A few days slipped by like forgotten receipts in a coat pocket, each one folding into the next without fanfare. Willow moved through them on autopilot, the rhythm of school halls echoing with chatter that meant less and less, lockers slamming like punctuations to conversations he barely joined. Training sessions blurred into afternoons at the Campbell house, grass stains on his knees from meeting the ground, spectral constructs flickering brighter under Kimona's relentless pushes. No new shadows lunged from alleys, no pigeons perched with that unnerving stare. The city hummed on, indifferent, but inside Willow, the weight settled deeper, a quiet anchor dragging at his thoughts.

  Eternity stretched out, not as some grand vista but a narrow corridor with no doors, walls closing in with every tick of the clock he no longer felt. Kimona laughed at his jokes, her parents offered steady guidance, Dana called from her digs with stories of unearthed relics that crumbled to dust under time's touch. Love surrounded him, warm and real, yet it felt borrowed, destined to fade while he remained, frozen in this body that refused to change. Scrawny limbs, messy hair, blue eyes that glowed only when he willed it. He watched friends sweat and tire, saw the faint lines of exhaustion on their faces, and wondered how long until those lines deepened into wrinkles, until voices grew frail. Not his. Never his.

  After another session in the backyard, where his shields held firm against Kimona's spirited assaults and spears pierced the air with newfound precision, Willow wiped sweat from his brow. The sun dipped low, painting the oak leaves in amber, the air thick with the scent of bruised grass and faint herbal smoke from Kiyana's latest brew. Kimona flopped beside him on the blanket, breathing heavy, her braids swinging as she tilted her head back to catch the breeze.

  He stared at the sky, clouds drifting like indifferent spectators. "I need to talk to Dominic."

  Kimona's head snapped toward him, glasses slipping down her nose. She pushed them up, eyes narrowing. "The dragon guy? The one who could have fried you? Why?"

  Willow picked at a loose thread on his jeans, the fabric rough under his nails. "He's like me. Sorcerer. Ageless. Got to know how he deals with.., this." He gestured vaguely at himself, the motion encompassing the endless stretch ahead.

  She sat up straighter, freckles catching the light. Skepticism etched her features, but understanding softened it. "Your own kind. Yeah, I get that. But Wyverns? They're not exactly welcoming."

  He shrugged, the motion small. "Only one I know. Worth a shot."

  With a sigh that rustled the leaves above, she nodded. "Fine. But we ask my folks first. They know New York better than anyone."

  They rose, brushing off dirt, and headed inside. The kitchen welcomed them with the aroma of simmering stew, pots bubbling on the stove like old friends murmuring secrets. Donovan stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with precise strokes, his beard framing a face set in perpetual sternness. Kiyana stirred the pot, her blouse sleeves rolled up, a sassy hum escaping her lips.

  Kimona leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, Dad. Mom. Willow wants to find the Wyverns. Talk to Dominic."

  Donovan's knife paused mid-slice, eyes lifting to meet Willow's. The look carried weight, assessing, warning. "Dangerous ground, boy. Wyverns guard their territory like a dragon's hoard. Approaching uninvited? Could end badly."

  Willow met the gaze steadily, voice flat. "Need answers. About being.., this. Eternal."

  Kiyana turned, spoon in hand, her expression a mix of concern and wisdom. "The heart seeks what it must. As Veil Guardians, we map the hidden paths. Their heart lies in the old warehouse district, near the river. Gothic spires mask the entrance, dragon carvings on the doors. But go careful, Willow. Clans like theirs don't take kindly to strays."

  Kimona crossed her arms. "I'm going with."

  Willow shook his head. "Two of us? Looks like scouting. One weird kid asking for a chat? Less of a threat."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  She frowned, but relented with a huff. "Stupid plan. But yeah, makes sense. Just.., don't get toasted."

  Donovan set the knife down, voice rumbling. "Remember your training. Shields first. And if it turns sour, run."

  Willow nodded, the advice settling like a stone in his pocket. The plan felt thin as paper, liable to tear at the first gust, but inaction weighed heavier. Trudging through days, pretending the shadow of forever didn't loom, wasn't an option. Dominic held pieces of the puzzle, fragments of a life Willow now shared. Time to collect them.

