Millard Fillmore High was a sprawling architectural labyrinth of red brick and ivy, serving as a dual-purpose institution for both middle and high school students. For Jake Long, the transition from middle school had been a matter of convenience and loyalty. He couldn't imagine walking those linoleum hallways without Trixie and Spud by his side.
The trio currently found themselves trapped in the stifling atmosphere of Room 302: Mythobiology. The air in the room was perpetually thick with the smell of old parchment, formaldehyde, and the frantic energy of Professor Hans Rotwood. Rotwood was a man whose physical appearance—wild, thinning hair and spectacles that magnified his eyes to a predatory degree—matched his reputation. He was a man consumed by the fringes of science, a zealot of the supernatural.
In any other era, Rotwood would have been dismissed as a delusional eccentric. However, in a world where the Justice League patrolled the stratosphere and alien invasions were a line item on the evening news, his obsession carried a dangerous edge of plausibility.
"Listen closely, class," Rotwood barked, his pointer snapping against a dusty chalkboard. He had spent the first twenty minutes recapping his lecture on unicorns, dismissing them as 'whimsical fluff' before pivoting to the day's true focus. "Today, we move from the dainty to the devastating. We speak of the Draconis."
He paced the front of the room like a caged animal. "Dragons. They are the apex of mythical hierarchy. From the frost-breathing serpents of the Norse to the gold-hoarding terrors of Western lore. Every culture has a name for them, yet the scientific community remains blind to the biological reality of their existence!"
Jake slumped in his hard plastic chair, pulling his hoodie lower. Every word Rotwood uttered felt like a personal intrusion.
"Consider the anatomy!" Rotwood continued, eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Are they evolutionary remnants of the Cretaceous period? Or perhaps, like the Man of Steel himself, do they hail from the cold vacuum of the cosmos? Imagine the cellular density required to ignite internal gasses for breath weaponization!"
Rotwood leaned over his desk, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp. "If I could but secure a single specimen... a drop of blood, a fragment of a scale... the secrets of the universe would be laid bare."
Jake sighed internally, the sound echoing the weary resignation in his soul. If only you knew, Professor, he thought, you're currently failing the very specimen you're looking for.
The shrill ring of the bell was like a starter pistol. Students scrambled to pack their bags, the collective rush for the exit creating a bottleneck at the door. Within minutes, the oppressive air of the classroom was replaced by the crisp, afternoon breeze of the school courtyard.
"Yo, Jake! The concrete is calling, man," Spud exclaimed, miming a kickflip in the middle of the sidewalk.
Trixie adjusted her backpack, a smirk playing on her lips. "We're hitting Washington Park. The new rails are finally dry. You in, or are you gonna let Spud be the only one to gravity-test the pavement?"
"Hey, that was one time!" Spud protested, rubbing the back of his head as if the phantom pain of a concussion still lingered. "The board slipped on a stray taco wrapper. It was a tactical error, not a lack of skill."
Trixie gave Jake a deadpan stare. "He ended up wandering into a flowerbed and tried to start a conversation with a hydrangea. It was definitely a concussion."
Jake laughed, the sound genuine but brief. He looked at his friends, feeling a pang of guilt. "I'd love to, guys, really. But Grandpa needs me at the shop. Inventory day."
Spud's shoulders slumped. "Again? Dude, that's like the fourth time this week. Your grandpa is a slave driver, man. We're losing our best wingman to a shop that smells like dried ginseng and mystery tea."
"Sorry, Spud. Family business," Jake said, offering a fist bump.
"Whatever, 'Dragon'," Trixie teased, using his old middle school nickname. "Don't work too hard. See you tomorrow."
As they skated away, their laughter fading into the distance, Jake felt the sudden weight of his dual life. He turned to grab his skateboard, ready to begin his trek toward Canal Street, when he collided with a solid, soft force.
Books and papers erupted into the air like white birds.
"Whoa, sorry! I wasn't looking where I—" Jake started, but the apology died in his throat as he looked down.
The girl was striking in a way that felt almost cinematic. She had an effortless, athletic grace, her hourglass figure framed by a white crop top and hot pink pants. Her blonde hair was held back by a matching pink headband, framing a face with large, inquisitive blue eyes.
"It's fine, I was in a rush," she said, her voice smooth and surprisingly steady.
Jake knelt to help her gather her things. As he reached for a dropped notebook, his eyes caught a flash of crimson on her skin. There, on the inside of her right palm extending toward her wrist, was an intricate tattoo of a red dragon. It was stylized, elegant, and strangely familiar.
"Cool ink," Jake said, nodding toward her hand. "The dragon. It's... unique."
The girl froze for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening around her books. She offered a small, guarded smile. "Thanks. It's a family thing. I really have to go."
Before Jake could ask her name, she was gone, weaving through the lingering groups of students with practiced ease. Jake stood there, his mind racing, until a heavy arm draped across his shoulders.
"Struck out already, Long? That's gotta be a record, even for you."
Jake didn't need to look to know it was Brad Morton. In middle school, Brad had been the quintessential bully—all brawn and no empathy. But after a few 'educational' encounters where Jake had been forced to stand his ground, Brad had developed a grudging respect that had somehow blossomed into a genuine, albeit loud, friendship.
"Shut up, Brad," Jake muttered, though there was no heat in it.
"Come on! You were staring at her like she was the last burger on the grill," Brad nudged him hard in the ribs. "That's the new girl. Rose. Total mystery meat, man. Nobody knows where she came from."
Jake threw an elbow back, catching Brad in the side. "I wasn't staring. I was being a decent human being and helping her with her books."
"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that," Brad laughed, holding his side. He gave Jake a firm fist bump. "I'm heading to practice. Don't dream about the blonde too much, you'll ruin your focus."
Once Brad was out of sight, Jake's expression shifted. The playful banter of high school felt a million miles away. He slipped into a narrow, shadowed alleyway two blocks from the school. He checked both ends of the brick corridor, ensuring the only witnesses were a few stray cats and an overflowing dumpster.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the heat simmering beneath his skin. Focus. Feel the fire.
He didn't do a full transformation yet. Instead, he allowed the power to flow into his limbs. With a low growl, his hands and feet shifted. Crimson scales, hard as diamonds, erupted through his skin, ending in razor-sharp black claws. He felt the surge of adrenaline as his muscles densified.
With a powerful spring, he launched himself at the brick wall. His claws bit into the mortar, and he began to parkour his way up the side of the building with terrifying speed. He reached the lip of the roof, vaulted over, and began a dead sprint across the gravel-covered surface.
The wind whipped through his hair. The city of New York stretched out before him, a tapestry of steel and glass. He reached the edge of the building and didn't stop. He leaped into the void, the feeling of weightlessness taking over.
In mid-air, he crossed his arms over his chest, his voice a commanding roar that vibrated in his very bones.
"DRAGON UP!"
In a flash of golden-red light, the boy vanished. In his place was a creature of myth: a Western-style dragon of brilliant red scales, with a massive wingspan that caught the updraft instantly. His tail flicked for balance, and his golden eyes scanned the horizon.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Jake Long left the mundane world of high school and Professor Rotwood behind, soaring into the clouds to begin his real education.