The rain began as a whisper – small droplets tapping against windows, running down rooftops, gathering in silver threads on the edges of lanterns that lined Kanzawa's streets. But within minutes it had transformed into a downpour, a curtain of water so dense that the city's neon signs blurred into streaks of melting colour. Ren Hayato sprinted through it, his shoes slapping the soaked pavement, his schoolbag bouncing violently against his back. His breath formed small clouds in the cold air, forcing him to lower his head as he struggled to see through the sheets of rain. Another day being late, he though bitterly. Perfect. It felt like the universe was determined to test him at every turn.
As he rounded a corner, Ren spotted a shape crumpled beneath a flickering streetlamp. At first, he assumed it was some abandoned bundle of clothes or trash washed aside by the storm. But then the shape moved – just barely and he caught the faint sound of pained coughing drowned beneath the rain's roar. Ren skidded to a stop, his heart lurching. It was an elderly man, hunched over, clutching his chest with trembling fingers. His thin grey hair clung to his forehead, and his breathing came in short, ragged bursts.
Ren hesitated only a second before splashing through the puddles toward him. "Sir? Hey – can you hear me?" he called out, kneeling beside the man. Rain soaked through his uniform instantly. The one man slowly opened his eyes, revealing irises that glowed strangely golden despite the gloom. Ren felt a chill – not from the cold – but something unexplainable. Those eyes seemed to pierce straight through him.
"You…stopped," the man whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Of course I stopped," Ren said, forcing a shaky laugh. "What was I supposed to do? Leave you here?"
The man didn't answer. His body sagged sideways, and Ren quickly positioned himself under the man's arm, lifting him despite the burning strain on his muscles. The man was lighter than he looked, bones and frail skin beneath soaked robes that smelled faintly of incense and old wood. Guided only by the man's weak gestures, Ren helped him through winding alleys, the rainwater swirling around their feet like small rivers. Eventually they reached an aging apartment complex whose exterior paint had long faded away. The man pointed toward a door on the second floor, so Ren half-carried him up the creaking steps.
The door creaked open with a push – it wasn't even locked. Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The apartment was dim, lit only by the dull glow of a single hanging bulb. The air smelled faintly of tea leaves and sandalwood. A narrow shelf held old calligraphy scrolls and strange wooden carvings, each one elegantly detailed. Ren gently lowered the man into a cushioned chair. "Do you live alone, sir?" he asked, glancing around. The silence that answered him made it clear enough.
"Tea…if you don't mind," the old man murmured, closing his eyes as though the simple act of sitting down exhausted him.
Ren blinked, unsure if making tea was the right move in this situation, but he spotted a kettle and cups on a small counter. As he heated water and prepared tea with shaking hands – praying he was doing it correctly – the room felt impossibly stull. The storm outside raged on, but in here time seemed to slow. When Ren finally handed the man a steaming cup, he noticed how the old man's fingers wrapped around it with unexpected steadiness. As though warmth revived something within him.
The old man nodded in gratitude, then reached into the deep sleeve of his robe. Ren expected perhaps a wallet or a phone. But instead, the man pulled out a tiny object carved from dark wood. He lifted it into the light, revealing a miniature wooden dragon – no larger than Ren's hand but carved with impossible precision. Every scale was etched sharply, every curve smoothed with care. Its eyes were two tiny beads of polished stone that seemed almost…alive.
Ren stared, mesmerised.
The old man extended it to him.
"A gift," he said softly.
"W-wait, no – sir, I can't tale that," Ren protested, pushing the dragon back. "You don't even know me."
The old man smiled faintly, his golden eyes gleaming with a depth Ren couldn't comprehend. "It is precisely because I know you," he replied cryptically. He curled Ren's fingers around the wooden dragon. "This belongs to you now. And one day, when the moment is right…you will understand what it means."
Ren swallowed, a strange feeling settling in his chest – an instinctive sense that the old man's words were not meant figuratively. But before he could ask anything, the man's breathing softened. His eyes drifted shut, as though he had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Ren quietly placed a blanket over him, whispered a final goodbye, and left the apartment with the small wooden dragon clutched tightly in his hand.
Outside, the storm had begun to weaken, but Ren couldn't shake the eerie weight of what had just happened. Why would a stranger entrust him with such a precious artifact? And what exactly did he mean by "you will understand"?
That night, even as exhaustion pulled him toward sleep, Ren placed the wooden dragon on his desk. It seemed to glow faintly under the moonlight, though he told himself it must have been his imagination. Still, as he drifted off, the image of the old man's golden eyes lingered in his mind… and the feeling that his life had quietly veered into dangerous, unseen territory.
Ren did not yet know it, but this night – the night he stopped to help an old man in the rain- would be the spark that turned his entire world upside down.
And the dragon watching him from his desk was no mere carving.
It was the key to an empire of shadows.
The beginning of a legacy he never asked for.
And the end of whatever peace he once knew.