Awakening The Hidden Dragon

It was a place where no inmate succeeded in escaping from!

The iron gate of Rikers prison slammed shut behind Knox Rivera for the last time, and the first thing he did was touch the scar on his lower shoulder. Deep. Jagged. The kind of wound that would've killed him if his father's mistress hadn't called the cops when she did. Miguel had tried to take him out all because Knox had done what needed to be done.

Their father had been a monster. Twenty years of their mother's screams echoing through the halls, of Knox taking beatings meant for her until the night he finally fought back.

The judge called it self-defense. The law called it justified. Miguel called it murder. And he'd tried to make Knox pay for it with a knife buried so deep in his shoulder that the doctors said he was lucky to be alive..

Knox didn't believe in luck. He believed in survival. In doing whatever it took to stay strong in a world like this.

Yeah, Miguel was still rotting in jail for what happened that night but Knox was walking freely after completing the task given to him by the old alchemist in prison. The other inmates had called Master Chen crazy. A washed-up con artist who talked about energy and power that existed beyond what ordinary men could comprehend.

And Chen had seen something in Knox from day one. Something even Knox hadn't known existed. "You're very powerful," Chen had whispered during their first encounter in the prison yard. His eyes pale with age but sharp with knowledge, had studied Knox like he was reading a book written in a language only he understood.

"You have the blood. Dormant. But it's there. Waiting." Knox had thought the old man was insane, until Chen proved otherwise. The training had been brutal. Meditation that felt like torture. Exercises that pushed Knox's body beyond human limits.

Months ago, the old man had done something that changed everything. "I have no one," Chen rasped, his frail hand gripping Knox's wrist with surprising strength. "You've awakened what was sleeping inside you, and now, I can rest with pride. I've no family. No one worthy of this. And now, I pass on what's mine." A gold card had been buried under Chen's skin for seventy years. A relic of power and wealth that connected to a network Knox was only beginning to understand.

Chen slowly cut it out of himself with a piece of sharpened metal, his blood mixing with Knox's as he pressed it into Knox's palm. "This is your inheritance," Chen had said, his breathing shallow. “Connections that span continents. Access to people and places and wealth. But more than that, it's proof. Proof of who you are now. What you've become." Knox had felt it the moment the card touched his skin.

A surge of something electric. Something ancient. The power Chen had spent two years teaching him to harness suddenly crystallized into clarity. And when the old alchemist died, his final words still echoed in his mind. "Your rule can never be underestimated."

Right now, a black Maybach stopped at the curb. Daniel, Knox's second-in-command, stood beside it, bowing in respect, "Good to see you Master." His expression was calm, but it carried two years of loyalty, of holding down Knox’s Empire, taking orders while his Master was away just as he former master, Chen had instructed.

He noticed Knox's eyes were on the pack of cigarettes in his hand so immediately offered him.

After lighting the cigarettes and taking a big puff, Knox slid into the backseat of the Maybach.

As the car went down the highway, Daniel handed him a tablet. "Everything's running smoothly. The Empire's intact. Waiting for your presence."

“Take me to my mother,” Knox finally spoke as he scrolled through the numbers on the screen as his mind was elsewhere.

She was all that mattered right now.

Soon, the car stopped in a quiet neighborhood and Knox stepped out. The driver nodded respectfully as Knox closed the door, then pulled away smoothly, leaving him standing alone on the cracked sidewalk.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the building before him—a worn-down apartment complex that looked like it had seen better days decades ago. Peeling paint, rusted railings, windows covered with mismatched curtains.

This was where his mother lived now.

"Mom, I'm back," Knox whispered, his voice barely audible as he stepped into the shabby looking apartment that had become her refuge after everything fell apart.

The woman sitting by the window didn't turn around. She couldn't. Not without the wheelchair that had become her prison for the past seven years.

"Who is that? Kn.. Knox?" His mother's voice trembled with emotion, her sightless eyes searching in his general direction. "Is that you?" She stretched her arms out, reaching for him, but her hands grasped at empty air. She was facing the wrong direction entirely, her sightless eyes wet with tears that streamed down her hollow cheeks.

