Omniscient POV
A plane moved quietly across the Tokyo sky, filled with soft chatter and warm voices. Some passengers laughed, some sipped tea, and the crew walked up and down the aisles with calm smiles.
The captain's voice came through the speakers. "Attention everyone, we'll be passing through some thick clouds soon. You might feel a little shaking, but there's nothing to worry about. Please stay seated and enjoy the rest of the flight."
A few people stiffened. "Thick clouds? How bad is it?" a man whispered to his wife.
"I don't like turbulence…" a woman muttered, clutching her armrest.
"It's my first time on a plane," a teenage boy told his friend nervously.
"Is this normal?"
"It should be fine… I think," his friend replied, though his voice wasn't steady.
Among the passengers was a nine-year-old boy with bright, smooth skin, white hair, and heterochromic eyes—one bright blue, the other violet. He gripped his seat and looked up at his parents.
"Mom… Dad… It's going to be fine, right? I'm scared."
His parents pulled him close.
"It's okay," his mother whispered. "We're right here."
"We'll reach soon," his father said softly. "Don't worry."
They were traveling from London to Tokyo to see his maternal grandmother, who was seriously ill. His mother's face showed a worry she couldn't hide, though her son didn't notice. Still, something inside him made him hug them tighter, as if he didn't want to let go.
Then the plane jerked.
At first, it was a small shake. A few gasps. A drink is spilling. Someone muttered, "That was more than a little shake…" But the next moment—
A violent tremor ripped through the aircraft.
Aaahhh!
People screamed. Overhead bins burst open. Bags flew through the aisle. A child cried. A man shouted, "What's happening?!"
The boy clutched his parents as the whole plane shuddered like it was being torn apart.
BAM
A sharp bang echoed from outside.
The right engine burst into flames.
The fire spread fast, roaring like a beast. Metal snapped and cracked.
Screech!
SNAP!
The right wing tore off with a screech so sharp it felt like it cut through bone. Panic flooded the cabin.
"Hold on!"
"God, please—!"
"No—no—no—!"
The plane tilted sharply as alarms blared nonstop. Oxygen masks dropped but whipped wildly in the wind. Then the worst hit.
WHOOSH!
The door ripped off.
A blast of freezing air slammed through the cabin, sucking people out into the open sky. Their screams vanished into the roar.
Seats tore from the floor. People clung to whatever they could, nails digging into metal, crying, begging for mercy.
The mother grabbed her son with both arms, screaming his name.
"Ars..."
The father wrapped himself around them, trembling as he held on with everything he had. Sadly, the child couldn't even hear his mother's final call.
The plane broke apart.
Metal shards. Fire. Smoke. Bodies pulled away by the wind. Voices cut off mid-cry. The world became nothing but chaos and falling and flame.
It all ended in seconds.
The crash that followed was brutal—so fast, so violent, that no one had time to save themselves. All 276 passengers were lost.
Or so everyone thought.
In the quiet aftermath, amid twisted steel and burning debris, a faint light pulsed.
There, lying near the crash site, was the boy.
Unconscious, completely untouched. Not a single scratch on him.
It was truly a miracle.
For a brief moment, his small chest glowed… then faded, as if nothing had ever happened.
*
*
*
Arsalan woke up to the soft hum of a television somewhere nearby. His eyes blinked slowly, blurry at first, then clearer.
He was lying in a hospital bed, wrapped in clean white sheets. A faint smell of medicine hung in the air.
On the TV, a news reporter spoke in a serious tone.
"—the crash was one of the deadliest in recent years. All 276 passengers were confirmed dead… except for one. A nine-year-old boy, Arsalan Adeon Arvendis, was found near the wreckage with no visible injuries. Doctors are calling it a miracle."
A photo of him flashed on the screen. He stared at it, confused.
Another voice came from the reporter as she continued interviewing people.
A man said, "Why only him? My sister was on that plane… she had a family. Why did only he survive?"
A woman's voice, shaky with tears, added, "It's not fair. So many good people died. How did a child walk out of that without a scratch?"
Someone nearby spoke harshly, almost angrily. "This is wrong. Something's not normal about this. A kid survives while everyone else…? There has to be a reason. That child must be behind the crash. He must be cursed, evil…" The reporter quickly backed away as the person grew frantic and violent.
More voices filled the broadcast—some calling it a miracle, others calling it a bad omen, some even sounding hostile.
