CHAPTER 1 

The day Earth started stitching itself into Ashvalen was ordinary enough. I’d just punched out from my shift at the supermarket, a soul-deadening gig that smelled of stale bread and desperation, barely keeping the lights on in our sagging Florida bungalow even with the bullshit 20% disability pay.

 

 “Catch you tomorrow, Deb,” I muttered, shoving through the rusted employee exit into the parking lot. The air hit me humid, thick with the tang of asphalt and a subtle whiff of ozone, like rain brewing too long. That’s when I caught it: a blue orb, fist-sized, flickering like a dying ember near my Jeep. It pulsed once, twice, casting jagged shadows across the cracked pavement, then winked out. I rubbed my eyes, still gritty and raw from too many sleepless nights, and chalked it up to exhaustion. Shrugging it off, I climbed into the beat-up rig that’d rattled me through life since the army, its olive drab paint chipped like old scars. 

 

The radio hummed static over my classic rock as I drove, tires thumping over potholes. Zeppelin’s riffs fought the white noise until a voice sliced through, crisp and clipped, “Unexplained energy spikes detected globally, stay indoors,” before fuzz swallowed it whole. I snorted, picturing some intern at the station fumbling the board. Someone’s getting fired for that, I thought, then I remembered when I was in South Korea, there was some interference in our early warning system. We thought World War 3 happened, turns out the E2 in charge checking everything skipped a few steps. We were all chewed out for that. A smile came to my face, remembering the good old days. Then I started to plan dinner.

 

 Mom counted on me to cook since her hands started trembling last year, and my stomach growled at the thought of spaghetti, simple, easy, and quick. Then the Emergency Alert System kicked in, three gut-punching beeps that vibrated through the Jeep’s frame. 

 

“Stay home. Unknown phenomenon reported,” it droned, looping like a broken record. I tapped the dial; every station was dead air, just hissing silence. My phone buzzed on the passenger seat, Sara’s name flashing. I hit the speaker, expecting her usual Michigan check-in, all brisk cheer and small-town gossip.

 

 “Jake, something’s wrong,” she said, voice tight, frayed at the edges. “People with red eyes, they’re breaking in!” A crash exploded through the line, glass shattering, then her scream high, primal, before static ate the call. I swerved, tires kissing the guardrail with a metallic screech, and redialed. Busy signal. “Sara!” I barked, slamming the dash with a fist. Michigan was 1,400 miles North, a world away, but that call lit a fuse in my chest. I had to get to her, logic be damned. 

 

I rolled into the driveway, gravel crunching under the Jeep’s bald tires, and found Mom perched on the couch, staring at the TV. The news was chaos, dragons flying over New York, their scales glinting like oil slicks against the smoggy skyline; elves with bone-white hair and orcs with tusks like butcher knives storming Times Square like a geek’s fever dream gone live. The anchor’s voice cracked, sweat beading on his brow: 

 

“Reports from every major city, stay indoors, the military’s mobilizing.” Mom’s knitting needles clacked in her lap, a frantic rhythm, her eyes wide and lost behind thick glasses. The living room smelled of dust and her lavender soap, a subtle comfort against the madness. “What’s happening, Jake?” she asked, voice small, like she was twelve again, not sixty-two. 

 

“No clue,” I said, glued to the screen, jaw tight. Dragons. Actual damn dragons, leathery wings cutting the air, fire blooming in their throats. But Sara’s scream rang louder than any broadcast, echoing in my skull. She’d moved to Michigan with Mark and their kid, Lily, five years old, all pigtails and giggles chasing seasons, she’d laughed over FaceTime, all snow and cider and a good life. Now? Red-eyed freaks smashing through her door didn’t fit that picture. “I need to get Sara,” I said, breaking for the stairs.

 

 Mom’s needles froze mid-stitch, yarn dangling like a lifeline cut short. “What? You can’t, she’s too far, and this,” she waved a trembling hand at the TV, helpless, the glow painting her face in flickering blues. “She called, Mom. She’s in trouble. I’m not sitting here while my sister …” I stopped, my throat closing around the words. The army had taken everything else, friends, faith, half my hearing in one ear; family was all I had left. I wasn’t losing her, not like this. Not again. 

 

Upstairs, I dragged out my gear from under the bed, kit I’d “lost” on discharge, still smelling of gun oil and desert dust, plus camping junk I’d hoarded since. Battle belt with its frayed webbing, chest rig heavy with mag pouches, a backpack stuffed with a hammock, MREs, med kits, and my rifle, an AR-15, matte black and scratched from drills. Overkill, sure, but I’d seen what “underprepared” looked like: graves in the sand, names I couldn’t forget. Packed quickly, muscle memory on autopilot, boots thudding on the creaky floorboards as I headed down. Mom caught me halfway, eyes tracing the gear. I looked like a cut-rate action hero, tactical vest over a tee that said Fueled by Caffeine and Hate. To be fair, it was the only comfortable shirt that was clean. And jeans patched at the knees with reinforced knee pads; her frown called it out, deep lines carving her face. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, steady but firm, hands clasped tight.

 

 “Camping,” I said, faking a grin that didn’t reach my eyes. We both knew it was a lie, thin as the air between us. 

 

“Stay home. The government will handle this.” Calm, firm like she could, like she’d willed Dad’s cancer into remission before it took him anyway. 

 

I laughed, bitter and jagged, tasting bile. “You think they give a damn? I’ve seen men die for suits who’d sell us out in a heartbeat, bled out in dirt while brass sipped coffee.” It spilled out like a glass vial with cracks, years of scars bleeding through, raw and unfiltered. Her face twisted with anger, sadness, something new, maybe fear. I’d never snapped at her like that, not since I came home hollowed out. 

