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 lo
