Chapter 1: The Mysterious Savior
The explosion rocked the Metropolis subway station like a dragon exhaling its first breath, a rumble so deep it seemed to awaken the bones of the city. People screamed as the shock wave hit, shattering tiles and cascading concrete dust through the air. The smell of burning wires and fear was sharp, acrid, and overwhelming. The emergency lights flickered, casting the chaos in a series of frantic red flashes. A mother clawed through the rubble, her child’s muffled cries barely audible beneath the debris.
Above the cacophony, the fire roared like a living thing, hungry and merciless, its flames licking toward the ceiling as if challenging the gods themselves.
And then, he appeared.
No one saw where he came from. One moment, it was chaos—a blur of screaming, coughing, and the relentless encroachment of fire. The next, a tall figure in a weathered hooded coat stepped into the wreckage, his silhouette sharp and unyielding against the fiery backdrop. He didn’t run or hesitate; he walked with deliberate purpose, boots crunching over shattered glass and broken tiles.
The flames seemed to recoil as he approached, like serpents fearing their predator. His hand moved in an arcane gesture, his fingers slicing through the air with precision, leaving faint trails of light that burned like afterimages on the eye. A word—a single word, unintelligible to those watching—rolled from his lips, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to shake the air itself.
The fire stopped.
Not gradually, not with the sputtering gasp of dying embers, but suddenly, unnaturally. One moment, it was an inferno threatening to consume the station; the next, it was gone, leaving only the ghost of heat and the blackened marks of its fury.
People stared, their terror momentarily replaced by stunned silence. But the man didn’t pause to bask in their awe. He turned his attention to the collapsed debris, his movements sharp and efficient. With what seemed like impossible strength, he tore through the rubble, pulling free a child no older than six. Her small hands clutched his coat as he carried her to safety, his face obscured by the shadows of his hood.
“Mommy!” the child cried, her voice cracking with relief as the mother reached for her. The man handed the girl over without a word, his eyes scanning the station like a hawk searching for its next target.
It was then that Maya Hughes saw him.
From her perch on the broken stairwell, she clutched her camera like a lifeline, her knuckles white against the black casing. She’d been filming the chaos, capturing the raw human terror, the kind of footage that would send shock waves across the internet. But now, her lens was focused on him—the stranger who had stopped a fire with a gesture and moved concrete as if it were paper-mâché.
“Who the hell are you?” she whispered to herself, the question crackling on her lips like static electricity.
He moved again, this time toward a trapped construction worker pinned beneath a twisted metal beam. With a grunt, he gripped the beam and heaved, his muscles taut under his coat. The metal groaned in protest before finally giving way. The man didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, as he pulled the worker free, murmuring a word under his breath that made the air shimmer faintly around them.
Maya’s breath hitched. That shimmer—it wasn’t heat. It was something else, something that defied explanation. Her camera caught the faint glow of runes etched along the man’s hands, glowing briefly before fading into his skin.
“What are you?” she muttered, half in awe, half in dread.
The stranger straightened, his head snapping up as if hearing something no one else could. His shoulders stiffened, and for the first time, Maya saw hesitation in his movements. His gaze locked on something in the distance—a point beyond the rubble, beyond the crowd, beyond this moment.
She followed his line of sight and saw nothing but shadows.
When she looked back, he was gone.
~ The subway station fell eerily silent as the last of the survivors were pulled to safety. Maya stood frozen, her camera still pointed at the spot where he’d been. The air crackled faintly, a whisper of power lingering like a ghost.
Her thoughts swirled, drawn back to the symbols glowing on his hands—their shapes eerily familiar, like the fragments of a half-remembered dream. And then, as she replayed the footage, a single word formed in her mind: Hunter.
It wasn’t clear if she’d seen it, heard it, or simply felt it, but it echoed in her thoughts with an almost predatory certainty.
Hours later, in the quiet of her Metropolis apartment, Maya stared at her laptop screen. The footage she’d captured looped endlessly, the figure in the hood dominating every frame. Her mind buzzed with questions as she began typing her article:
“A man who defies fire, who bends steel with his hands, and whispers words that command the impossible—who is the Mage of Tomorrow?”
Miles away, in a hidden sanctum bathed in shifting light, Jonas Hunter muttered the same question to himself. Only his wasn’t about the man in the footage. His was about the runes he’d seen in the fire’s residue.
“They’re not supposed to be here,” he whispered, his voice low and grim.
The sanctum was quiet except for the faint hum of energy that pulsed through its walls, a sound as old as the universe itself. Jonas Hunter sat cross-legged on the crystalline floor, his hands hovering inches above his knees. His eyes were closed, but his mind was alive, racing through fragmented thoughts and buried memories. The symbols from the subway fire burned behind his eyelids, haunting and familiar.
He opened his eyes and muttered a spell under his breath. The air in front of him shimmered, then split, revealing the glyph from the subway, glowing faintly. He reached out, tracing its sharp lines and jagged edges with his fingertips.
