Reed, the Dragon and Laken

The Sterling family portrait loomed over the grand entrance hall—generations of stern-faced industrialists staring down with expectations as weighty as the gilded frame. Reed paused beneath it, his reflection overlapping with the image of his grandfather, the company's founder. Unlike the others, his grandfather's eyes held a spark of something different: curiosity, adventure, a hunger for more than just profit margins. "Reed, we're waiting," Aunt Maria's voice sliced through his thoughts like a precision-engineered blade. The conference room doors were open, revealing a semicircle of executives in tailored suits. James Chen, his father's most trusted advisor, sat at the head of the long mahogany table, spreadsheets and technical diagrams spread before him like a battlefield map. "I've already uploaded the presentation files," Reed said flatly. "Everything you need is there." Maria's perfectly manicured hand gripped her tablet. "This isn't about files, Reed. This is about leadership, about continuing the Sterling legacy." He knew the speech by heart. Every family gathering, every holiday dinner, every unexpected visit became an opportunity to remind him of his predetermined path. The automobile empire. The family business. The expectation of continuing a tradition that felt more like a chain than a calling. "My designs are revolutionary," Reed countered. "The sustainable electric vehicle prototype isn't just another car. It's a statement about our future." James Chen leaned forward, his tone conciliatory. "Exactly. And who better to present those designs than you? You've got your father's technical mind and—" "And my own dreams," Reed interrupted. He pulled the camera bag closer, a shield against their expectations. "I'm making a documentary. About local legends, about the stories nobody tells." A collective sigh swept the room. Aunt Maria pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture of pure exasperation. "A documentary," she repeated. It wasn't a question. It was a judgment. Reed's phone buzzed. A text from his best friend Tom: [Heard the family war drums. Need extraction?] [Already planning my escape,] he typed back. *** The mountain trail became his sanctuary. Here, away from marble floors and corporate expectations, Reed could breathe. His camera hung ready, always searching, always capturing. The Sterling family might see technology as a means of production, but for Reed, it was a tool of storytelling. The first hint of something unusual came with a scent—smoke, but not from a campfire. Something more elemental. More ancient. "What's that?" Reed muttered, pushing through a cluster of mountain laurels. The clearing appeared suddenly, as if the forest had deliberately withheld its secret until this moment. A single branch burned with flames that defied physics—dancing against non-existent wind, shifting colors like a living thing. "This is impossible," he whispered, already filming. A shadow passed overhead. Too large for a bird. Too silent for any aircraft. Something moved between the clouds, serpentine and massive, visible for just a heartbeat. Reed's pulse quickened. This was exactly the kind of moment documentarians lived for—proof that the world held mysteries beyond spreadsheets and profit margins. His phone erupted with Aunt Maria's ringtone. Three missed calls. An urgent text: [The investors are waiting. DO NOT embarrass your father.] But Reed was no longer listening. The mysterious fire, the shadow, the sense that something extraordinary was unfolding—this was his true calling. The branch continued to burn with its otherworldly flame as Reed circled the clearing, capturing footage from every angle. Each step revealed new impossibilities—the grass beneath the fire remained untouched, and the air around it felt inexplicably cool. "This defies every law of physics," he murmured into his camera's microphone. "The temperature around the flame is actually dropping, not rising. And look at these colors..." The fire shifted from azure to emerald, casting ethereal shadows across the forest floor. A whisper of movement caught his attention—leaves stirring without wind, branches swaying against gravity. His phone buzzed again. This time, it was James Chen: [Reed, the press is arriving. Your father just called from Beijing. He's expecting you to lead the ceremony.) Reed's jaw tightened. Of course, his father would call James instead of him. He typed back quickly: [Tell him I'm menting something important.] [More important than the biggest factory opening in Sterling history?] Before Reed could respond, a sound like thunder rolled across the mountain—except the sky was clear. The shadow returned, larger this time, accompanied by a rush of wind that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Hello?" Reed called out, his voice steady despite his racing heart. "Is someone there?" The flames on the branch suddenly rose higher, forming shapes that looked almost like letters before dissolving back into chaos. Reed adjusted his camera settings, trying to capture the phenomenon, when something caught his eye—a scale, iridescent and larger than his hand, half-buried in the leaves nearby. As he reached for it, a deep voice resonated through the clearing, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once: "Careful, young Sterling. Some discoveries can't be undone." Reed spun around, camera raised. "Who's there? How do you know my name?" Only silence answered, but the burning branch's flames took on a distinct pattern—one that resembled a dragon's silhouette. His phone erupted with multiple notifications: [Aunt Maria: The ceremony starts in 30 minutes!] [James Chen: Press asking about your absence.] [Tom: Dude, your aunt just called ME looking for you. What did you find?] Reed looked at the scale in his hand, then at his camera's display showing the impossible footage he'd captured. Making a decision, he pressed record again. "My name is Reed Sterling," he spoke clearly into the camera. "And this is the moment I choose a different path. There are stories in these mountains that need to be told—stories more important than quarterly reports or factory openings." The branch's flames dimmed slightly, as if listening. "To whoever or whatever you are," Reed continued, addressing the presence he could feel but not see, "I know you're out there. And I'm going to find out the truth." A low chuckle echoed through the trees, followed by words that seemed to form in the smoke itself: "Be careful what you wish for, young dreamer." The flames extinguished instantly, leaving only the scale as proof that anything extraordinary had occurred. Reed carefully placed it in his camera bag, his mind already racing with possibilities. His phone rang again—Aunt Maria's number flashing urgently. This time, he answered. "Where are you?" she demanded. "I'm on my way back," Reed replied, his voice firm. "But things are going to be different from now on." "What are you talking about?" "I'm still going to help with the company," he said, starting down the mountain path. "But I'm doing it my way. There's something happening here in Corban, Aunt Maria. Something bigger than all of us." "Reed Alexander Sterling—" "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Just enough time to change before the ceremony." He ended the call before she could protest. As he descended, Reed felt eyes watching him—ancient, powerful eyes. High above, hidden in the clouds, Harold observed the young man with growing interest. It had been decades since anyone had shown such determination to uncover the truth. "Perhaps," the dragon mused, his thoughts carried away by the wind, "this one is different." In her mansion across the city, Agnetha rose from her scrying pool, her reflection rippling with concern. The flames in her fireplace danced with the same otherworldly colors Reed had witnessed on the mountain. "So," she whispered, her grey eyes narrowing, "a new player enters the game. This requires... attention." Reed reached the base of the mountain just as the sun emerged from behind a cloud, illuminating the Sterling Motors' new factory in the distance—a monument to progress and tradition. But his hand touched the scale in his bag, and he smiled, knowing he'd found something far more valuable than his inheritance. The greatest stories, after all, often begin with a single choice, a moment of defiance, and a mystery waiting to be unveiled. Little did Reed know, his decision that morning would set in motion events that would change not only his life but the very fabric of Corban itself—and awaken powers that had slumbered for centuries.