Days after Zara enrolled at the academy, Darian found himself increasingly preoccupied with her. She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in mystery, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't piece it together. Every effort to approach her ended in failure. Zara remained distant, aloof, and untouchable.
Yet, she was impossible to ignore. Zara didn't just excel—she dominated. In every test, whether academic or combat-related, she consistently ranked first. Her swordsmanship was flawless, rivaling that of seasoned S-rank warriors. Her techniques were precise, calculated, and almost inhuman. It was as if she carried secrets far beyond what any student should know.
Darian's Draconic System prodded him relentlessly, urging him to uncover the truth about Zara. But how could he, when she seemed so determined to keep everyone at arm's length? Frustration simmered within him as his curiosity deepened.
That evening, seeking a break from his thoughts, Darian decided to run errands. He stepped into a bustling grocery store, the hum of conversation and the clatter of carts offering a rare moment of mundane normalcy.
The Golden City, with its mix of magic and modernity, was unlike anywhere else. Here, towering skyscrapers stood alongside ancient spires, and grocery stores thrived even in a world ravaged by beasts. It was a unique blend of survival and progress, one of the reasons Darian had moved here.
He strolled through the aisles, filling his basket with essentials for his new apartment. Since leaving the academy dorms, he'd come to treasure the peace and quiet of his own space. Privacy was a newfound luxury, one he hadn't realized he needed until now. Perhaps it was another aspect of his Draconic heritage—an instinctual craving for solitude and control.
After gathering what he needed, Darian approached the counter, placing his items on the polished surface.
"Excuse me," he said to the cashier, his tone polite. "I'd like to purchase these."
The cashier, a middle-aged man with weary eyes, glanced at Darian before methodically scanning the items.
"That'll be 2,000 beast coins," the man said, his voice flat, devoid of enthusiasm.
Darian reached into his pouch and handed over the coins without hesitation. As the transaction concluded, he couldn't help but notice the man's despondent expression. It wasn't the fatigue of physical labor—it was the weight of hopelessness.
This was a harsh world, after all. Money dictated survival, and without it, hunger could kill faster than any beast. Yet, the Golden City offered opportunities few other places could match. For many, it was a sanctuary, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.
Stepping outside, Darian inhaled the cool evening air. The sky was awash with hues of orange and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. He adjusted the strap of his bag and began the short walk to his apartment.
The streets were alive with activity, merchants shouting their final sales pitches as pedestrians hurried home. But as the sun continued its descent, the city's lively energy began to wane. One by one, shop lights flickered off, and the crowded streets grew quieter.
Darian walked at an unhurried pace, his keen eyes scanning his surroundings. The towering buildings cast long shadows that stretched across the cobblestone streets. As the night deepened, a subtle shift in the air made him pause.
A faint prickle ran down his spine—a predator's instinct warning him of unseen eyes.
"I'm being followed," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the night.
He didn't break stride, but his senses sharpened. His Draconic nature awakened, heightening his awareness. Whoever was tailing him was good, but not good enough to escape his notice.
Curiosity sparked within him. Who would dare follow him? He had no enemies in the Golden City—or so he thought.
Deliberately, he veered into a wide alley, its walls adorned with faint graffiti. The soft glow of distant streetlights barely illuminated the space, casting everything in a dim, eerie light.
Darian stopped in the middle of the alley, his expression calm but alert. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
The response came in the form of movement. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, one by one, their forms shrouded in cloaks.
Darian quickly counted ten. Then, a figure stepped forward, distinct from the others. Unlike his companions, this one wore a pristine white suit, an odd choice for someone lurking in the dark.
"You've noticed us," the man in white said, his voice steady and cold.
Darian raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Noticed? Please. A child could tell they're being followed by someone dressed like you."
The man's fists clenched at the insult, his composure slipping for a brief moment.
"Enough games," the man said, his tone sharp. "You're coming with us."
"And if I don't?" Darian asked, his smirk widening.
The man raised a hand, signaling his comrades. From above, a faint whistle cut through the air—a needle, nearly silent, aimed directly at Darian's neck.
With a quick tilt of his head, Darian dodged the projectile. It embedded itself in the ground with a sharp crack, leaving a small spiderweb of fractures.
The man in white narrowed his eyes. "Impressive," he murmured.
Darian's gaze flicked toward the shadows, pinpointing the source of the attack. His expression darkened, his Draconic aura flickering faintly.
"So, you really want to play?" he said, his tone neutral but dangerous.
The man in white remained silent, drawing a short dagger from his belt. Its blade gleamed ominously in the dim light.
"I'll ask again," Darian said, his voice steady. "Who sent you?"
"That's something you'll have to find out yourself," the man replied, his grip tightening on the dagger.
Darian sighed, his patience wearing thin. He glanced at the figures surrounding him—five on the rooftops, three behind him, and three in front. Their positions were strategic, their intent clear.
"I really don't want to fight," Darian said, though his stance suggested otherwise.
The man in white smirked, his expression one of quiet confidence. "You don't have a choice."
Darian's eyes narrowed, his Draconic instincts roaring to life as he prepared for the inevitable confrontation.