The night air hits us the moment we step outside the dojo. Cold. Sharp. Carrying the scent of salt and rust from the harbor miles away.
Jordan leads without hesitation.
No discussion. No vote. She just moves, and we follow.
Cameron walks beside me, lightning crackling faintly around his fingertips. Maya trails behind, silent as always, her expression unreadable in the dim streetlight.
"Stay close," Jordan says over her shoulder. "We don't know what we're walking into."
"Warehouse 105," Maya repeats quietly. "Redwood Boat Hardware. That's industrial district. No civilians after dark."
"Good," Jordan replies. "Means we don't have to worry about witnesses."
Cameron glances at me. "You okay?"
I nod, but my hands won't stop shaking. Not from fear. From something else. The fire inside me feels restless, coiled tight, waiting to explode.
"I'm fine," I mutter, rushing the words together. "Just—just ready."
He doesn't look convinced.
We move through the city in silence, sticking to alleys and side streets. The buildings grow older, more industrial. Brick warehouses. Rusted fire escapes. Broken windows reflecting moonlight like shattered teeth.
"Shu said they're collecting souls," Maya says quietly. "Putting them in some kind of container. Taking them to Drakna."
"A bag," Jordan adds, her voice tight. "Small enough to carry. That's what the intel said."
"So we destroy it," Cameron says, lightning flickering brighter. "Before they can deliver it."
"If we can," Jordan replies. "First priority is stopping whoever's doing the collecting."
The smell of the ocean grows stronger with every block.
Salt. Brine. Rotting wood.
Finally, we reach the docks.
The harbor stretches out before us, vast and empty under a pale moon. Water laps against the piers in slow, rhythmic waves. Ships creak and groan, their hulls scraping against wooden posts. Chains rattle in the wind.
Everything feels wrong.
Too quiet.
Too still.
"There," Jordan whispers, pointing toward a massive warehouse at the end of the longest pier. Its windows are dark. The door hangs slightly open, swaying with the breeze.
Warehouse 105.
"Formation," Jordan says, her voice low but commanding. "William, you're with me up front. Cameron, take the left flank. Maya, cover the rear. If anything moves, call it out."
"Got it," Cameron says.
Maya nods.
I grip my sword tighter, flames flickering along the blade. "Ready."
Jordan meets my eyes for a brief moment. No rivalry. No challenge.
Just trust.
"Let's move."
We approach the warehouse slowly, weapons drawn, every sense on high alert. The wooden planks beneath our feet creak with each step. The sound echoes across the water, impossibly loud in the silence.
Jordan reaches the door first. She pushes it open with one hand, kunai ready in the other.
Inside, darkness.
"Lights," she whispers.
Cameron raises his hand. Lightning flickers, casting harsh blue-white light across the interior.
The warehouse is massive. Rows of shipping crates stacked three stories high. Rusted machinery. Chains hanging from the ceiling like iron vines. And in the center of it all—
A man.
He stands perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, facing away from us. He wears a long black coat that seems to absorb the light around it. His hair is silver, tied back in a loose ponytail. Even from here, I can feel the weight of his presence pressing down on us like a physical force.
"Who are you?" Jordan demands, stepping forward.
At his feet, a small black bag rests on the concrete. It pulses with a sickly purple light, like something alive is trapped inside.
The souls.
The man doesn't turn.
"Children," he says softly. His voice is smooth, almost gentle, but it carries across the warehouse like a whisper in your ear. "Playing with fire."
"We're Dragon Keepers," Jordan says, raising her kunai. "And you're trespassing on protected ground."
The man chuckles. It's a low, dark sound that makes my skin crawl.
"Dragon Keepers," he repeats, finally turning to face us.
His eyes are black. Completely black. No iris. No pupil. Just endless void.
"How… quaint."
Jordan doesn't hesitate. "Take him down!"
She charges.
Jordan moves like the earth itself propels her forward. Her kunai spin in deadly arcs, each strike aimed to kill. The ground trembles beneath her feet, cracks spreading outward with every step.
The man doesn't move.
Jordan closes the distance in seconds. Her blade flashes toward his throat—
He catches it.
Between two fingers.
"Fast," he says calmly. "But predictable."
He flicks his wrist.
Jordan flies backward, crashing through a stack of crates. Wood explodes. Metal screeches. She hits the far wall with a sickening crunch and crumples to the ground.
"Jordan!" I scream.
The man turns his empty eyes toward me. "You're next."
I don't think. I just move.
Fire erupts along my sword as I charge, heat distorting the air around me. I swing with everything I have, flames roaring, the blade screaming through the air—
He sidesteps.
Effortlessly.
My sword slams into the concrete floor, sending sparks flying. Before I can recover, his hand closes around my throat.
He lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
"Weak," he whispers. "So very weak."
I try to breathe. Can't. My vision blurs. Fire flares desperately around my body, but it doesn't touch him. It just… stops. Like the flames themselves are afraid.
