Listening to Shadows

The echoes of that citywide explosion still rang in Ling's ears.

Sound had always been his only tether to the world. Back at the orphanage, he drifted through days in silence—withdrawn, humming quiet melodies only he could hear. That all changed the day another boy his age at the orphanage reached out. For the first time, Ling's inner tune found harmony outside himself.

But that harmony would be short-lived.

Just as the two began to dream of a life beyond the orphanage—BOOM! A blast went off nearby. Ling survived, but his friend vanished in the aftermath, and was swiftly pinned as the alleged culprit of the bombing and branded a fugitive.

The thundering boom. The shrieking sirens. The endless interrogations and accusations. The wails of grieving families.... Each sound collided in brutal dissonance, shattering Ling's melody and twisting it into something unrecognizable.

Ling slipped on his headphones—his way of shutting out the world ever since he lost his friend. But when the playlist faded into silence, something unexpected followed: he heard his friend's voice.

A recorded message—deliberate, fragmented, cryptic. It seemed to carry no clear meaning. And yet, it didn't have to. Just hearing that voice was enough. More than enough. To Ling, it was a clue—a cry for help, purposely left behind by his missing friend.

With newfound resolve, he stepped into the blur between light and shadow, scouring the city's underbelly. Crime scenes became his compass—searching, sifting, hunting for the truth.

His path stretched across the city like a stitched scar, each footstep punctuated by the sharp clink of coins hitting the pavement. Not ordinary coins—these were marked with symbols only two people in the world had ever known.

Their secret code.

Clink, clink. Each coin dropped like a beat in a distorted melody, every step pulling Ling closer to the truth.

He hunted for traces of his missing friend, drifting from shadow to shadow, never lingering long enough for the wailing sirens to catch up. Then, one night, he stumbled upon two kids in a dire situation, yet selflessly shielding one another. A surge of memories flooded in. Before reason could intervene, his body was already on the move.

He saved them.

That choice led Ling straight into his first police ambush. A familiar face emerged from the chaos—weapon raised, gaze hardened. Without hesitation, the officer pulled the trigger.

BANG—!

The round clipped his ear. Warm blood traced the length of his headphone cord before dripping onto his cassette player. In that instant, the world fell silent. His friend's voice—once so close—grew faint, dissolving into a sea of static…

Only to be replaced by the primal roar of an ancient dragon.

The Ethereal, moved by Ling's unwavering will to protect the weak, bestowed upon him the power of the dragon.

And so, after the rest note, the melody resumed. With newfound grace, Ling shattered the encirclement, his movements fluid and precise—leaving behind every discordant sound, every siren screech and panicked command. He recognized the shooter.

Brody.

Fate's cruel irony: the very officer who had once pulled him from the wreckage of the explosion all those years ago, now pursued him with lethal force.

But such noise could never throw off the rhythm of Ling's pursuit of truth. Empowered by the Ethereal's gift, he moved like a whisper through the steel jungle, dancing across rooftops, slipping through alleyways, stopping crime and protecting innocents. A guardian in the shadows. A song in motion.

In this relentless game of cat and mouse with Brody, Ling began to notice a pattern—a presence. A silent composer, arranging notes in the background, giving him an out whenever he hit a deadend.

As if being pulled to a final crescendo, Ling received an anonymous letter.

It spoke of a classified internal file—still buried deep within police archives, tied to the bombing that had changed everything. Ling couldn't ignore even the faintest whisper of the truth. But beyond that, he wanted more than answers—he wanted to draw out the puppeteer working from the shadows.

His thoughts turned to Brody.

After careful deliberation, Ling decided to "gift" Brody a new case to work on, as a way to reintroduce himself.

...

On the rooftop, sirens wailed below.

The echoes of the bombing thundered once more in Ling's ears. He looked toward the approaching Brody. A sharp gaze cut through the darkness—familiar, unflinching. Ling raised his hand and pressed play on his cassette player.

The melody kicked in. And with it, the shadow of the dragon surged into the night— racing toward the truth.