Chapter 1 - Marked by the Light

Raindrops clung to Han Bond's hair, sliding down his cheeks like tears the world refused to cry with him. He huddled beneath the cracked concrete arch of the old overpass, watching headlights sweep across puddles and the wan silhouettes of distant city dwellers, each person hurrying home. Han wondered what it would feel like to run toward warmth, to have an address not scribbled on scraps of cardboard, to be met at a door with a parent's worried scold.But he only had questions: Why had his parents left? Were they dead, as some whispered, or had they simply given up on him? When the streetlights flickered on, Han's memories grew sharper, bittersweet as the aftertaste of a lollipop from a happier time.He pulled the hood of his battered sweatshirt tighter and peered at his reflection in a rain-soaked window—a fifteen-year-old boy with haunted eyes and a stubborn chin. The world had offered him lessons in toughness, but never in trust. His left wrist ached: a reminder from last night's odd encounter, but the pain was familiar. Scratches, bruises, hunger—these were aches he understood.Today felt heavier. Han sensed it in the distant rumble of thunder, in the way the air seemed thick with meaning. He slipped from his hiding place and jogged toward the junkyard, backpack bouncing against his spindly frame. Mr. Bell, the foreman, often allowed Han to pick through metal and wires, selling what he could for spare change as long as he didn't disturb the guard dog.The junkyard's gates were already open. Han squinted at the heaps of tangled metal, searching for easy targets: copper wire, maybe a half-dead car battery. His sneaker splashed in a puddle, its chill biting through a hole in the sole. He barely noticed as he navigated familiar chaos.A low growl pulled him up short.There it was—at the end of a row of shattered fridges—a dog, but not the angry Rottweiler Mr. Bell kept. This animal was otherworldly: fur shimmering dark and pale like moonlight on water, eyes mismatched gold and silver, standing so still it could have been a shadow carved from mist.Han's instincts warned him to run, but he held his ground. Every muscle tensed. Somehow, he felt as though the dog was waiting for him.He crouched slowly, extending a hand as one might to a skittish child. "Hey," he murmured, "I won't hurt you."The dog's tongue flickered over pointed teeth. Its gaze locked with his and, for an instant, Han glimpsed images—blink-fast and disjointed—in his mind's eye: endless forests, a circle of glowing stones, a pair of hands reaching out. He shivered.Without warning, the dog lunged. Han recoiled, but not fast enough—the dog's jaws caught his wrist. Pain seared through him, but just as quickly the bite softened; a warm tongue soothed the wound. Han gasped for breath, blinking at the wet grass, the trembling in his limbs.The dog's eyes met his once more, ancient sorrow within them. Then it vanished between heaps of discarded tires.Han pressed a trembling hand to his wound. No blood, only a faint blue glow beneath the skin, like veins bathed in starlight. Panic fluttered in his stomach, swallowed by curiosity when pale symbols shimmered before his eyes—bizarre shapes, beautiful and unreadable.Suddenly, words formed, crisp and soundless:Han's mouth fell open. He spun, searching for a prankster with a projector, but the message hovered, insisting on its reality. Before Han could process it, new lines scrolled:As quickly as they had appeared, the words faded, leaving Han dizzy and cold. He slumped to the muddy ground, clutching his notebook—a battered tome he'd rescued from the recycling bin, filled with tales of invisible worlds and notes on survival.He scribbled "Lumina Bond" in jagged letters, then drew the dog's mismatched eyes beside it, promising himself he'd remember this, nightmare or not.The world around him shifted. It was subtle at first—people's voices muffled and distant, traffic lights flickered strange hues, and the city's cacophony faded to a heartbeat's hush. Han tested his fingers, half-expecting claws or glowing runes. Nothing had changed except him.He pushed himself to standing and crept through the junkyard, peering behind garbage bins and cars. The dog was nowhere to be found, but the mark on his wrist throbbed in sync with his pulse. A constellation of golden flecks danced beneath the skin, vanishing if he looked too closely.A siren wailed somewhere beyond the fence. The old world was calling, pulling Han away from this moment of impossible truth. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, sparing one last glance at the place the dog had vanished.People would not believe him. They already expected him to be strange, lost, maybe even broken. But Han had always known he was meant for something more—something wonderful or terrible, he couldn't say. For now, all he knew was the certainty of change.As he walked back through alleys slick with rain, the system's faded echo haunted him:Han pressed on, battered shoes slapping wet pavement, a question burning in his chest: Was this curse, calling, or a hint of hope the world refused to give him?Dusk fell, and Han lingered near his usual haunt—a churchyard where the fence was low and the porch light always on, even when the building was empty. He pressed his back to the stone, opening his notebook once more. He listed out every detail he could recall: the dog's eyes, the pain, the sudden system message, the constant ache in his wrist. He drew arrows, added question marks, and circled "Lumina Bond" twice.His stomach broke the silence—growling with hunger. Han sighed and rummaged for half a granola bar, eating in small, slow bites. With every mouthful, the memory of the supernatural mingled with the mundane grind of survival. Could he really trust what he'd seen?Night deepened, and with it, Han's determination. He tucked his notebook beneath his jacket for warmth and curled up out of sight from the street. Rain pattered a gentle lullaby on the roof above. If dreams came for him, he hoped they'd bring answers—and maybe a glimpse of that magical dog again.He fell asleep wondering if his parents, wherever they'd gone, would be proud of him now. The city faded, and Han drifted toward restless dreams filled with light and shadow, battles he couldn't quite remember, and a voice whispering through the dark:"Find the truth. Become the light."And as the system's mark pulsed unseen beneath his skin, a new chapter in Han Bond's life quietly began.