"You think you're special because you bonded with a dragon?" he continues, his voice soft and mocking. "You're nothing. A child with a toy you don't understand."
He throws me.
I crash into a shipping container, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Pain explodes through my ribs. My sword clatters to the ground, flames dying instantly.
I try to stand. Can't.
"William!" Cameron shouts.
Maya steps forward, water swirling around her in a protective spiral. "Stay back!"
She thrusts both hands forward. A massive wave surges toward the man, enough water to drown a building.
He raises one hand.
The water stops mid-air.
Frozen solid.
"Impressive," he says. "But futile."
He clenches his fist.
The ice shatters into a thousand pieces, shards flying in every direction. Maya throws up a barrier, but it's not enough. The shards tear through, cutting her arms, her legs, her face.
She collapses, blood pooling beneath her.
"Maya!" I gasp, trying to crawl toward her.
The man walks forward slowly, his footsteps echoing like a death knell. He picks up the black bag, tucking it into his coat.
Cameron stands frozen near the entrance, lightning crackling wildly around him. His eyes are wide. His hands shake.
"Run," I rasp. "Cameron, run—"
But he can't.
He's paralyzed.
Not by the man's power.
By fear.
The man glances at Cameron, then dismisses him with a wave. "Not even worth the effort."
He stops in the center of the warehouse, looking down at the three of us—broken, bleeding, defeated.
"This is what Dragon Keepers have become?" he says, shaking his head. "Pathetic."
He turns toward me, raising his hand. Dark energy coalesces around his palm, crackling with malevolent intent.
"You first."
The energy surges forward.
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think.
I'm going to die.
No.
The voice explodes through my mind. Deep. Ancient. Burning with rage.
NOT LIKE THIS.
"Please," I whisper, blood dripping from my mouth. "I need—I need more—"
THEN TAKE IT.
Fire erupts.
Not from my sword. Not from my hands.
From inside me.
It tears through my body like a living thing, rewriting every cell, every nerve, every thought. My vision goes white. My scream is lost in the roar of flames that consume the warehouse.
The dark energy disintegrates before it reaches me.
The man steps back, his expression shifting for the first time.
Surprise.
The fire burns hotter. Brighter. My body feels like it's being torn apart and rebuilt simultaneously. Pain beyond anything I've ever felt. And then—
It stops.
I stand.
The flames around me have changed. They're no longer orange and red. They're crimson. Deep, blood-red fire that doesn't flicker—it pulses, like a heartbeat.
I reach up and touch my hair.
It's warm.
And when I pull my hand away, I see strands of red between my fingers.
My hair has turned the color of fire itself.
"What…" the man begins.
I look at him.
And I smile.
"Cameron," I say. My voice is different. Colder. Sharper. No stammer. No rush. Just command. "Get Maya and Jordan out of here. Now."
"William—"
"NOW."
Cameron flinches. Then he moves, scrambling toward Maya and Jordan, dragging them toward the exit.
The man watches them go, then turns back to me. "Interesting. The dragon gave you more power. But it won't be enough."
"We'll see."
I move.
Faster than before. Faster than I thought possible.
My sword is in my hand, flames roaring along the blade—crimson flames that make the air itself scream.
The man blocks, but I see it in his eyes.
He felt that.
"The bag," I say, my voice cold and precise. "Give it to me."
"Never."
He strikes back, dark energy lashing out like whips. I dodge, weaving through the attacks with a grace I didn't have before. Everything is clearer. Sharper. I can see the flow of his power, predict his movements before he makes them.
I'm not just stronger.
I'm better.
I close the distance and swing for the bag tucked in his coat.
He blocks with his forearm, but my blade cuts through his sleeve, drawing blood.
First blood.
His eyes narrow. "You're different now. But still a child."
"Then let me show you what this child can do."
I unleash everything.
Fire explodes outward in a massive wave, forcing him back. He raises a barrier of dark energy, but my flames eat through it like paper. I press forward, relentless, my sword a blur of crimson light.
He's fast. Skilled. Powerful.
But I'm faster.
I feint left, then strike right. My blade catches the edge of the bag, slicing through the fabric.
Purple light erupts.
Souls—dozens of them—pour out like smoke, their forms twisting and writhing as they escape into the air. They scream, a sound that tears at my mind, before dissipating into nothing.
Released.
The man's face contorts with rage. "You—"
"I just destroyed your delivery," I say, my smile widening. "What will Drakna think of that?"
He doesn't snarl. Doesn't lunge.
He simply raises both hands.
The air around us warps. Reality itself seems to bend inward, collapsing toward a single point between his palms. Darkness coalesces there—not shadow, but something deeper. Something that devours light.
"You think you've won?" His voice is quiet. Deadly. "You've only made this worse."
The sphere of darkness pulses once.
Then explodes.
The blast tears through the warehouse like the hand of God.
I try to raise my sword, try to summon my flames, but the force hits me before I can react. It's not heat or pressure—it's absence. A void that rips through everything, consuming matter, energy, thought itself.
The world goes white.