 

“You don’t know that,” she said, gently, stepping closer. “They’ll fix it.”

 

 “They won’t,” I shot back, heat rising, pulse hammering. “I’m not letting Sara and Lily die because you trust some desk jockey who’s never held a gun.” Time was slipping, I felt it in my bones, a ticking clock. Then a knock slow, heavy, too deliberate hit the door, rattling the frame. Outside, the wind stilled, the silence thicker than it should’ve been. Like something from a horror movie, the Supernatural nature is just out of place and wrong.

 

 “Don’t!” I barked as Mom moved for it, hand on the knob, curiosity overriding sense. My body moved before I could react. Training took over instincts I couldn’t bury, forged in firefights and sleepless nights. Shadows loomed beyond the frosted glass, tall, too angular, too still. Rifle up, safety off, I fired as the door swung open. Two shots, center mass, the crack echoing off peeling wallpaper. The figures dropped gangbangers from the outskirts, I thought at first, clad in mismatched leather and hoodies, but their eyes glowed red, faint even in death. I quickly switched to the other two targets. Each one got two shots. Then I saw Mom.

 

 She was down, crumpled against the wall, a jagged hole in the front of her chest, blood pooling dark on the linoleum. My knees hit the floor, rifle clattering beside me. “No, no, no,” I pressed the wound, hands shaking, slick with red, like I could shove the life back into her. Her eyes were blank, staring past me, gone. Rage and grief tore at me, silent but choking, a scream I couldn’t let out. A groan snapped back, one of those things still twitched, its fingers curling like spiders, clawing at the floor.

 

 I stood, cold as a lonely winter night, and used my boot to get it over. Humanoid, but wrong skin grayish, veins black under the surface, eyes fading from red to dull glass. It spoke with a guttural rasp, syllables grinding like stones, nothing from Europe or the Middle East. Not even Spanish, which is common around these parts, just something interesting I noticed but didn’t care enough to figure out why. I crushed its chest with my boot, felt the ribs snap like dry twigs, and put a bullet between its eyes. 

 

I found the other two lying nearby, same deal, dispatched with shots that rang in my ears. The air reeked of smoke, copper, and something sour I couldn’t place. Mom’s body was there, small, broken, her knitting spilled across the floor like a child’s toy. I slid my arms under her, lighter than she should’ve been, fragile as ash, and whispered, “I’m sorry,” again and again, voice hoarse. It didn’t fix shit.

 

 Outside, the night stung, cold and raw, the wind carrying distant screams and the crackle of fire. No shovel, no time. I clawed a grave with my hands in the backyard, nails splitting on roots and rocks, dirt staining red with her blood and mine. Laid her in, draped her old wool coat over her face, couldn’t face those blank eyes staring up. Patted it down with numb hands, mumbled something about peace that sounded hollow even to me. My voice cracked, a sob I choked back, knowing that won’t help, I felt the old me coming back from the sandbox. The house gaped behind me, door wide, fire fading in the hearth, bodies festering on the floor. I could’ve burned it, torched the memories with the trash. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

 

 Gear slung in the Jeep, I dialed Sara, busy signal again. “Stay put,” I muttered a prayer to no one, the engine rumbling to life. Roads out of Florida were empty, unnaturally still, streetlights flickering like they knew what was coming. I hit Jacksonville in ninety minutes, pedal pinned, the skyline ahead glowing orange flames chewing through buildings, something huge overhead spitting fire like a living furnace. A dragon. Took a second to sink in, the sheer size of its wings blotting stars, tail whipping like a storm. Out of my depth, but I’d manage. Took a back road, weaving through abandoned cars and debris, tires crunching glass.

 

 A call cut through an unknown number buzzing the dash. “Hello, this is about your car’s warranty ” I hung up, pissed, knuckles white on the wheel. Spam in an apocalypse, but Sara’s line was dead? That inconsistency had me distracted. I was about to start venting all the pressure I’ve been under. Then a roar ahead stopped me cold, deep, resonant, shaking the air. Brakes locked, tires squealing, I prayed it wasn’t that dragon. No dice. It stood there in the road, horse-sized, smaller than the city burner but no less deadly, wings clawed and tattered, skull glinting metallic in my headlights. Sparks flicked in its jaws, ember-bright, scales shimmering like wet tar.

 

 “What’s that?” I started, then gunned it as fire flared a jet of heat grazing the hood. It looked like I was just driving into a bonfire. The Jeep slammed its head on, metal and bone crunching, the impact jarring my teeth. I stopped hard, got out, and the bumper was ok. Thankfully, it was one of those reinforced ones for moving cars off the road. The dragon’s head cracked open, leaking silver ichor onto the pavement. Smaller up close, maybe ten feet wingtip to wingtip, but dead. That’s when I checked the engine, thankfully it was coughing but alive, good enough.

 

 A scream sliced through the stillness, sharp enough to cut past the dull ringing in my ears. “Help!” It was distant, ragged, pleading somewhere off the road. “Not my problem,” I muttered under my breath, dragging a sleeve across my sweat-streaked face, smearing the grime deeper into my skin. I didn’t need this. Not now. My boots stayed planted for a moment, heavy as lead, every muscle screaming to keep moving the other way away from trouble, away from more ghosts. Mom’s blood still clung to my hands in memory, sticky and warm; Sara was gone, Lily’s laugh a knife twisting in my skull. I didn’t have room for someone else’s mess.

​

 But the scream came again, weaker, and damn it, my feet shifted. Gravel crunched under my reluctant steps, each one a curse I didn’t bother voicing. Rifle up, more out of habit than intent, I trudged toward the sound, jaw tight, anger smoldering like a coal I couldn’t stamp out. The darkness closed in, and I let it, half-hoping it’d swallow me before I got there.