightening with concern.
"Are you okay?" she asks quietly. "You look… really out of it."
"I'm fine," I say too fast, then slow myself down. "Just feeling a little sick. Thanks for asking."
She studies me like she knows I'm lying but lets it go. "Okay. Just… don't push yourself."
I raise my hand.
"Miss Minova, can I go to the nurse's office? I don't feel that great."
She exhales sharply, rubbing her temple. "Go. And don't make a scene about it."
I nod, already halfway to the door.
"I hope you feel better," Ava says softly.
I glance back at her. "Don't worry. I will."
I hope.
The nurse's office smells like disinfectant and plastic. Too clean. Too bright. Miss Addison checks my temperature, shines a light in my eyes, presses gently on my stomach, then scribbles something on her clipboard.
"You're fine physically," she says. "You can head back to class."
My heart skips.
"No," I say, a little too quickly. "My stomach really hurts. I feel nauseous. Like I might throw up."
She pauses, finally looking at me instead of the chart. Her eyes soften. "Alright. Let me call home."
Please don't answer. Please don't answer.
"My parents work late," I add, trying to sound casual.
She nods while dialing. "What's your name?"
"William. I'm new here."
The phone rings. Once. Twice. No answer.
She hangs up and sighs. "I'll write you a dismissal slip. You can walk home."
Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle.
"Thank you, Miss Addison," I say, meaning it. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem. Take care of yourself."
As I leave, guilt creeps in. She was nice. Red hair. Kind smile. I hate lying.
But whatever is happening to me doesn't care about guilt.
I head toward downtown. Ten minutes. Easy. The city feels louder than usual. Brighter. Every sound hits too sharp. Birds chirp like they're right next to my ear. Tires hiss against pavement like warnings.
I cut through an alley to save time.
The air changes instantly. Colder. Heavier.
"I found you."
The words slither out of the darkness.
I spin around, heart slamming into my ribs. "Are you talking to me?" I snap. "Who else is here?"
A man steps forward from the shadows.
Tall. Too tall. Broad shoulders filling the narrow space. His presence presses down on me like gravity.
"You're a dragon keeper," he says calmly. "I can feel it."
My throat tightens. "What does that even mean? How do you know? Tell me."
"I will," he says, almost pleasantly. "Right after I kill you."
My stomach drops.
I glance around, scanning for exits. My pulse roars in my ears.
"Don't bother running," he adds. "I will catch you."
He raises his hand, palm facing me.
I force a shaky laugh. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
Sparks explode from his hand.
The blast slams into the alley wall, shredding concrete and heat. I dive to the side, rolling hard as fire grazes my sleeve. Fabric burns. Skin stings.
"Nope," I shout. "Absolutely not."
I run.
Left. Right. Another turn. My lungs burn, legs screaming, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might rip out of my chest.
Then I stop.
Right in front of me is a small blue coffee shop.
My blood turns cold.
I look back. No footsteps. No sign of him.
The feeling in my gut twists violently, like I've stepped onto a mark I was never meant to miss.
I reach for the door.
"Hello?" My voice cracks.
Nothing.
Inside, the shop is empty. Blue walls. Wooden counter. Sunlight spilling through wide windows. A single door behind the counter.
I step closer, every instinct screaming.
"Anyone here?" Silence.
I open the door.
It slams shut behind me.
I spin, grabbing the handle. Locked.
"Shit."
The floor vanishes.
I drop.
Air rushes past me. My stomach lurches as I slide downward, twisting, spinning, before slamming onto solid ground.
"Ow."
I groan and sit up.
Underground. Dim lights. Cold air. A wide platform surrounded by monitors and humming machines.
"What is this place?" I whisper.
A breath brushes my ear.
I spin.
The old man stands behind me.
"You," I snap, fear and anger crashing together. "What did you do to me?"
He only stares.
"Answer me."
Finally, he turns away. "You're here at last. Took you long enough, young dragon keeper."
"That explains nothing," I say.
He walks forward without looking back. "Come. Follow me."
I hesitate.
"So impatient," he adds calmly. "But you'll understand soon enough."
Every instinct tells me I've just stepped into something ancient.
And there's no turning back now.