I take a step forward.
Then another.
The sound of the ocean fades behind me, not all at once, but like it's being pulled away strand by strand. The air grows heavy, pressing down on my shoulders, my lungs. Each breath feels thicker than the last, like I'm inhaling smoke instead of air.
My boots scrape against the crimson glass.
The sound echoes too long.
Too hollow.
Then—
"William!"
My heart seizes.
I freeze mid-step, every nerve in my body snapping awake.
That voice.
"William! Hello?!"
Jordan.
I spin around so fast the world tilts, my vision blurring at the edges. My breath catches painfully in my throat, like something sharp lodged there.
"Jordan?" My voice cracks. "Jordan!"
I run.
The maze twists as I move, glass walls peeling back just enough to reveal her ahead. She's real—too real. Dirt smeared across her face, her chest rising and falling fast. Her hands tremble, but she's standing.
Alive.
Relief crashes into me so violently my knees nearly give out.
"I thought I lost you," I gasp, slowing as I reach her. "I thought you—"
She steps toward me.
That's when the shadow moves.
It blooms behind her like a stain spreading through water.
A hand erupts from the darkness—long, warped, bone wrapped in shadow. Fingers bend the wrong way as it clamps around Jordan's torso.
Her eyes widen.
"William—!"
I lunge.
"No—!"
Too slow.
The hand tightens.
There's a sound—wet, sickening. Like stone being crushed inside a body. Shadow floods into her mouth, her eyes, her veins lighting up with that same dark crimson glow.
Her scream cuts off mid-breath.
Then her body breaks.
Blood splatters across the glass. Pieces of armor shatter. Earth energy collapses into dust before it can even hit the ground.
What's left of her falls at my feet.
The sound echoes.
Once.
Twice.
Forever.
I don't breathe.
I can't.
My legs lock. My chest tightens so violently it feels like something inside me is tearing apart. The world tunnels, shaking, folding inward.
Then—
Slow clapping.
Behind me.
"Aww," a voice says softly. "You really thought you escaped that easily?"
I turn.
It's me.
My reflection stands in the glass, smiling—but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. They're empty. Bottomless. Darkness bleeds from his feet, rippling outward like a living thing.
"You ran," he continues. "You tried so hard."
The maze darkens.
Shadows creep along the glass, crawling up my legs. Cold seeps through the scales of my shinobi gi, into my bones.
"And look what it got you."
"No…" My voice comes out broken. "She was right there. She was alive."
"She was never going to survive," he says gently. "Not with you."
The darkness climbs higher.
My breaths turn shallow, frantic. Each inhale feels smaller than the last. The air is disappearing. My heart slams against my ribs, erratic, panicked.
"This is what fear looks like," my reflection whispers. "This is your mind."
The shadows press against my chest, my throat, my head.
I claw at my armor, gasping.
"I can still fix this," I choke. "I can—"
"No," he interrupts. "You can't."
The darkness pours over my shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Voices fill my ears—screams, begging, accusations. My name, over and over, layered on top of itself until I can't tell where one ends and another begins.
Something pulls.
Not my body.
My soul.
It feels like sinking into deep water. Pressure crushing in from all sides. My thoughts slow, stretch, fragment.
I try to fight.
I really do.
But fear wraps around my heart, tight and unyielding, and for the first time—
I stop resisting.
The darkness closes over my head.
The last thing I hear is my reflection's breath against my ear.
"Welcome to the dark."
And then—
Nothing
I open my eyes.
Cold stone presses against my back.
Not ground—altar stone. Ancient, smooth, etched with cracks that glow faintly like embers buried beneath ash. The surface hums beneath me, as if it remembers every soul that has ever fallen here. The air is thick, heavy, clinging to my lungs with every breath.
There is no sky.
Only darkness.
It stretches endlessly above me, vast and suffocating, rolling in slow waves like storm clouds frozen in time. It isn't empty. It watches. It shifts, folds, and reaches, aware of my presence the moment I become aware of it.
From the edges of that void, fire answers.
Crimson and gold flames snake across the stone, crawling through carved channels like living veins. The heat radiates upward, seeping into my skin, into my bones, while the air above grows unnaturally cold.
Two forces.
Opposing.
Waiting.
The darkness moves first.
It spills across the floor like liquid shadow, rising in tendrils that wrap around my ankles, my calves, my knees. Wherever it touches, sensation disappears. No pain. No cold. Just absence—as if parts of me are being erased.
The fire responds.
It surges closer in violent waves, roaring like a chained beast straining against its restraints. The heat scorches my skin, dries my throat, turns each breath into fire itself.
Between them, I am pinned.
Trapped.
My chest tightens, an invisible weight pressing down harder with every second. My heartbeat feels distant, sluggish, like it belongs to someone else.
Then the voice comes.
Soft.
Close.
Intimate.
Relax.
Let it happen.
You've done enough.
You're tired.
Let me take it from here.
Sleep.
It doesn't command.
It convinces.
It wraps exhaustion in comfort, surrender in mercy. And for a moment—just a moment—it feels right.
Because I am tired.
Tired of training until my body gives out.
Tired of fighting battles I don't understand.
Tired of losing.
Tired of hiding what I am, what I can do.
Tired of being called a leader when I don't know how to lead myself.
The darkness climbs higher, coiling around my ribs, tightening like a living cage. My arms feel heavy. My legs numb. The fire inches closer, heat crashing over me in suffocating waves.
My eyelids droop.
That's right, the voice whispers.
Sleep.
It feels final.
Like the moment before drowning.
Like the moment before falling into a void that doesn't care whether you hit the bottom.
I try to move.
Nothing.
Try to scream.
Nothing.
The darkness reaches my throat.
The fire is inches from my face.
Then—
Light.
A single white point appears between shadow and flame.
Small.
Still.
Untouched.
It doesn't flicker. It doesn't waver. The darkness avoids it. The fire bends away from it.
"Do you want to die?" it asks.
The voice is steady. Not cruel. Not kind.
Honest.
"No," I whisper. The word barely escapes my lips.
"Then why are you surrendering?"
"I'm tired."
"So was everyone who ever mattered."
The light drifts closer.
"Remember," it says. "Not your power. Not your fear. Yourself."
The world fractures.
A memory tears through the darkness—
My bedroom.
Middle school.
Shoes still on. Backpack on the floor. Curtains half-closed.
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.
My mom sits beside me.
Her hair is longer then. She smells like work. She got off early just for me.
"I don't fit anywhere," I say quietly.
She turns me toward her, presses two fingers to my chest.
"William," she says softly. "Your soul. Your beliefs. Your kindness. The love your father and I have for you."
She smiles through my tears.
"That's who you are. Not what they call you. Not what they fear."
She cups my face.
"My sweet boy. Never forget that."
Her voice echoes—
And one day, you'll show the world who you are.
My eyes snap open.
The white light hovers closer now.
"What's your name?" it asks.
Something ignites inside my chest.
Not rage.
Not desperation.
Will.
An ember flares—small, steady, unyielding.
My fingers move.
I grip the hilt of my sword.
The moment I touch it, the darkness screams.
Flames erupt outward—not wild, not consuming—but precise, controlled. They spiral around me in widening rings, burning symbols into the air itself. The shadows peel away from my body, unraveling into ash.
I rise.
The stone beneath my feet cracks—not from force, but from presence.
The fire no longer rages.
It kneels.
It wraps around my shoulders like a mantle, settles against my spine like folded wings. Heat rolls off me in steady waves—commanding, absolute.
A deep sound echoes through the void.
Not a roar.
A call.
Flames surge upward, forming a crown above my head—jagged, radiant, alive. Each ember burns with memory, with trials endured, with battles survived.
Before me, a door manifests—towering, ancient, forged of scorched steel and stone. Dragons are carved across its surface, their eyes glowing faintly as runes ignite one by one.
"I'm William Ashbourne," I say.
"Dragon Keeper of the Red Dragon."
The words settle into the world like law.
The darkness recoils.
Not in fear.
In understanding.
It folds inward, shrinking, unraveling—no longer able to exist as it once did.
The white light drifts closer.
"Good," it says. "I'll be waiting."
It fades.
I rest my sword across my back.
The flames bow.
I place my hand on the door.
It opens.
Fire parts before me.
Behind me, the darkness does not follow.
It lingers—hesitant, diminished.
And in the silence that follows, the world remembers.
The darkness learned something it had never known before.
Not all who fall into it are meant to be consumed.
Some rise not as survivors—
But as rulers.
I step forward.
Crowned.
Claimed.
Awake