Dragon's Last Hope

The first time Maya Chen's eyes turned gold, she was in the middle of presenting third-quarter projections to the entire executive board.

It happened without warning—a sudden rush of heat up her spine, a strange prickling sensation across her skin, and then the startled expression of her CEO as he stared directly at her face. Maya faltered mid-sentence, her carefully prepared statistics momentarily forgotten.

"Ms. Chen, are you feeling well?" Mr. Patterson's voice cut through the silence.

Maya blinked rapidly, feeling a strange pressure behind her eyes. "Yes, I-I'm fine. Just a migraine coming on." She steadied and continued her presentation, ignoring the whispers rippling through the conference room.

Later, locked in a bathroom stall, Maya stared at her reflection on her phone's camera. Her eyes were normal again—dark brown, not the impossible molten gold she'd glimpsed on the reflective surface of the conference table. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to calm the anxiety spiralling through her chest.

This wasn't the first strange occurrence in recent weeks. The dreams had started first—vivid images of her soaring above Seattle's skyline, the wind beneath wings she didn't possess. Then came the inexplicable heat that sometimes radiated from her palms, the heightened sense of smell, the strange cravings for rare meat.

Maya's phone buzzed with a calendar notification. A new appointment had appeared in her schedule—"Special Collections Consultation, Seattle Metropolitan Museum, 4:30 PM." She frowned. She hadn't made any such appointment, especially not with Vivienne Sterling, whose name appeared in the details.

As she left the bathroom, Maya nearly collided with a tall man in an impeccably tailored black suit.

"Excuse me," she murmured, stepping aside.

According to his visitor badge, the man—Leon Blackthorn— paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they met hers. For a moment, Maya could have sworn they shifted colour, like oil on water.

"No harm done," he replied smoothly, but he made no move to continue walking. Instead, he studied her with unsettling intensity. "Interesting," he added, almost to himself.

Maya felt a strange resonance, like the vibration of a tuning fork somewhere deep in her chest. The sensation was foreign yet oddly familiar, as though her body recognised something her mind couldn't comprehend.

"Do I know you?" she asked, fighting the urge to step back.

Leon's lips curved into a slight smile. "Not yet," he said simply. "But I suspect that's about to change."

Before Maya could ask what he meant, Leon turned and walked away, his footsteps silent against the polished floor. She watched him disappear around the corner, that strange vibration in her chest slowly fading but leaving behind an unsettling awareness, as if something dormant had been stirred awake.

The rest of the workday passed in a blur of routine tasks that felt increasingly surreal. Maya found herself obsessively checking her reflection on her computer screen, in the windows, and on the metal surface of the elevator. Her eyes remained stubbornly brown each time, but the memory of that golden flash haunted her.

At 4:15 PM, she stood outside the Seattle Metropolitan Museum, staring up at its imposing facade. She had no memory of scheduling this appointment, yet something compelled her to proceed. The autumn air carried scents that seemed impossibly vivid—coffee from a shop three blocks away, the metallic tang of approaching rain, and something else, something wild and electric that made her pulse quicken.

Inside, the museum's marble halls echoed with her footsteps. A security guard directed her toward the Special Collections wing, through corridors lined with artifacts that seemed to whisper of ancient secrets.

Vivienne Sterling waited in a climate-controlled room filled with glass cases. She was an elegant woman in her fifties, her silver hair swept into a perfect chignon. She wore a navy suit that spoke of old money and older secrets.

"Ms. Chen," Vivienne said, rising from behind an antique desk. "Thank you for coming. I realise this must seem irregular."

"I don't remember making this appointment," Maya said carefully.

"No, I don't imagine you would." Vivienne's smile was knowing. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss, and very little time before the others arrive."

"Others?" Maya remained standing, her analytical mind cataloguing exit routes and potential threats. The strange vibration in her chest had returned the moment she'd entered the room, stronger now, almost musical in its intensity.

Vivienne moved to one of the glass cases, her slight limp barely noticeable. "Tell me, Ms. Chen, how long have you been experiencing the changes?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Maya clenched her hands at her sides, heat prickling along her palms. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The dreams of flight. The golden eyes. The inexplicable hunger for things you've never craved before." Vivienne's voice was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. "The resonance you felt when you encountered Mr. Blackthorn this afternoon."

Maya's breath caught. "How do you—"

"Because I've been waiting for you to manifest for over a decade." Vivienne turned back to face her, and in the museum's carefully controlled lighting, her green eyes seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "Your mother was very specific in her instructions before she died."

The room tilted. Maya gripped the back of the offered chair, her knuckles white. "My mother died in a car accident when I was twelve. She never mentioned you."

"Sarah Chen was many things, but she was not human." Vivienne opened the glass case with a small key, withdrawing an object wrapped in black silk. "And neither, my dear, are you."

The silk faded to reveal a pendant—an intricate dragon carved from what looked like crystallised sunlight. The moment it was exposed to the air, Maya's chest exploded with sensation. The resonance became a symphony, and she heard an answering call somewhere in the building's depths that made her bones ache with recognition.