“Too soon,” he murmured. “This shouldn’t be here yet.”
The glyph was a mark of the Children of the Veil, a cult of mages who thrived on chaos and destruction. Jonas had destroyed their plans once—years from now, in another timeline. He’d torn their power apart, ripped their leaders from their thrones. Or so he’d thought. But here they were, rising a century earlier than they should have, their symbol etched into the fire’s remnants like a grim omen.
And at the center of it all was the Scarlet Scarab.
Jonas’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need to close his eyes to see the artifact. Its image was seared into his memory: a blood-red jewel the size of a fist, its surface carved with runes so ancient they predated human civilization. The Scarab was more than just a magical weapon; it was a living force, feeding on destruction and growing stronger with every life it claimed.
It had claimed Jay’s life.
The memory hit him like a physical blow.
Jay Nakamura’s laughter had been the first thing Jonas noticed about him. It was bright, sharp, and uncontainable, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Jay was the kind of person who made you believe the world could be better, even when it wasn’t.
He had been Jonas’s first love—and the first person he’d ever lost.
The Scarlet Scarab’s power had erupted without warning, its magic tearing through Metropolis like a wildfire. Jay had been caught in its path, his body crumpling to the ground before Jonas could reach him. His father—Superman—had been there, fighting to stop the artifact’s rampage, but even he hadn’t been able to save Jay.
The sound of Jay’s name slipping through his father’s lips, a broken whisper filled with grief, still echoed in Jonas’s mind.
Jonas had been powerless that day, a boy with the strength of the stars but none of the knowledge to combat what had killed Jay. That was the moment he vowed never to feel helpless again. That was the moment he decided to learn magic, no matter the cost.If his family was this sensitive to it, then if he learned to master it he would have greater control of it than anyone else has ever had.
“Jay,” Jonas whispered, his voice cracking as he stared at the glyph. “This isn’t over.”
The years after Jay’s death had been a blur of desperation and obsession. Jonas had searched every corner of the world—and beyond—for answers. His journey had led him to a boy named Tim Hunter, a scrappy kid with glasses and a chip on his shoulder. In the future, Tim would become the greatest mage who ever lived, the guardian of magic itself. But when Jonas found him, Tim was just a teenager, still figuring out what it meant to wield such power.
Tim had reluctantly agreed to train him, and under his guidance, Jonas had learned to control the forces that had once terrified him. But Jonas hadn’t stopped there. He had surpassed Tim, mastering forms of magic even the greatest mages feared to touch. He had become more than Kryptonian, more than human. He had become something else entirely.
And now, he was here, in the past, because he had made a choice—a choice to rewrite the timeline and save the person he had loved most.
Back in her Metropolis apartment, Maya Hughes stared at her laptop screen, her coffee growing cold beside her. The footage from the subway played on a loop, and every time she watched it, her curiosity grew. The man in the hood wasn’t just strong or fast. He was something entirely new. Magic wasn’t uncommon in Metropolis—at least not in the stories she covered—but this was different. The runes glowing on his hands, the way he moved, the fire that had obeyed his command—it was like watching a myth come to life.
And then there was the word: Hunter.
It wasn’t just a feeling anymore. It was a name. She was sure of it. But no matter how many forums she scoured or databases she searched, she couldn’t find anything on a “Hunter” connected to magic or Metropolis. At least, not in the present.
But then her search turned up something unexpected. A name from decades past, buried in the annals of obscure occult history: Tim Hunter.
“Magician,” she read aloud, scrolling through an old forum post. “Disappeared years ago. Supposedly connected to… a secret order?” Her brow furrowed. Most of the information was rumor at best, conspiracy theories at worst. But something about the name stuck.
“Tim Hunter,” she repeated, testing the sound of it. She didn’t know why, but it felt like a thread worth pulling.
Jonas stood in the center of his sanctum, the glyph still floating in the air before him. The runes on his hands flared briefly, reacting to his growing frustration. He knew the Children of the Veil. He knew their plans. But their sudden appearance in this timeline changed everything.
If they had the Scarlet Scarab, Metropolis wasn’t just in danger. The entire timeline could unravel.
Jonas’s eyes hardened as the sanctum began to shift around him, its walls morphing into a map of the city. A single location glowed brighter than the rest: a factory on the outskirts of Metropolis.
“They’re moving fast,” he muttered, grabbing his coat. “Too fast.”
He stepped toward the sanctum’s exit, his thoughts still lingering on Jay. This time, he wouldn’t fail. This time, he would stop the Children before they could even begin.
~Maya tapped her fingers against her desk, her mind racing with questions. Whoever this mage was, she was going to find him. And if he had answers, she was going to get them.
Miles away, as Jonas stepped out into the cool Metropolis night, the glyph in his mind burned brighter. The game was beginning, and this time, he wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing to rewrite fate.