Jack ran until his lungs burned, until the trees around Reidsville swallowed him whole. The dagger guided him like a torch from the past—its golden fire streaking through the gloom, flickering brighter with every step.
He didn’t stop to breathe. He didn’t need to.
The dragon spirit appeared ahead, forming in the mist with a glimmering shimmer of scales and smoke. It didn’t speak, didn’t turn. It simply floated forward through the overgrowth like it remembered every path long buried by time. Jack followed.
Reidsville was dead—but not quiet. The silence here wasn’t peace. It was tension. The kind that coils before it strikes.
The spirit led him deeper, past shattered statues and half-sunken ruins until it paused beside a crumbling chapel wrapped in black vines. Its roof was gone. Its alt