  The next afternoon, after school let out in a rush of backpacks and shouts, Willow set off. The subway rattled him toward the warehouse district, the car smelling of stale coffee and metal, passengers lost in their phones. He exited into streets lined with crumbling brick buildings, graffiti curling like vines over rusted doors. The air carried the tang of river water, mixed with distant exhaust. Insecurity gnawed at him, a quiet voice whispering retreat, but he pushed on, hands in pockets, eyes scanning for signs.

  Wyvern territory announced itself subtly. Murals of scaled beasts coiled around corners, eyes painted in silver that seemed to follow. The sidewalks emptied, pedestrians scarce, as if the area breathed caution. Willow walked deeper, heart steady but mind racing. Alone felt right, yet exposed, like standing in an open field during a storm.

  It didn't take long. Four figures emerged from a side street, casual strides belying the tension in their postures. Two men, one woman, another whose gender blurred under hood and shadows. They wore dark clothes etched with subtle dragon motifs, eyes sharp, assessing. The leader, a tall woman with shaved sides and a tattoo snaking up her neck, stepped forward. "Lost, kid? This ain't tourist turf."

  Willow stopped, meeting her gaze. "Looking for Dominic. Need to talk."

  They exchanged glances, laughter barking out. The man beside her, broad with a scar across his cheek, leaned in. "Who the hell are you to ask for the heir?"

  "Willow. Met him and Kimiko already. Just want a word."

  The laughter faded, replaced by narrowed eyes. They closed in, circling like wolves scenting weakness. Willow stayed still, hands visible now, no hostility in his stance. The woman muttered words under her breath, a flicker of red energy snapping around his wrists, binding them in ethereal cuffs that hummed with restraint. Power drained from him, constructs refusing to form, like trying to grasp smoke.

  "Smart mouth," she said. "Boss'll decide."

  They marched him down the street, grips firm but not bruising, leading to a grand building that rose like a forgotten cathedral. Gothic arches framed the entrance, doors carved with dragons that seemed to breathe in the fading light. Inside, the air shifted, cool and scented with incense and polished stone. They sat him on a bench in the foyer, marble floors echoing their steps. One vanished up a staircase, while the others watched, silent.

  Minutes ticked by, the cuffs a constant buzz against his skin. Then footsteps approached, light and purposeful. Kimiko appeared, rainbow hair catching the chandelier light in prisms, purple eyes sharp as amethysts. Tattoos peeked from her attire, lace and leather blending in elegant menace. She tilted her head, smirking faintly. "You again. Bold, coming here."

  Willow looked up, voice even. "Need to talk to Dominic. About sorcerers, and.., being one."

  She raised a brow, earrings dangling like tiny pendants. "Risked your neck for a chat about feelings? Hoping he'll spill his soul?"

  He paused, then nodded, "..yeah."

  Her smirk deepened, surprise flickering before she masked it. Audacity hung in the air, unexpected. "Wait here," she told the guards, then vanished up the stairs.

  Time stretched, the foyer quiet save for distant murmurs. Willow sat, cuffs cold, mind wandering to the endless days ahead. Then Kimiko returned, nodding to the guards. "I'll handle it."

  She led him through halls lined with tapestries depicting scaled beasts in flight, the architecture rich, vaults arching overhead like ribs of some ancient creature. Dragon motifs everywhere, gold inlays glinting. They reached a grand hall where Dominic waited, tall and blond, golden eyes intense yet composed. He motioned to Kimiko, who uttered a sharp word, the cuffs dissolving in a puff of red mist.

  "A guest shouldn't wear chains," Dominic said, voice smooth as aged whiskey.

  Willow rubbed his wrists, a flush creeping up his neck, warmth unexpected. "Thanks."

  Kimiko nodded once, then departed with a swish of her skirt. Dominic gestured. "Follow me."

  They entered his office, a sanctuary of warm wood panels glowing under soft lamps, a fireplace crackling with low flames that scented the air with oak. A sofa faced the desk, chairs arranged neatly, bookshelves heavy with tomes that whispered age. The room felt like stepping into a dragon's hoard, comfortable yet commanding.

  They sat, Dominic behind the desk, Willow on the sofa. The heir leaned back, golden gaze steady. "Something to drink? Tea, soda, whiskey?"

  Willow blinked, caught off guard by the hospitality, the normalcy amid the mythic. The question hung, simple, yet laden with possibility. “Uh, sure. Coke.”