Knox's chest tightened, a burning rage mixing with overwhelming grief. His hands clenched into fists so hard his nails drew blood. "It's me, Mom." Knox moved closer, kneeling beside her wheelchair so she could reach his face. Her hands, still gentle despite everything they'd endured, traced his features like she was memorizing them all over again.

seven years ago, she could see. She could walk..

"I'm not stopping you from being with her!" his mother cried back then, her voice breaking as she clutched his father's arm. "Just don't take this house away from us! Is she more important than your own children? Than your family?"

Knox had been 20 then. Standing in the hallway with 18 year old Miguel, watching their father's face remain completely emotionless as he threw them out into that freezing night like they were garbage.

Knox thought they were finally free from everything until one night, he got a call from his father.

"Come pick up your stubborn mother." His father's voice was trembling with something that sounded almost like fear. "She... she needs to go to the hospital. Now."

"What did you do?" Knox demanded, already running towards his house in desperation. His father's tone had shaken him beyond comprehension.

Upon arrival, he found what haunted him for the rest of his life.

His mother was on the floor. Unconscious. Her legs twisted at angles that made Knox's stomach turn. Blood pooling beneath her head.

"What the fuck did you do?!" Knox had roared, shoving his father against the wall with so much vexation and fury.

"It was an accident! I swear it was an accident!"

But Knox had seen his mistress knuckles. Bruised. Bloody. He had seen the fear in the mistress's eyes as she cowered in the corner.

He watched his mistress do this to his mother!

He grabbed him so tightly. And now.. he didn't remember most of it. Just flashes. His father's face. Blood. Screaming. And Lady Morgan desperately calls the cops.

He had been belittled, bullied and humiliated, but now, he's back but not as the ‘trash’ they labelled him to be.

"Is it really you, Knox?" Her voice cracked with emotion, "Oh good heavens... it's really you, son..."

Knox gently guided her hands to his face, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his composure. Her fingers traced his features desperately, like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go.

"It's me, Mom," he said softly. "I'm home."

But even as he spoke, his eyes swept the apartment, scanning everything carefully. The wheelchair she sat in was just ancient, it was rusted and one wheel slightly bent. The kind of medical equipment that should've been replaced years ago. Her clothes hung off her frame like she was drowning in fabric. She'd lost so much weight. Too much weight. The vibrant woman he remembered had been replaced by this frail broken shell.

Her face was gaunt, her cheekbones were too prominent, her skin too pale to look at.. She looked twenty years older than she should, like life had been slowly draining out of her with each passing day.

"Mom, have you been eating?"

She nodded, “Did your brother come with you? Where is he? Is he out too? Does he hate me?” She asked in a shaky tone.

Knox shook his head, “Mum, Miguel…”

Suddenly, the door exploded inward with a violent crash.

A group of men walked into the apartment like they owned the place, their heavy boots tracking mud across the carpet. The one in front was tall, muscular, with a scar running down his left cheek and eyes that screamed trouble. The kind of man who got off on intimidating people weaker than him.

"Hey, old woman!" the scarred man barked, his voice dripping with contempt. "Didn't we tell you no visitors are allowed in here?"

The two men behind the leader walked further into the room, their gazes sweeping over everything like predators marking territory. One of them sneered at the wheelchair. The other cracked his knuckles deliberately.

"Dylan, this is my—" Knox's mother started, her voice shaking.

"I don't give a damn who he is!" Dylan cut her off sharply, taking another aggressive step forward. His eyes locked onto Knox with barely concealed hostility. "Tell him to fuck off before I lose my patience. In the meantime, Bruno, get her dirty purse let's see what she has for us today.”

“Yes, boss.” Bruno turned to the drawer beside Knox, and shook his head, “It's empty.”

Knox slowly rose to his feet, positioning himself between the intruders and his mother. His expression was blank.. But something deadly flickered behind his eyes.