The world hadn’t always been like this. Once, it was full of people laughing, talking, living. But that was before. The day everything changed still haunted Mark.

  His mother had been bitten, and no one knew it. Not until it was too late. She was gone before anyone could realize, and that left his father—broken, unable to cope. When his father realized what had happened, it was already too much. Mark was just a kid, no older than fifteen, when his father did the unthinkable.

  His mother had already turned by then, and his father, in a haze of grief, took the gun to her first. Then to himself.

  The echo of that final shot, the one that ended his father’s life, would stay with Mark forever. The terror, the blood, the rawness of it all—it was like he couldn’t wake up from a nightmare that never stopped. His whole world crashed, and he was left alone. Traumatized.

  But Mark had no time to mourn. No time to break down. He had to survive. He had to keep moving, keep fighting.

  After the chaos settled and the shock wore off, Mark found himself stumbling through the halls of an abandoned building, heading straight for the pool he, Logan, Kaia, and the rest of the old group had always swum in. The building felt like a shadow of what it once was. The echoes of laughter and light now replaced by the creaks of the structure and the constant threat of walkers.

  When he finally got there, he found Logan and Kaia waiting, the two familiar faces the only remnants of a life he once knew.

  “Thought you were gone for good,” Logan said, his usual grin showing through, though there was sadness in his eyes. He had seen his share of death too, just like Mark.

  “We need to get supplies,” Kaia said, her voice colder, sharper. Mark knew that look in her eyes. She had become something else since the world fell apart—tougher, meaner. But she was still here. Still alive. Still fighting.

  The plan was simple: find whatever they could, bring it back, and keep surviving. But Mark wasn’t thinking about supplies. He was thinking about the katana in the corner of the room. It was old but still deadly. A blade from a time long gone, but one Mark knew he could make work.

  It wasn’t until later, as the day bled into dusk, that things shifted. He was out on the streets, trying to scavenge when he found it—a katana, buried beneath the ruins. Something about it called to him. He grabbed it. The metal was cold in his hand, but it felt right.

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  He had no idea why, but he knew that blade would be his, that it would carry him through the chaos.

  Time passed. The days blurred into one another, and Mark’s new life felt like an endless cycle of survival. But something changed when he met the old man.

  He was blind, his eyes milky white like he had long lost his sight, but his grip on the wooden stick was firm, steady. Mark had never known someone like him.

  “Come here,” the old man rasped, tapping the wooden stick against the ground. Mark wasn’t sure what to think at first, but there was something calming about the way the man moved, as if the world had slowed down for him.

  “What do you want?” Mark asked, the tension in his voice thick, unsure about what was happening.

  The old man didn’t answer at first. Then he smirked, raising his stick and tapping Mark lightly across his back.

  “You’ve been using that katana all wrong,” he said, his voice rough, like gravel scraping against stone. “The sword, it’s not just a weapon. It’s a part of you. You need to learn the way of the blade.”

  And so, it began. Mark’s lessons in the ancient West Dragon Sword Style. He had no idea what it meant, but there was something ancient, almost mystical, about the old man’s teachings. He would spend hours each day practicing, learning to move with the sword, feeling its weight, letting it become an extension of himself.

  One day, everything changed.

  Mark and Kaia were out scavenging when they saw them—walkers, coming from all sides. The group had always managed to stay ahead of them, but this time, there were too many.

  “We need to get to higher ground!” Mark shouted to Kaia, who was already pulling out her pistol.

  They ran toward the nearest building, but the walkers were closing in fast. With every step, the sound of moaning, growling, and scratching grew louder. They reached the roof just as the first wave of walkers reached the ground level below.

  It was there, on that rooftop, where Mark’s world shifted once again. He could hear the growl of something else. Something different.

  Standing across the roof, he saw a man—dressed in tattered clothes, his face hidden behind a mask of darkness. He seemed... different. He wasn’t threatening. In fact, he looked almost lost. His eyes were wide, but not in malice. He was crouched by the edge of the roof, staring out at the horizon like he was trying to find something.

  Mark wasn’t sure what to make of it. The man didn’t look dangerous. In fact, he seemed almost innocent, like he didn’t belong in the chaos. But Mark wasn’t about to let his guard down. Not in this world.

  He raised his katana, unsure if he should approach the stranger or keep his distance.