July 5, 2000 — Seoul, South Korea
Rover stood frozen, death circling above like a storm waiting to break.
Around him, the world burned.
Smoke writhed through the ruined sky—thick, black tendrils choking the sun until the city below was cast in a sickly twilight. Sirens screamed their dying warnings. Explosions echoed like distant thunder, shaking buildings that groaned and collapsed, spitting fire and ash into the wind.
At the center of it all—Rover, five years old, trembling beside the broken body of his mother.
The wyvern's shadow tore through the smoke again.
It dove.
With a gust of wings, it slammed onto the pavement, cracking asphalt and sending debris skittering. Its molten eyes locked on the boy. Saliva dripped from jagged teeth, each one the size of a man's forearm. It took a slow, deliberate step forward.
But before it reached him, someone else had already paid the price.
Ten minutes earlier.
The wyvern's screech split the air like a blade. Flames erupted across the street. Cars exploded. People scattered.
Rover's mother gripped his hand and ran, weaving through the chaos, ignoring the pain in her legs and the smoke in her lungs. "Don't stop, baby. Just keep running."
He tripped once, twice, but she caught him each time, lifting him with strength born of terror. Behind them, the wyvern's shadow loomed closer.
They ducked into the skeleton of a half-collapsed shop. Her breathing was ragged. She pushed Rover into a corner and knelt beside him.
"Listen to me," she said, voice trembling. "You're going to be okay."
"Mama... I'm scared."
She cupped his face, eyes glassy with tears. "I know. I'm scared too. But you have to be strong now. Promise me."
"I—I promise…"
She kissed his forehead.
The building shuddered.
A roar tore through the walls.
She stood quickly, placing herself between the door and her son.
Then the wall exploded inward.
The wyvern's head burst through the concrete like a wrecking ball, jaws wide. She screamed—not in fear, but in defiance—and hurled a broken metal pipe at its eye.
It blinked.
Then struck.
Claws pierced her back and flung her across the room like a rag doll.
Rover screamed.
She hit the floor hard, gasping, blood staining her blouse. Her body twisted toward him, reaching.
"Rover… Run…"
He crawled to her side, sobbing, clinging to her hand.
Her fingers were shaking. "You're… you're my everything. You hear me? You survive. You live."
A final breath left her lips.
Then she was still.
And the wyvern turned its gaze toward the boy.
Now.
Its wings beat the air as it stepped forward.
And then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire ripped through the air. Sparks danced across the wyvern's armored head.
A soldier burst from a side alley, rifle blazing. "HEY! Over here, you son of a bitch!"
His uniform was scorched, one arm bloodied, but his stance was steady, voice like steel dragged across fire.
The rifle clicked empty.
Without pause, he dropped it and drew a combat knife from his belt.
He planted himself between the wyvern and the child.
"You're not taking this one too," he snarled.
The wyvern hissed.
He crouched beside Rover for a breath, adrenaline and sorrow tightening his features.
"Kid," he said roughly, "you have to move. You hear me? Look at me."
Rover blinked through tears, eyes unfocused.
"I saw what happened," the soldier said, softer now. "Your mom… she saved you. Don't waste it."
"Mom…" The whisper was broken glass in his throat.
"I know. I know. But you've got to run. I'll buy you time if I have to."
The wyvern spread its wings again, its tail coiling like a whip.
"Go," the soldier snapped. "Now!"
He grabbed Rover's arm and pulled him into the alley just as the wyvern pounced.
Chunks of concrete exploded behind them. Dust and fire chased their heels. The soldier pulled the boy down side paths and shattered corridors, dodging collapsed beams and overturned vehicles.
They ducked under a smashed bus stop. Safe—for now.
The soldier breathed hard, then turned to Rover.
"Hey. I need your name."
The boy hesitated, shaking.
"…Rover."
"Good. I'm Jae."
He tore open a water pouch, handed it over. "Drink. Slowly."
Rover took a few trembling sips.
Jae nodded, checking the empty rifle and grimacing. "Damn it. No rounds."
"You saved me," Rover whispered.
Jae looked away, jaw clenched. "Didn't save her."
Rover flinched. Silence stretched between them, broken only by distant roars and collapsing steel.
"I'm sorry," Jae muttered. "You shouldn't have to see any of this."
"I don't want to be alone."
"You won't be," Jae said. "Not while I'm breathing."
They sat for a moment longer in the quiet rubble, two strangers tied by loss and survival.
But peace didn't last.
The wyvern shrieked again—closer now.
Jae stood, dagger in hand. "Damn thing's tracking us."
"We have to move."
"No," Jae said. "You have to move. I'll hold it off."
"But—"
"No buts," he snapped. Then softer: "You're the reason I'm still fighting. Now run, Rover."
The boy's legs shook, but he obeyed.
Jae stepped out just as the wyvern crashed into the clearing.
It roared, wings flaring, blood staining its side from earlier wounds.
Jae ran straight at it.
He rolled beneath its snapping jaws, drove his dagger deep into its leg.
The beast shrieked.
He slashed again, and again—dodging claws, rolling under its belly, stabbing at joints, eyes, wings.
But it was too big.
A claw struck him square in the chest—ripping flesh and slamming him back into the rubble.
He coughed blood, barely staying upright.
Still, he rose.
The wyvern hissed.
Nearby, Rover turned and screamed: "No! Leave him alone!"
He hurled a broken brick.
It hit the wyvern's face.
It turned.
Then—GUNFIRE.
Dozens of bullets tore into the sky.
Backup had arrived—soldiers pouring from side streets, rifles lighting up the dusk.
The wyvern shrieked, wings torn by the barrage. It launched skyward, vanishing into the smoke.
Rover ran to Jae's side.
The soldier lay in a pool of blood, breathing shallow.
"You came back," he rasped.
"You didn't leave me."
Jae smiled weakly. "That's… what heroes do."
Rover gripped his hand.
"You're strong," Jae whispered. "Don't ever forget that."
His eyes fluttered shut.
Rover screamed.
A child's cry of pain and fury that echoed across the broken city—carried by smoke, fire, and the vow of a boy who would never forget what had been stolen from him.
Or who had bought him the chance to survive.