Metallic shrieks echoed through the streets as rogue machinery creatures tore through the district—spindly constructs of warped steel and sparking cores, their eyes glowing a dull red. Akio watched from the rooftop, pulse steady behind his mask. Another night, another mess to clean up.

  He dropped into the chaos.

  Wind whipped through his white hooded cloak as he landed, the silver and blue streaks along his hound mask glinting under the fractured city lights. His double-ended blade spun effortlessly in his grip, the circular handle pivoting as retractable metal parts locked into place. Sparks scattered like falling stars as he cut through the approaching machines. When a cluster of drones swarmed, he flicked the handle and the weapon reformed into a sleek bow. Light surged across the limbs, arrows manifesting mid-spin before launching in a sharp series of cracks. Each shot landed true. Within seconds, the street fell silent save for the hum of cooling metal.

  Akio straightened, scanning the scene from behind his mask. The Dawn Hound had done his job.

  Then came the noise: reporters, civilians, and flashing cameras closing in from all directions. He caught a familiar voice in the chaos.

  His little sister. Aira.

  She was in the crowd, pale silver hair tipped in blue glinting under the lights, eyes bright with determination. She shoved through the swarm of people, breathless, microphone raised.

  “Dawn Hound! I’m journalist Aira Avenis, and—”

  Akio gave the faintest nod before leaping away. A swirl of white cloak, a rush of air, and he was gone—leaving only whispers of awe and speculation in his wake.

  By the time he reached his apartment window, his heartbeat had barely changed. He slipped inside, closing the glass behind him with practiced quiet. Off came the hood, the mask, the gloves. Pale silver hair, tipped faintly in blue, fell around his face, his reflection in the window looking almost too calm for someone who’d just dismantled a street full of killer machines. He stowed his gear quickly. Cloak folded into a vent panel, weapon disassembled and tucked behind a shelf. The rhythm was muscle memory.

  Then he heard footsteps in the hall.

  “Akio? You home?”

  He froze. There was no time to hide. The mask was still on the desk, and he was still partially dressed in gear. He shoved the mask behind the desk and dove under the duvet, rolling into a perfect blanket burrito just as the door opened.

  Aira stepped in mid rant. “You won’t believe this! The Dawn Hound showed up again, right in front of everyone, and he—”

  She stopped. Blinked.

  “What are you doing?”

  Akio blinked back at her from the cocoon, completely serene. He could feel the blanket pressing against his gear, the only thing keeping the truth from being exposed. Of course, he couldn’t say the real reason why he was in this predicament. So instead, he came up with an absurd but believable deflection.

  “Compression therapy,” he said smoothly. “Scientifically proven to reduce lactic acid buildup and relieve muscle stress.”

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  Aira stared at him flatly. “You look like a caterpillar.”

  “Efficient ones make the best cocoons.”

  She squinted and stepped closer, her hand hovering as if about to poke him. Akio tensed beneath the covers—if she touched the armor, it was over.

  “Careful,” he added quickly. “Pressure disruption. Could destabilize the process entirely.”

  Aira hesitated, then sighed, clearly deciding this conversation wasn’t worth the energy. “Whatever. You’re such a weird nerd. Just finish your therapy thing, okay? I’m hungry, and I want to rant about this later.”

  “Understood,” he said mildly.

  The door shut. Silence again.

  Akio waited until her footsteps faded before exhaling softly.

  That was too close.

  He slid out from the duvet, hair slightly tousled, and began quietly returning the rest of his gear to its hidden compartments.

  Another night, another near miss. Pretty normal, really.

  As he unzipped his jacket, he glanced at the faint reflection of the Dawn Hound’s mask on his desk. To the rest of the nation, he was a ghost—an enigma in white who showed up, saved lives, and vanished before dawn. But by day, he was just Akio Avenis: honor student, model citizen, and, according to his sister, an insufferable tryhard nerd.

  He smiled faintly. Maybe she was right. He mostly did it because it was fun. And because he could.

  Akio changed into a crisp white collared shirt, the kind that somehow always looked pristine no matter what he had just been doing. Anyone who saw him now would never guess that barely an hour ago he had been dismantling an army of rogue machines. He stepped out into the small but cozy living room and kitchen of their apartment, sleeves rolled neatly, hair still faintly tousled from the night air. The soft clatter of dishes filled the quiet as he plated the dinner he’d prepped earlier in the day.

  Aira sat cross-legged on a cushion by the low table, notebook open beside her as the television blared grainy footage of the Dawn Hound cutting through steel and sparks. She was scribbling furiously, pen tapping against the page. Akio set the plates down and joined her, sliding one toward her side.

  “Ugh,” Aira groaned, still watching the replay. “The Dawn Hound always disappears right after he fights. I can never catch him.”

  Akio calmly placed food on her plate. “He’s probably a busy man.”

  She hummed, taking a bite. “Well, at least I got a good scoop today. I’m going to post the footage on my blog. I swear, I’ll uncover who the Dawn Hound really is one day.”

  Akio watched her for a moment, amused despite himself. Aira was the city’s favorite young journalist. Smart, relentless, and entirely too curious for her own good. She’d made a name for herself by uncovering vigilante cases that even professionals had missed.

  Unfortunately, her latest obsession was him.

  He sighed inwardly.

  “I don’t understand,” he said aloud, feigning mild exasperation, “why you’re so interested in unmasking the Dawn Hound.”

  Aira looked at him like he’d just asked the dumbest question alive. “Because he’s the greatest vigilante hero in the nation! With moves like that, he’s got to be some war-hardened veteran or something. Probably has a tragic backstory. I have a few theories.”

  Akio’s lips twitched behind his tea cup. “What if he’s just… some normal guy?”

  She waved a hand dismissively, still eating. “No way. How could you be the Dawn Hound and just be some normal guy? It doesn’t add up. You’d need at least a decade of combat experience, elite training, secret connections—something.”

  “I suppose I don’t see the appeal,” he replied, idly picking at his food with chopsticks.

  Aira set her bowl down dramatically. “Of course you don’t. You’re into weird nerd stuff. You don’t do what normal people do.”

  Akio blinked at her, perfectly innocent. “I’m very normal.”

  “You wrote a thirty-page dissertation on the philosophical implications of environmental solar power—for fun.”

  He sipped his tea, unbothered. “It’s a fascinating topic, actually. When you consider how moral theory interplays with—”

  Aira threw a napkin at his face. “Stop! You’re such a nerd!”

  He caught it one-handed, smiling faintly over the rim of his cup. “I’m just a normal student.”

  She rolled her eyes, stretching as she stood. “You’re literally an honor student with a GPA higher than the max number. Anyway, thanks for dinner. I’m gonna work on my article. Can you edit it for me when I’m done?”

  “You make a lot of grammatical errors,” he said lightly.

  Aira grinned over her shoulder. “That’s why I have you.”

  When she disappeared down the hall, Akio sat back, letting the quiet settle over the apartment again. The faint chatter of the TV faded into background noise. He finished his meal in slow, thoughtful bites before exhaling softly.

  Just another day, he thought, glancing at the faint reflection of his own calm face in the dark window.

  Another day for a very normal student.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akio