Ashe figured his mom was extra protective because he was blind. He didn’t blame her, but he did wish it wasn’t quite so intense.
When they got home, she’d pretty much flipped. Her voice had gone sharp and shaky as she tore into his dad for “not watching him properly,” and then, just as quickly, all that fire turned into full-on pampering aimed squarely at Ashe.
Doctor or not, when it came to him, all her professional logic went out the window.
He knew most of what she could see was basically cosmetic—the scrapes and bruises were nothing compared to what the portal had done to him. That pain was already fading, buried under the deeper ache in his lungs, chest, and leg. Those still spiked if he moved wrong, but even that was starting to recede.
He wasn’t sure if it was just distraction, or if whatever had healed him inside the portal was still quietly working.
The word alone scared him. The thought of what he might find, what it might mean about him, sent a shiver down his spine. But the fear only sharpened the excitement buzzing in his chest.
It was a weird mix of dread and thrill.
For the first time in a long time, he felt alive.
She hadn’t been able to find his phone, so she handed over one of her old ones, an iPhone 9 with a battery that barely held half a charge anymore. That was fine. He didn’t plan to move it from the charger anyway.
He hid his smile as he slid under the covers and listened to the door click shut behind her.
He’d planned to dive straight into research. He already had a mental list of books to listen to, podcasts to queue up, websites to trawl.
But fatigue crept up on him. The warmth under the covers, the way the pain had settled into something merely manageable—it all blended together and pulled him under.
He fell into a deep sleep.
He woke to the soft creak of his door and his mom’s voice. “Still sleeping?”
He mumbled, sleep thick in his throat. “No.”
“If you’re hungry, food will be ready in a few minutes.”
He shook his head against the pillow. “Not hungry.”
Total lie. He was starving. But if he said no, she’d bring it upstairs. And that was exactly what he wanted.
She sighed. “Fine. But you can’t go without food. I’ll be right up with a plate.”
He stayed perfectly still, pretending to drift off again. Only when the door clicked shut did he let out a quiet breath of relief. A grin spread across his face.
He slid out of bed and felt his way to his desk. Snatching the old phone from his nightstand, he powered it on and started reinstalling everything, screen reader, settings, favorite apps. Thankfully, iCloud still had his life backed up.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
He was so focused he didn’t notice his mom until she was right beside him.
“Dinner’s here,” she said.
Ashe jolted in his chair and twisted toward her. “You scared me.”
“You don’t look nearly as bad as you did a few minutes ago,” she added.
He lifted his eyebrows and forced a small cough. “It still hurts.”
It didn’t hurt, but the truth was his hunger came second.
His need to know was the real problem, a black hole that swallowed everything else.
She didn’t argue, but he doubted she believed him. He wasn’t sure he believed him anymore. Ashe waited, listening until the last echo faded into the house’s silence. Alone.
Finally, Ashe turned back toward the sound of his computer, grabbed the bowl of warm porridge, and began to eat, as the accessibility app he used could chew through websites and PDFs out loud, making it perfect for multitasking: research and dinner, all at once.
The Official Jumper Guild site should have had everything he needed—or at least, that’s what he would assume. Instead, it was the same surface-level stuff as always: a ranking of the top ten Jumpers, flashy summaries of their exploits, announcements about upcoming missions and projects.
Then he found a link that made him pause.
Mission Dragonspire. He’d heard the name before on WarFronts. He opened the page, copied the text into his reader, and hit play. Sitting back, he listened as the words poured into his ears.
“Mission Dragonspire commenced on April 22nd, 2022. A collaborative effort between Rank 1 and Rank 3: Kreor the Destroyer and Annabelle, the Living Angel.”
He couldn’t picture their faces, but his mind filled in other details, smells instead of images. The copper tang of blood, the smoke of battle, colliding with something bright and clean and sweet, like the idea of heaven.
“They have managed to clear a C-tier dungeon, the first of its kind. Humans were awarded 100,000 points for the feat.”
The words hit him hard. Until now, humans had only managed F, E, and D-tier dungeons. Anything higher was basically a death sentence. For a heartbeat, hope flared in his chest.
Then the recording went on.
“Despite the growth and success of today’s mission, the gap has not closed. We have merely slowed the rate at which it widens. But do not fear—we will continue to fight. Continue to challenge the portals.”
The voice cut off. Silence rushed in to fill the space.
Ashe sat there, motionless, an empty bowl cooling in his lap, while his mind raced.
His mind worried the new information like a dog with a toy. He needed to sort it, to make it useful, to turn it into a plan.
He grabbed his mouse, found his notepad, and started typing. Each keystroke clicked loudly in his ears, guiding his fingers across the keys.
April 22nd, 2022 – Guild Recap
Annabelle is closing the gap to Rank 2. Kreor is still miles ahead of everyone else—he alone accounts for almost one million points after today’s 100,000-point gain.
The gap didn’t widen today, but it didn’t close either. That’s…not great. This was our biggest one-day gain ever, and it still wasn’t enough.
April 22nd, 2022 – Me
I need to join the fight. If these powers were given to me for this, I can’t waste them, even if I’m scared. There are clear problems I have to fix first. My parents won’t let me do this—I know that. Because of that, I can’t sign up with the Guild. I’ll have to act in secret.
As he typed, he remembered a site he’d skimmed once—a tracker for new portal openings.
PortalsNearMe.com.
He opened it and let the reader go to work.
“Ten portals within a five-kilometer radius.” Too far. He fumbled around the buttons until he found the filter and tightened the search.
“One F-rank portal within one kilometer.”
Bingo.
“Kingstone Road 4626,” the reader announced.
He knew that street. It had been a few years, but the map in his head still held the route.
He turned back to the notepad.
“I will attempt another F-rank portal tomorrow when my parents leave. If this goes wrong and you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I did it for you, and for me. I can’t keep living on the sidelines. I need to be a part of something.”
He leaned back, letting the silence settle around him.
In that moment, he knew he’d made up his mind.
Doing nothing scared him more than joining the fight.