CHAPTER 1

Hikaru woke up to a loud noise booming in the distance. Groggily sitting up in his bed, he turned his eyes to the window, faint light filtering through the shutters.

Something welled up inside of him and he got out of bed, stumbling towards the window in mild disbelief. The morning light. His mother had promised.

Hikaru opened the shutters, and his breath flew out of his body as if an explosion had rocked his entire system.

The night was alight with fire in the distance. In front of his very eyes, to another booming noise, closer this time, another pyre lit up spontaneously. And again, much closer, he recognized the train station in the distance going up in flames, momentarily blinding him. He shielded his eyes, throat dry, and his ears picked up the sound of an engine overhead.

Oh.

He felt strangely at peace.

The next booming noise, close enough to make Hikaru's head ring, preceded the light from a split-second. And Hkarustared in morbid fascination as the neighborhood exploded, the blinding light rushing to end it for him as well.

He stared at the fiery inferno as it consumed everything, barely even felt the heat rushing against the window and shattering it, barely even felt himself be pushed and hit something solid, barely even heard the screams inside and outside the house, barely even heard the house creak and crumble and give in, barely even felt himself falling, and he closed his eyes.

He'd never see the morning light, perhaps, but at least now, he was safe.

..._________________________________________________...

The morning light reflected off his hair, greasy and dirty and matted with dust and blood and dirt, and yet it felt strange to feel the sun's warmth caressing his cheeks. There were no sounds, not even the sound of voices, nothing but the comforting crackling of a fire somewhere around him. For a moment, Hikaru did not even feel alive.

And then, there was pain. Even before his vision flooded with light, his entire world went red with pain. And yet there was a weight on his chest, and the sobs that wanted to tear out of his mouth were caught underneath what he realized was a wooden beam sitting on top of him.

Hikaru whimpered, finally having enough sense to look around him. He was lying uncomfortably on rubble, bricks, and wood digging painfully in his back. He couldn't see anything past his chest, the wooden beam trapping him limiting his vision. He moved his arms experimentally, crying out softly when pain shot up his spine at the movement. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken. Or if there was, Hikaru was too confused to realize it.

The blood on his hands was slippery as he tried to push the beam off of himself. It was thick and heavy and after several tries, Hikaru felt like conceding. But then, if he gave up...he wouldn't be safe.

His mother had promised.

His mother... Mieko...

"Mom?" he cried out weakly, struggling to push again. The beam creaked, and hope welled up inside of him. Holding his breath, he pushed harder, arms straining painfully until the beam budged a centimeter above him, and it was enough. Hikaru slid himself carefully, the rubble tearing his back to pieces, arms trembling with the effort it took to hold the beam up until his head was out of the way. And then he let go, the beam falling back with a soft thud into the dirt. A cloud of dust stung Hikaru's eyes, and he coughed, ribs aching at the action. He gave himself a moment of respite, waiting for the dust to settle, before sitting up.

He was mostly cut up and bruised, aching all over, and he finally took a breath as deep as the sharp pain in his ribs would let him, realizing that the blast must have thrown him under his desk or bed, and the furniture had taken the brunt of the collapse until it had given way and had gotten Hikaru stuck under the beam.

But then, what about his family?

"Mom?" he called softly, trembling as he tried to stand. It took him a few tries, but once he did, he held on to a nearby pipe jutting out of the ground for support, swaying in place. "Mieko?"

Nobody replied. Only the crackling of fire did.

Hikaru looked around him and did not know how to react to the sight of his entire neighborhood flattened, piles of flaming rubble marking places where lives had been built throughout the years. All gone. In the blink of an eye and the literal heat of the moment. Gone.

And then, he saw it.

A patch of cream amongst the charcoal of his broken home.

And he prayed with unprecedented fervor that it was the remains of the living room couch stuck in between the rubble. A piece of marble counter or the porcelain of the bathtub or anything, anything but the strangely intact wrist and hand and fingers sticking out from under a large pile of smoking rubble, nails so impeccably manicured and limp and lifeless and skin soft, even in death.

Hikaru knew this because he caressed the hand, held it reverently with his own calloused, grimy ones, bent to put the palm against his cheek, and shivered at how cold and soothing it was on his fevered skin. A mother's touch never failed to comfort the troubled mind.

The early-morning light filtered through the dust floating in the air, breaking through the smoke of the deadly fires that had burned so many lives to ashes.

And Hikaru screamed.

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