Dragon summoner

Vikram finally stood up, eyes flashing with emotion. "It's not that simple, Vishu! The police had evidence, people were talking—"

"I don't care what people say!" Vishu snapped. "I cared about what you thought. And you didn't even give me a chance."

The room fell into heavy silence.

Vikram looked at his son, really looked—at the pain behind his anger, the heartbreak in his voice, the way his shoulders shook not from rage, but from everything he had been holding in for too long.

"I'm sorry," Vikram said at last. "I... I should have listened to you."

Vishu didn't answer. He just nodded, eyes lowered.

Because sorry wasn't enough.

Not anymore.

But somewhere deep inside, he still wanted to believe that maybe—just maybe—his father would choose him next time.

As the silence between father and son lingered, a strange sensation stirred in Vishu's chest.

A faint hum—low and deep—began to vibrate through his bones.

He froze.

Then it grew louder.

Hummmmmm.

His heart skipped a beat.

The sword.

Without a word, he turned and sprinted toward his room, his instincts sharp and screaming.

He burst through the door, eyes darting toward the drawer where he had hidden it.

But it was no longer there.

The sword was floating.

Suspended in mid-air, glowing with an eerie bluish hue, as if alive. It trembled slightly, like it was trying to pull free from invisible strings.

Vishu stepped closer, breath shallow. "What's happening?" he whispered.

As if in response, the sword jolted toward the window—stopping short like a creature tugging at a leash.

Then it turned—its blade pointing sharply toward the door.

Toward something.

Someone.

Vishu's pulse quickened. "What are you trying to show me?" he murmured, reaching for the hilt.

But the moment his fingers brushed it, the sword tugged forward with a force that nearly pulled him off his feet.

It was moving—guiding him.

No... commanding him.

Without thinking, Vishu followed, the dragon still resting in the corner lifting its head but not interfering—watchful.

Down the hallway, out the front door—barefoot, breathless, and driven by something far greater than himself.

The sword led.

He obeyed.

Outside, the sun was bright, but the air felt heavy with tension.

Then the sword stopped, held straight as an arrow, hovering mid-air.

It was pointing.

Vishu turned his head slowly, following the line of the blade.

And then he saw him.

A boy.

Walking calmly down the road, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted as if listening to music only he could hear.The moment Vishu's eyes landed on him, the sword sparked with electric light, a sharp crack of energy bursting at its edge.

Vishu stepped back, startled.

Who is he?

Why is the sword reacting like this?

The boy paused for a second—almost like he felt it. Then, without turning around, he kept walking… vanishing into the narrow lane ahead.

Vishu's blood ran cold.

The sword dropped to his side, humming low again—waiting.

Something had begun.

And Vishu knew: whoever that boy was… he wasn't ordinary.

Not at all.

Vishu whispered under his breath, "I need to find out what's wrong with this boy… why the sword is pointing at him."

With a mix of hesitation and determination, he reached out and grasped the sword. The moment he moved it, the blade aligned perfectly in front of his eyes—and what he saw sent a chill down his spine.

A thick veil of black smoke swirled before him, dark and unnatural.

"What...?" he gasped, blinking in disbelief.

Driven by instinct, he shifted the sword again and held it up to his eyes. This time, the vision sharpened—the boy was still there, but cloaked in a sinister fog that slithered behind him like a living shadow.

His heart pounded. A cold sweat broke out across his skin.

"What is that black smoke?" Vishu muttered, his voice trembling. "Why is it only visible through the sword?"

His thoughts raced. "This… this isn't ordinary. That fog—it's evil. I can feel it."

His grip tightened on the sword, a newfound resolve flaring in his chest.

"I have to find out the truth. Whatever it is… I need to follow him. Now."

Vishu began trailing the boy, careful to keep his distance. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of mystery pressing down on him. The sword, still clutched tightly in his hand, pulsed faintly—almost as if guiding him.

The boy moved silently through the streets, his figure barely visible in the dim light, wrapped in that eerie black fog. Vishu strained his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see the boy's face. Not yet.

Finally, the boy reached the bus stand and stood there, waiting, unmoving. The surrounding air seemed to shiver with tension. Then—slowly—he turned his head.

Vishu quickly ducked behind a nearby tree, holding his breath.

He dared a glance… and froze.

His heart thundered in his chest.

It was Ryan.

Yes—Ryan, the same boy from school. The one who had threatened him. The one whose eyes had burned with cruelty.

Vishu's mind reeled.

What is he doing here?

Why is he surrounded by that smoke?

What is this darkness following him… haunting him?

A thousand questions swirled through his mind like a storm.

"This can't be a coincidence," he whispered. "There's something wrong with him… something dark. And I'm going to find out what."

Ryan paused mid-step.

A strange sensation crawled up his spine—the feeling of being watched.

His eyes darted around the dim, empty street. He scanned every shadow, every corner. Nothing.

But something wasn't right.

He could feel it.

He turned slowly… and that's when he saw it.

A flicker of movement behind a tree.

His eyes narrowed.

He approached, silent and calculated. When he reached the tree, he peered behind it—and froze.

"You?" he spat, eyes wide with disbelief.

Vishu stood there, stunned, sword gripped in trembling hands. His mouth opened, but no words came.

"I... I…" he stammered, searching for an excuse, an explanation, anything—but his voice cracked under the pressure.

Ryan's expression hardened. "You should be rotting in juvenile detention. What the hell are you doing here?"

Vishu's breath hitched. "How do you even know…? This has nothing to do with you!"

Ryan cut him off with a mocking laugh, sharp and cold.

"What?" he sneered, tilting his head. "Oh please, Vishu. The whole city knows. The news of you murdering Luice is everywhere. So of course I know."

He leaned in closer, his grin twisted with something wicked.

"But," he whispered, "do you want to know something interesting? Something they don't know?"

He chuckled darkly, eyes gleaming.

"I killed Luice."

The world around Vishu seemed to shatter.

His ears rang. Time slowed.

"You… you what?" he whispered, disbelief crashing over him.

Ryan straightened, his voice now dripping with amusement.

"Yeah. I killed him. And now you're the one carrying the weight of it."