The Five Realms

Chapter 9: Steven I

Chapter 9: Ashes and Algorithms

Six months after the fire, Saint Augustine looked the same.

Palm trees waved. Tourists photographed the old lighthouse. Cafés served overpriced empanadas. But beneath it all, Steven Parker could feel the fracture line snaking through everything.

Through Joey's forced smiles. Through Chyna's too-quiet moments. Through himself.

It was the last week of school. Seniors were obsessed with beach parties and college visits. But Steven had a blood-bound watch on his wrist, a red gem that throbbed faintly in his backpack, and a gnawing suspicion that final exams mattered a hell of a lot less than whatever Professor Morzansson wasn't telling them.

As the final bell rang, chatter exploded in the halls. Steven followed the others—Joey, Chyna, Beanca, and Fatina—down the breezeway, twisting the watch around his wrist with habitual irritation.

"So this is just normal now?" he muttered. "Like, 'Congrats, you're in a cosmic RPG. Don't forget your fireproof socks.'"

Fatina snorted. "Better than remedial Algebra."

Steven blinked. "Is that... a joke?"

"Don't get used to it."

Beanca tapped her golden watch, eyes still wide with wonder. "I think it's kind of beautiful. Like we're part of something bigger."

Steven glanced at her. "Sure. Bigger. Like a tombstone."

Joey, silent and focused as ever, walked ahead of them. "It's not random. We saw what happened when Chyna pressed her watch. That wasn't normal tech."

Chyna didn't respond. She hadn't said much since the watches bonded to them. Her silence was heavy. Calculated.

At the corner, Fatina and Beanca peeled off toward their neighborhood. That left Steven trailing behind the Jackson twins under the sinking Florida sun.

"Hey," Steven said as they neared his driveway, "if anything apocalypse-y happens this weekend, text me first. I'd like to face the end in clean underwear."

Joey gave a faint smile. "You got it, man."

Chyna finally spoke, dry as desert wind. "I'm not texting you if you're the cause of the apocalypse."

"Wow," Steven muttered, hand on his chest. "Betrayal. Noted."

With a salute, he turned and walked up the cracked sidewalk toward the Parker house—red brick, peeling shutters, and a creaky screen door that squealed like an offended ghost.

Inside, it was cool and quiet. Mom was still at work, which gave him space.

Space to dump his bag, change, grab a controller, and lose himself in pixelated chaos. He tossed the red stone—still warm—onto a towel on his bed and dove into his favorite fighter game.

He barely noticed when the light in the room dimmed.

But he noticed the egg.

It glowed like coal, pulsing from within. Steven paused the game, heart skipping.

The surface flexed.

He stood up slowly.

Then—crrk.

A crack spidered across the shell. Steam hissed from the seams. And with a snap like lightning through glass, the stone burst open.

From the shattered shell emerged a red dragon—small, winged, smoking slightly, and blinking like someone had turned the lights on too fast.