The wind died.Some hours later.Jack stood alone beneath the ashen sky, his reflection wavering in the blade of the dragon dagger. The courtyard behind him faded into shadow. Somewhere distant, a siren cried into the night—but here, it was silent.And then he heard the voice.“You always were the heir.”Jack’s head jerked up. The air turned cold. Time cracked.The city vanished.He was no longer in Harmonfield.The world around him shifted—into something impossibly still. A golden wheat field stretched to a blood-orange horizon. Above, a dragon-shaped constellation burned across a smoky sky. And standing at the edge of the field, just beneath the flickering stars, was a man in a cracked leather cloak and weathered boots.“Old Joe?” Jack whispered.The old man didn’t smile. He looked tired. Older than Jack remembered, even in death.“Been a long time, son.”Jack took a hesitant step forward. “Is this… real?”Joe struck a match and lit his pipe. The flame flickered unnaturally slow, li

Jack didn’t sleep that night.The moon never blinked.He stood by the window long after Victor vanished, the dagger still pulsing in his hand like a second heartbeat. The corpses lay cold behind him, a testament to how close death always lingered.Eventually, the local clean-up unit from the rebuilt Guardian Order arrived—silent, grim, efficient. No questions. Just nods. They knew better than to ask Jack Parker what he saw in the dark.But even after they were gone, the weight remained.The coin. The dagger. The whisper.The boundary is thinning.Jack didn’t even know what that meant yet. But he knew Victor did. And whatever was happening—it had already begun.The next night felt… off.The city didn’t hum the same. Harmonfield had noise, always had, even in its ruins. But tonight? Too quiet. Like the wind held its breath.Sarah Thompson was one of the last people still trying to live a normal life in all this chaos. She was stubborn like that. After everything—Old Joe’s funeral, the s

Jack’s knuckles tightened around the dragon coin, the image of Sarah’s scream still ringing in his head like a siren. The vision had shaken him—but it had also made things clear.She was alive.Somewhere on the border between Reidsville and Redmond, buried beneath a cabin.A trap? Maybe. But it didn’t matter.Jack stood up slowly, the dragon dagger in hand. His tattoo pulsed again—golden, alive. The dragon spirit shimmered faintly ahead, taking form once more, its eyes ancient and knowing.No words passed between them. None were needed.Jack nodded once, jaw clenched.And ran.For twelve hours straight, through hills, roots, gravel, and brambles that cut at his legs and arms. He didn’t stop. Didn’t eat. Didn’t think. The dragon dagger lit the way, and the spirit led like a silent sentinel, gliding through the thick woods. His breath came in steady bursts. Muscles burned. Tattoo glowed. Fire ran through his veins.He passed forgotten highways, broken fences, skeletal barns. Civilizatio

The rooftop wind carried no words. Just silence.Jack Parker stood at its edge, hands in his coat pockets. Emily lingered beside him like a memory, like fog that wouldn’t lift.When she asked if he still loved her, Jack said nothing.Did silence count as an answer?Emily’s breath misted in the moonlight. She didn’t push further. She simply whispered, “Goodnight, Jack,” and walked away, vanishing into the dark.Jack didn’t stop her.Two nights later, Sarah Thompson smoothed her silver dress in the mirror and turned to Jack, who leaned by the door in black jeans and a button-down shirt. No tie. No suit. Just his usual sharp-edged nonchalance.“Are you seriously going like that?” she asked.Jack smirked. “Why? I clean up nice.”“You clean up dangerously. You’ll get us kicked out.”“Let them try.”They pulled up to Le Château Noir in Jack’s obsidian Mustang—repainted recently with dragon-scale matte accents, a nod to Harmonfield’s reborn legacy. The valet took the keys reverently, half-bo

The Mustang roared softly beneath them as they cruised through Harmonfield, sunlight bouncing off mirrored buildings, the city pulsing with late-afternoon energy. Sarah’s fingers still rested lightly in Jack’s. Neither of them spoke for a long while. They didn’t need to.Eventually, Jack broke the silence.“I need a new car.”Sarah blinked. “The Mustang’s still fine.”Jack nodded. “It is. But I’m not.”She turned toward him. “What do you mean?”Jack’s jaw flexed. “I’ve been walking around Harmonfield trying to live like the guy I used to be. And maybe I needed that. But after today?” He looked ahead, eyes narrowing. “I think it’s time the city remembered who I became.”Sarah smiled faintly. “Then let’s get you something worthy of that reminder.”An hour later, they pulled into Harmonfield’s Ferrari dealership—Gran Lux Motors, the most exclusive exotic car showroom in Draconia. The showroom’s glass walls glimmered like diamonds. Inside sat machines that looked like moving sculpture: sl