By morning, the city had a name for what happened.
They called it the Luminous Event.
News anchors spoke carefully, voices rehearsed and neutral as footage looped across every channel—grainy angles of the sky tearing open, white-gold light flooding the streets, shadows collapsing into nothing.
No one said dragon.
Not yet.
Lys watched from a secured apartment overlooking the river, curtains drawn, the room dim except for the glow of a holoscreen. Every replay made his chest tighten.
"They're controlling the narrative," Nyra said from the kitchen, scrolling through intercepted feeds. "No casualties reported. Infrastructure damage listed as 'anomalous.' That's government code for we don't know what the hell that was."
Caelum stood near the window, eyes tracking the sky instinctively. "They felt the pressure shift. Militaries always do."
As if summoned by his words, the screen changed.
A seal appeared—black and silver, unfamiliar but unmistakably official.
THE GLOBAL ANOMALOUS PHENOMENA AUTHORITY
—GAPA—
Elda stiffened. "That's bad."
A woman appeared on screen—sharp suit, steel-gray hair, eyes that missed nothing.
"Citizens of Arclight City," she said calmly, "there is no immediate danger. The event last night was contained. However, unauthorized entities with extreme capabilities were involved."
Lys felt her gaze even through the screen.
"We are requesting cooperation from any individuals connected to the incident," she continued. "Failure to comply will be considered a hostile act."
Nyra scoffed. "Request. Sure."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "They won't stop at requests."
Elda turned to Lys. "This is why the Shin Dragon was never meant to awaken publicly."
On cue, the power flickered.
Not out.
Just enough.
Every screen in the apartment froze.
Then a new signal cut through—private, encrypted, forced.
The same woman appeared again.
But this time, she was looking directly at Lys.
"Lys," she said, using his name without hesitation. "This is Director Halcyon."
The room went cold.
"We know what you are," Halcyon continued. "Or at least, what you're becoming."
Behind her, a wall of data scrolled—thermal scans, energy signatures, slowed frames of Lys mid-Seraphim Breath. One image froze on his glowing dragon eyes.
"The Shin Dragon," she said evenly. "A corrective entity. A walking reset."
Nyra stepped forward. "You say that like it's a weapon."
Halcyon nodded once. "Anything powerful enough becomes one."
Lys forced himself to stand. "I didn't attack your city. I saved it."
"And we appreciate that," Halcyon replied. "Which is why you're still free."
A pause.
"For now."
She folded her hands. "But understand this: nations are already arguing over jurisdiction. Some want you studied. Some want you contained. A few want you eliminated before you grow beyond control."
Caelum's lightning flared. "They'd try?"
Halcyon's eyes flicked to him. "They already are."
Satellite imagery filled the screen—troop movements, black-site facilities activating, orbital platforms shifting position.
Elda whispered, "They're preparing for a god."
Halcyon leaned closer to the camera. "Here's the reality, Lys. You don't belong to one country. You don't belong to this era."
"But you do belong to this world."
Silence stretched.
"Work with us," Halcyon said. "Help us regulate the anomalies. Keep the Eclipse contained. We'll protect your identity. Your people."
"And if I refuse?" Lys asked.
Halcyon didn't hesitate.
"Then the world will treat the Shin Dragon as an extinction-level threat."
The screen went dark.
No signal.
No warning.
Nyra cursed softly. "Well. That escalated."
Caelum looked at Lys, expression unreadable. "This is where dragons usually burn empires."
Elda placed her staff between them and the window. "Or where they learn restraint."
Lys turned back to the city skyline.
He could feel it now—eyes everywhere. Governments. Satellites. Futures aligning around him like crosshairs.
The Shin Dragon was no longer a myth.
It was a political problem.
And the world had just drawn its first lines.