Darian felt Dracon before he saw him.
The air bent. The ground vibrated. Power pressed down like a storm about to break.
Dracon landed heavily, cracking the pavement beneath his boots. Flames flickered briefly around him before fading. His armor was dark , layered with jagged plates that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Sharp markings glowed along his arms and neck. His eyes burned like embers.
"So," Dracon said, smiling slowly. "I finally found him."
Darian stepped forward, placing himself fully between Thomas and the warrior. His jaw tightened.
"You won't take him," Darian said.
Dracon laughed. "I already sent my men. They followed the boy for days. Clever child. Strong instincts. Draxis will be pleased."
The name burned.
"You're too late," Darian replied.
Dracon's smile vanished.
He attacked.
The ground exploded as Dracon lunged, his fist slamming forward like a cannon. Darian barely raised his arm in time. The impact blasted both of them backward, shattering nearby walls and sending debris flying through the air.
Darian rolled, sprang up, and struck back. His palm hit Dracon's chest, releasing a violent shockwave. The blast ripped through the street, blowing out windows and tossing cars aside like toys.
Dracon skidded back, boots carving lines into the concrete.
"Good," Dracon growled. "You've grown stronger."
He raised his hand, and fire twisted around it. With a roar, he hurled the flames. Darian leaped, the blast tearing through the space where he had been standing. The explosion lit the street like daylight.
Darian landed hard and charged. He moved fast—too fast for human eyes. His strike hit Dracon's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Dracon answered with a knee to Darian's ribs. Bone cracked. Pain flashed white.
Neither slowed.
They clashed again and again. Every strike caused blasts that shook the ground. Every collision sent shockwaves through the city. Sirens wailed in the distance. Buildings trembled.
Dracon slammed Darian into a wall. The structure collapsed behind him.
"Hand him over," Dracon said, grabbing Darian by the throat. "The child belongs to Veyloria."
Darian's eyes burned.
"He belongs to no one."
Energy surged through Darian's body. He tore free and unleashed it. The explosion threw Dracon across the street, smashing him through a parked vehicle.
Dracon rose slowly, laughing through blood. "You can't protect him forever."
Darian stood tall, breathing hard. "I don't need forever."
He glanced briefly toward where Thomas had run.
That was enough.
Dracon noticed. His grin widened. "Ah. Still running."
He leaped—
But Darian was already there.
Their final clash tore through the street like thunder. Light and fire collided. The blast shattered everything nearby, forcing Dracon back.
When the dust settled, Dracon stood at the edge of the destruction, armor cracked, eyes blazing with fury.
"This isn't over," he said coldly. "Draxis will come for him."
Dracon stepped back—and vanished in a burst of flame.
Silence followed.
Darian stood alone in the ruins, chest rising and falling. Earth was no longer hidden.
Darian did not wait.
The moment his body steadied and the burning in his chest faded, he leaped away, following the faint trail Thomas had left behind. His form vanished over rooftops, leaving the ruined street behind.
For a while, the neighborhood stayed silent.
Then, slowly, people began to move.
A door creaked open.
Someone peeked out from behind a broken wall.
Another crawled out from under a collapsed porch, shaking, dust clinging to their clothes.
One by one, they emerged from hiding.
The street looked wrong.
Houses were torn open, walls split apart as if clawed by something massive. Windows were gone. Smoke drifted lazily through the air. The smell of burning metal and cracked concrete hung heavy.
A woman dropped to her knees when she saw what remained of her home. She cried openly, hands pressed to her face. A man limped across the street, calling out names, his voice breaking each time no one answered. Others checked on neighbors, lifting debris, counting heads, whispering prayers.
"No one's dead," someone said shakily.
That was when the tension truly spilled over.
Relief turned into anger.
"What were those things?"
"Monsters… they weren't human."
"God help us."
Then a voice cut through the noise.
"I saw a boy."
The crowd shifted.
"He was with one of them," the man insisted. "I swear it. I saw them together."
Murmurs spread fast, sharp and uneasy.
"Who?"
"Which boy?"
"Thomas," someone said.
The name settled over the street like a shadow.
A few people exchanged looks. Others nodded slowly, as if it confirmed something they had already believed.
"That strange kid?"
"I always said there was something off about him."
"He's always in trouble."
Someone spat on the ground. "Only God knows what he really is."
A woman hugged her injured child tighter. "Why would a monster come for a normal boy?"
No one answered that.
But the silence was enough.
By the time the sirens grew louder in the distance, the story had already formed. Not from facts, but from fear. From old suspicions. From the need to blame someone who wasn't there to defend himself.
Thomas ran through the woods, branches snapping beneath his feet.
His heart beat so hard it hurt. Each breath came fast and uneven, burning his chest. He did not know where he was going. He only knew he had to keep moving.
Who were those men?
Why were they looking for him?
His thoughts crashed into each other as his shoes slipped on loose soil. He stumbled, fell hard, and scraped his palms against the ground. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the dark shapes of leaves above him.
"No," he muttered, forcing himself up.
He pushed through the pain and ran again, slower this time. His legs trembled. Behind him, distant sounds echoed—low booms, the kind that made the ground feel uneasy. He winced and glanced back.
People lived near there. Houses. Families.
The thought made his chest tighten.
What if someone gets hurt because of me?
He did not know why the thought felt so certain, but it did. Guilt pressed down on him, heavy and unwanted.
At last, his body refused to go any farther.
Thomas limped toward a large tree with a thick trunk and wide roots pushing out of the ground. He collapsed against it and slid down until he was sitting, knees drawn close. His hands shook as he tried to steady his breathing.
The woods were quiet, but not peaceful.
Every rustle made him tense. Every crack of a branch set his nerves on edge. He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked around carefully, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees...