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Chapter 57
The night was unusually still, as if the stars themselves were holding their breath. Jack Parker stood atop the courthouse rooftop, the breeze brushing through his jacket. Below, Harmonfield slept. Quiet. Rebuilding. Healing. But his thoughts weren’t at rest. He closed his eyes. And in that stillness—a dream swept over him like a tide. The spirit world opened like a veil being drawn. Old Joe stood in the center of it, arms crossed, dragon light swirling behind him. “She’s coming back, Jack,” he said gently, voice echoing like wind through stone. Jack’s breath caught. “Emily?” Old Joe nodded once. “The vault didn’t take her life. She tricked it. Sacrificed her presence, not her soul. She sealed herself away, waiting for the right moment. And now, she’s ready.” Jack took a step forward. “She betrayed us. Left me. Hurt Sarah.” “I know,” Old Joe said, eyes gleaming with something more than wisdom—hope. “But she gets one more chance. That’s the rule. If she walks the sam
Chapter 56
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
Chapter 55
Jack ran until his lungs burned, until the trees around Reidsville swallowed him whole. The dagger guided him like a torch from the past—its golden fire streaking through the gloom, flickering brighter with every step.He didn’t stop to breathe. He didn’t need to.The dragon spirit appeared ahead, forming in the mist with a glimmering shimmer of scales and smoke. It didn’t speak, didn’t turn. It simply floated forward through the overgrowth like it remembered every path long buried by time. Jack followed.Reidsville was dead—but not quiet. The silence here wasn’t peace. It was tension. The kind that coils before it strikes.The spirit led him deeper, past shattered statues and half-sunken ruins until it paused beside a crumbling chapel wrapped in black vines. Its roof was gone. Its altar cracked. Bloodstone shimmered beneath moss.The spirit gestured with its glowing snout.Beneath. That’s where Sarah was supposed to be.Jack stepped forward—then felt it.A presence.Multiple.The dra
Chapter 54
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
Chapter 53
The whisper still echoed in his mind.“You are the last Dragon Heir. Fight like one.”Jack stayed on his knees, the cold sweat clinging to his skin like ghost hands. His breath slowed. The glow from the dagger hummed across the walls of his room, steady as a heartbeat. Something inside him—something ancient—had been stirred awake.But the silence didn’t last long.A creak outside.Jack’s head snapped toward the door. Footsteps—silent, disciplined. Not from the stairs. From the window.He grabbed the dagger.Another whisper. Not from spirits.Leather against steel.Jack whirled just as the glass shattered. A black-clad figure burst through, blades drawn, moving with impossible speed.Time slowed.Jack ducked under the first swipe, kicked the assassin in the chest, sending him back through the broken window. Another figure dropped from the ceiling.He didn’t think.He moved.The dagger came alive in his hand—runes blazing gold, edge hot with power. He twisted, parried a blade, then drov
Chapter 52
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
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