Cyrus Thornflare's Arc

Chapter 1 of 11

Cyrus crouched low in the wet reeds of Eelpout Marsh and watched the screen flicker out for the fifth time this month. Another rig dead. Another week of work gone. They pressed a palm against the mud to cool the heat rising in their fingers. Somewhere out there, the corporation that had broken their fire was still moving, still scrubbing every trace. Then a new alert blinked across the cracked display — a name they knew. Someone close. Flagged. Cyrus went very still. They dug into their coat pocket and pulled out a small pocket watch. The glass was split into a web of cracks. Engraved initials caught the dim light on the back. It had belonged to someone they loved. This morning, it had been tucked safely in a hidden drawer back home. Now the corporate ping was tied to that exact address. Cyrus stood up out of the reeds, water sliding from their boots. Hiding was over. They started running toward home. Half a mile in, Cyrus skidded to a stop. A green shape glinted on a low branch above the water. A bracelet, looped neat as a snare — a carved jade dragon biting its own tail. No mud on it. Placed. Cyrus reached up and felt the faint hum of a tiny lens behind one scale. The cleanup crew had not just flagged their family. It had marked the path home. Cyrus closed their fist around the bracelet. The metal warmed fast. Smoke curled between their fingers. They ran again, faster now, no longer hidden, no longer waiting. Cyrus crashed through the back door of the safehouse and stopped cold. The hidden drawer hung open and empty. On the table sat a pale yellow glass sphere on a silver base, lavender ash swirling slow inside. A calling card. Their cover was gone. Their family was gone. Cyrus lifted the sphere, and heat bloomed in their palms until the glass hissed. They set it down before it broke. Then they wiped the cracked watch clean, slid it back into their pocket, and turned toward the door. No more gathering. Time to hunt.