Page 1 of Mystic's Sunrise

CHAPTER ONE

PROLOGUE

KAIN BLACKWOOD– Age 23

Helmand Province, Afghanistan – November 19, 2013

Two hours until sunrise.

The weight of my gear pressed down on me, sweat sliding down my back beneath layers of Kevlar. My rifle felt heavier than usual, but adrenaline kept my grip steady. The air was thick with dust and tension, every breath tasting like grit and gunpowder.My unit moved in formation through the narrow alleyways of the village, boots crunching over debris. The night vision goggles painted the world in eerie shades of green, shadows flickering with every cautious step.

“Blackwood,” Jensen’s voice crackled through my comm, “we’re five hundred meters out. Stay sharp. Intel says it’s too quiet.”

Too quiet. That was never a good sign. I swept my gaze across rooftops and doorways, my gut twisting with that familiar sense of wrong. I’d learned to trust that feeling out here, it had saved my ass more times than I could count.

We rounded a corner. And that’s when it happened.

An earsplitting blast ripped through the night. My world flipped, heat, fire, debris hurling me through the air. My body slammed into the ground, pain detonating across every nerve. Ears ringing. Vision blurring. The taste of blood filled my mouth. Panic clawed at my chest, but muscle memory kicked in. Roll. Move. Survive.

“Blackwood! Blackwood, respond!” Jensen’s voice cut through the static in my earpiece, panicked and distant.

“I—” The word barely left my lips when I saw it: flames engulfing the building beside me, the twisted wreckage of what had been a safe route. Pain spiked down my left arm—burning, searing. I reached up, fingers brushing against my face.

Skin peeled beneath my touch. Fire. Blood. Flesh.

My stomach churned.

Jesus…

My vision swam as the heat scorched deeper.

“Get down! Incoming!” someone shouted.

Another explosion tore through the street. Shrapnel sliced through the air like hornets. I barely reacted in time, curling in on myself. The impact punched into me—like a sledgehammerto the side of my head—and then there was nothing but fire and noise. Screams echoed, some distant, some mine.

The world folded in on itself.

Darkness.

I woke to the relentless thump of helicopter rotors overhead, voices shouting over the chaos. My vision was a haze of flashing lights—red, white, swirling together like a bad dream. Hands pressed down on my wounds. Someone was yelling, “Stay with me, Marine!” but it was hard to focus. Everything spun.

Then a glint caught my eye, the reflection off a medic’s visor. And I saw it.

Me.

Or what was left.

Half my face was shredded, blood and charred skin melding together in a grotesque mess. My stomach flipped. What the hell happened to me? A sharp, searing pain exploded behind my eyes. One eye—my right—swirled with an unnatural shade, darker than it should have been. Panic clawed at me, but darkness dragged me under again.

When I came to, the world was white. Sterile. Too clean. I blinked against the harsh lights overhead, my body heavy with painkillers. Bandages covered most of me, tight, suffocating. Words filtered through the fog. Burns. Shrapnel. Permanent scars. I heard them, but they felt distant… like they were talking about someone else.

A small mirror rested on the tray beside me. It sat there like a challenge. My heart pounded.

Do it. Just look.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it. The glass felt cold against my palm. I lifted it—slowly—until my face came into view.

Blue and gold eyes stared back at me. Only… they hadn’t been like that before. The right one, darker now, rimmed withcrimson, didn’t look like mine. Half my face was unrecognizable: scarred, twisted skin pulling across my cheek and jaw.

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