The Return of the Almighty Dragon Jackal

“Mom! Promise me you and Dad will celebrate my birthdays forever!”

Andrew’s small voice drifted across the decorated courtyard, light and hopeful, rising above the whisper of the lake and the rustle of leaves. Six candles burned on the chocolate cake, their glow dancing in his wide, innocent eyes. He leaned closer, lips pursed, as if the stars themselves might hear his wish.

Elena’s smile suddenly froze, her hand trembled where she steadied the cake. For a second, the flamelight caught the tremor in her fingers. Her eyes flicked to the trees, towards the shadows clinging there, thicker than they should have been.

She kissed her son’s hair, soft and lingering, as if the moment needed holding. Her voice was gentle, yet strained with something unsaid. “Forever is a beautiful wish, my love.”

Andrew beamed, chest swelling with pride. His little brother Richard cooed from the basket beside them, kicking his tiny feet at the sound of laughter. Andrew spun on the picnic blanket, dizzy with happiness, the way only a six-year-old could be.

“Careful, birthday boy!” Elena laughed, brushing frosting from her finger onto his nose. Her laughter was warm, like a lullaby, wrapping him in safety.

Andrew giggled, swiping at the frosting. “Daddy’s gonna miss the cake,” he said, tilting his head up to her. “He promised he’d come back.”

“He wanted to, sweetheart,” she said gently. “But his meeting ran late. He’ll bring you a surprise tomorrow morning.”

“Is it a plane?” Andrew pressed, bouncing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Don’t forget me!” Paul’s voice called out near the water. He raised the camera, grinning. “C’mon, Andrew, give me a big smile before those candles melt.”

“Uncle Paul!” Andrew shouted happily, waving.

Elena adjusted the cake, candles burning lower. “Make your wish, baby.”

Andrew closed his eyes again, clasping his hands as if God Himself were listening. He thought of nothing else but this night—his mother’s arms, his brother’s tiny fists, the cake that smelled sweeter than heaven.

Then he blew out the candles.

A cheer rose. Elena clapped. Paul snapped a picture. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning, like the wish had already been granted.

And then came the frightening scream.

It split the night in half, jagged and raw, carried from the trees beyond the courtyard.

Andrew froze, the hairs on his arms prickled.. “Uncle Paul?” He whispered but there was no answer. Richard whimpered, disturbed by the sudden shift.

“Andrew. Behind me.” Elena’s voice cracked with a sharpness he had never heard before. She stood, blue dress fluttering in the breeze, her body a wall between her children and the trees.

Uncle Paul?” Andrew whispered again, but the space where Paul had stood was empty, camera lying abandoned in the grass.

The shadows moved. A man stepped out, face hidden beneath a black hood, the edge of a blade catching the lantern light. He didn’t just walk—he prowled, each step terrifying and alarming.

"Who are you?" Andrew questioned.

Elena’s hand clenched at her sides. “Run, Andrew.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, knees shaking.

The hooded man surged forward. Elena shoved Andrew aside, her body colliding with the attacker’s in desperate resistance. Steel flashed. Her cry split the night. Blood spattered the cake, staining the strawberries redder than they already were.

"NO!" Andrew screamed, scrambling toward Richard’s basket. The world almost blurred in shock but his eyes suddenly darted towards the man's arm—there was a unique black tortoise tattoo

"I won't ever forget this, murderer!" Andrew gritted his teeth. His small hands curled into fists, nails cutting into his palms.

Elena’s knees buckled. She turned her head, eyes locking with Andrew’s. Her lips trembled as she forced out the words, “Protect your brother… please… run.”

The knife rose again.

But then—another shadow flew in.

It came like wind and thunder. A blur of silver and black crashed into the attacker, knocking the blade aside in a flurry of brutal and precise strikes. Bone cracked. The hooded man fell hard against the marble piller before scrambling away through the dark.

Andrew’s chest heaved. His anger blurred everything.

The stranger crouched near Elena. Dark robes shimmered faintly with silver embroidery, his presence cold, commanding. He pressed two fingers to her neck. His eyes—hard as stone—softened for only a second.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Andrew shook his head violently. “No! Help me treat her! Please!”

The man’s gaze met his, unwavering. “We must go.”

“I’m not leaving!” Andrew yelled, clawing at his mother’s limp arm. “She’ll wake up! Daddy’s coming back!”

The stranger lifted Richard’s basket in one arm, Andrew in the other. His voice was steady, heavy with something that felt like truth and doom at once. “Your father would give everything to protect you. And when the time comes, you will learn why. But tonight, you must live. That is what your mother chose.”

Andrew kicked, yelling, but his strength was nothing against the man’s iron grip. The courtyard blurred behind him. Lanterns. Cake. Blood. His mother’s still body. All swallowed by the darkness as they disappeared into the forest.

By the time his father—Roger arrived at Lake Emerald, the world had already collapsed.

Police cars painted the night in red and blue. Tape cordoned off the picnic spot. A coroner’s van sat with its doors open.

Roger staggered forward, heart pounding. “Elena! Andrew! Richard!” His voice broke. “Where are they?”

No one answered. Officers turned away, faces heavy with pity.

Then his eyes burned wide as it darted to the garden.

A white sheet on his wife's bloody body. A bloodied cake, candles melted into wax. His knees gave way. His scream tore through the night, raw and broken. "I should have been here… God, I should have been here." He dug his fingers into the dirt, begging, raging, cursing God and fate in one breath.

His wife was gone. His sons… vanished.

And yet, even as his soul shattered, the truth remained hidden. Both boys were alive. Taken, not by enemies, but by a stranger who's known by none.

When Andrew woke again, he wasn’t in the forest. He lay on a straw mat, ribs aching, air heavy with incense. Wooden beams stretched above him, carved with unfamiliar symbols. Chimes rattled gently outside the paper walls.

His throat tightened. “Mom?”

No response.

He pushed himself up, trembling. Across the room stood the stranger. He was tall, robed, face half-shaded by the lantern’s dim glow. He seemed like part of the temple itself, unmoving and solemn.

“I want my mom,” Andrew whispered again.

The man didn’t respond. His presence was calm, almost unnerving, like staring at a mountain that would never bend.

Andrew’s voice echoed louder through the temple. “Where’s Richard? Where the hell is my brother?”

Finally, the man spoke, his voice steady as stone. “He is here. He's alive, resting.”

Andrew stumbled toward him, desperate. “Take me to him!”

The man inclined his head once, leading Andrew down a narrow old hall. The air grew warmer and thicker with incense. At the end of the hall, he slid open a door.

Richard lay on a futon, still as porcelain. A bamboo contraption dripped herbal liquid into his arm. His chest rose and fell shallowly. His eyes remained shut, lashes dark against pale skin.

“Richard?” Andrew whispered, clutching his brother’s tiny hand. “It’s me… wake up.”

But Richard didn’t even shake.

Andrew turned, panic clawing his throat. “What happened to him?”

The man—Master Yuan—studied the boy with eyes that had seen too many truths. “He was struck during the attack. A severe trauma. He has not woken since.”

Andrew shook his head, holding tighter to Richard’s fingers. “He will. He has to.”

Master Yuan’s silence stretched, then softened. “There is always hope. But his path now rests in the hands of time and spirit. You must grow strong—for both of you.”

Andrew buried his face beside his comatose brother, his wet eyes muffled by the futon. He was only six years old, but his world had already shattered.