The Return of the Almighty Dragon Jackal

The stars danced across the shimmering surface of Lake Emerald, their silver light spilling across the night sky like diamonds. At the water's edge, a soft wind stirred the grass, bringing with it the aroma of chocolate icing, roasted meat, and something even sweeter—happiness. For six-year-old Andrew, this was the perfect night. His birthday. His mother’s arms around him. The sound of laughter echoing from their secluded picnic spot. Nothing could ruin it.

Or so he believed.

Six-year-old Andrew grinned ear to ear as he spun in circles on the picnic blanket, his laughter echoing across the clearing. His baby brother, Richard, cooed from his basket nearby, waving tiny fists in the air. Their mother, Elena, knelt beside a carefully decorated cake—chocolate fudge with swirls of cream and strawberries—arranging candles in the shape of a six.

“Easy, Andrew! You’ll trip,” she chuckled, brushing a strand of dark hair from her eyes. She wore a pale blue dress that danced in the wind, and her smile could light up the stars themselves.

Andrew slowed his spin and ran to her, throwing his arms around her waist. “Is Daddy coming back soon?” he asked, looking up with eyes that shimmered like polished glass.

Elena’s smile dimmed—just a little. “You know he wanted to be here, sweetheart. But the meeting in Westport ran late. He promised to bring you a surprise tomorrow morning.”

“Is it a toy plane?” Andrew asked.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” She tapped his nose with a frosting-covered finger. “But tonight, you’ve got me, your baby brother, and this delicious cake.”

“And Uncle Paul!” Andrew added, nodding toward the man near the lake’s edge, fiddling with the camera. He was a family friend who volunteered to help set things up when Mr. Roger had to leave at the last minute for a company board meeting—one he couldn’t postpone, not with investors flying in from out of state.

Uncle Paul smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “Say cheese in a minute, birthday boy!”

“Make a wish first,” Elena whispered, her hand gentle on Andrew’s back as she lit the candles.

Andrew stared at the flames, their flicker captured in his wide, hopeful eyes. “I wish… we could stay like this forever.”

His mother froze for a second, her hand trembling just slightly as she adjusted the basket where baby Richard slept. She looked toward the tree line—dark, unmoving. “Forever is a beautiful wish,” she whispered.

Then she kissed his temple. “Go ahead, blow them out.”

He did. A cheer went up. Uncle Paul clapped. Elena laughed. And for a moment, it was everything Andrew could have hoped for.

Until the scream tore through the air.

It didn’t come from his mother. Or Paul. It came from the trees.

Low. Male. Angry.

Then came the rustle. The crack of twigs. The shuffle of approaching feet. Fast.

“Andrew. Get behind me,” Elena said sharply. Her voice, once soft and warm, had turned cold with fear. She rose slowly, eyes locked on the figure emerging from the trees.

A man. Dressed in black. His face hidden beneath a hood. A long blade glinted in his hand.

“Paul?” she called, but there was no answer.

He was gone.

The hooded man stepped into the lantern light.

“Run,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” Andrew whimpered, frozen.

The man charged.

She shoved Andrew aside, standing between her children and the attacker with nothing but her bare hands.

Steel flashed.

A scream broke from her lips as the knife found its mark. Blood splashed across the birthday cake. Her knees hit the ground. She turned just long enough to whisper, “Protect your brother, Andrew. Please... go.”

The hooded figure raised the knife again, but before the final strike, another shadow broke from the darkness.

Faster than wind.

A blur of silver and black slammed into the attacker, disarming him with a series of precise, devastating strikes. The knife flew from his grip. He tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

Andrew stared in disbelief as the stranger turned toward him. Robed in dark cloth lined with silver embroidery, the man knelt beside Elena. He pressed his fingers to her neck.

Too late.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Then he turned to Andrew. “We must go.”

“Who... who are you?” Andrew stammered, still trembling.

The man scooped up Richard’s basket with one hand and lifted Andrew with the other. “There is no time. Others may follow. You were not supposed to survive this night.”

“But... my dad,” Andrew sobbed. “He’s not here... he’ll come back. He promised.”

The man paused, his voice lowering to a gentler tone. “Your father would give everything to protect you. And when the time is right... you will see the truth. But now, you must live. That is what your mother died for.”

Andrew clung to him as they vanished into the forest, the moonlight fading behind them.

---

By the time Mr. Roger arrived at the lake—barely an hour later—the scene had already been swallowed by horror.

Police cars. Crime tape. A coroner’s van.

Roger stumbled out of the car, breathless, panic in his eyes.

“What happened? Where’s my wife? Where are my sons?!”

No one could answer.

Only the sight of the bloodied cake... and his wife’s lifeless body covered by a white sheet.

A scream ripped from his throat as he dropped to his knees, fingers clawing at the earth. His soul fractured in that instant.

His family was gone.

But what he didn’t know—what no one could have guessed—was that both his sons were alive.

Hidden.

Taken.

Saved by a stranger whose name he wouldn’t learn for another fifteen years.

_____

The first time Andrew opened his eyes after that night of blood and birthday cake, he was lying on a straw mat inside a quiet temple. The scent of aged wood and incense filled the air, and soft chimes echoed from wind bells swaying just beyond the paper-thin walls. His small hands trembled as he sat up, pain blooming in his ribs.

“I want my mom…” he whimpered.

The tall, silent man across from him didn’t respond. He watched Andrew with the calm of a mountain, unmoved and still. His name was Master Yuan.

“I want my brother… Richard…”

This time, Master Yuan’s voice broke the silence. “He is here. Alive. Resting.”

Andrew’s heart thudded. “Can I see him?”

The old man nodded once.

Master Yuan led Andrew down a quiet corridor to a room tucked away beneath layers of sacred charms and warmth. There, on a futon, lay the little Richard—his little brother—motionless. An IV-like bamboo contraption dripped herbal tonics into his system. His eyes were closed, and his expression serene, but he didn’t respond when Andrew touched his hand.

“What happened to him?” Andrew asked, voice breaking.

“He was struck during the attack. A severe head trauma. He has not awakened since.”

Andrew clutched his brother’s hand. “He will, right?”

Master Yuan paused. “There is always hope. But his path now rests in the hands of time and spirit. You must grow strong—for both of you.”