"Is it luck, or something else?" the reporter said. "Families of the victims are demanding answers."
Arsalan lay there, frozen. His tiny hands trembled as he stared at the screen.
His name, picture, and identity were laid bare in front of everyone. As a small child, even if he couldn't understand everything, he could still feel the resentment or the awe directed at him.
Some people praised him. Some blamed him. Some even hated him. He didn't understand why he lived. He didn't understand why they were angry. He didn't understand anything at all.
But none of that mattered at the moment. He could still vividly remember how his parents died in front of him.
It was a scene he couldn't forget even if he wanted to. Both of them had tried to save him until the very end.
He didn't need anyone to explain what happened or what became of them. He already knew.
A cold feeling moved down his cheeks. When he touched his face, he found tears running uncontrollably from his eyes.
His chest tightened. In that moment, he felt only one thing—
He felt alone.
*
*
*
A police officer arrived at the hospital after hearing that the child had finally woken up. He wasn't sure what to say or how to begin.
The boy had calmed down, his tears and snot dried on his face, his expression empty.
Even the officer felt awkward approaching him so soon. The doctors had already told the child about his parents. Their bodies still hadn't been found. The search was ongoing.
The plane had exploded mid-air, and many passengers had been thrown out into the sky. Teams were searching the surrounding area and the entire flight path.
It was taking far too long, and the condition of the bodies they had found showed just how gruesome the deaths had been.
That made it even more shocking that a single child had survived a fall from an exploding plane without any injuries.
He had only been exhausted and unconscious for a while. He was also the first person the rescuers found, which briefly sparked hope that others might have survived.
But with the situation as it was, and according to aviation experts, it was nearly impossible for anyone to live through something like this.
That fleeting hope, followed by crushing despair, became one of the reasons some people turned their anger toward the boy.
Standing beside the officer was a man in his early thirties. The officer didn't know him, but he had been ordered to follow all of this man's instructions during the investigation.
It seemed the higher-ups were still playing politics even now. All it did was create more trouble for people like him, the ones doing the actual work.
"Kid, how are you feeling? Do you have any pain or confusion?" the officer tried asking in the softest tone he could manage.
But Arsalan didn't answer. He slowly lifted his head, looking up with hollow, dark eyes. Even after a long moment, Arsalan said nothing, making the officer question whether he was truly alright.
The man standing beside the officer looked restless and irritated. Wanting to speak with the boy before that man took over, the officer tried again.
The doctors had already mentioned that the child was still in shock. Just as the officer was about to call a doctor, Arsalan finally spoke.
"What do you want?"
The officer froze and looked at him. "What happened up there? Can you tell us how you landed?"
If they had found the black box intact, things would have been easier, but with the plane torn apart, the search would take time.
After a long pause, Arsalan answered.
"I don't know. I heard a loud explosion. Then everything fell apart. The door opened, and people started falling out."
As he spoke, the other man watched him like a hawk, his sharp eyes never leaving Arsalan. The officer tried to comfort the boy with small reassurances.
There was no need to ask about his parents—anyone could guess the truth. So he asked the question everyone had on their mind.
"How did you come down safely?"
Arsalan took a deep breath as he quietly recalled what had happened. His parents had tried shielding him from debris even as they fell.
His father had been pierced by a piece of metal, losing the light in his eyes. From the rapid fall, Arsalan's consciousness had already begun to fade.
At some point, he had seen that the lower half of his mother was gone, yet her hands still clutched him tightly, protecting him from falling debris until the end.
He passed out after that and woke up in the hospital. As he spoke, the tears he thought had dried began leaking again without him noticing. His mind was numb, unable to process the pain.
The officer couldn't bring himself to ask more questions. But the other man didn't share that hesitation.
"Is that all? Do you not remember anything else?"
Arsalan didn't react at first, but after the man repeated the question, he finally responded.
"I… I think I saw something else too," he said, trying hard to recall it.
The man narrowed his eyes. "What? What did you see?"
"There was a bright light for a moment and… I think I saw someone else there," Arsalan whispered as a sharp headache struck him.
"Who did you see? Can you remember?" the man pressed, stepping closer. Seeing Arsalan clutch his head, the officer intervened.
"That's enough. We'll stop questioning for now."
But the man continued, ignoring the officer. "Fine. Then tell me this—what's with those symbols on your chest and left hand?"
Arsalan looked down, startled. A golden tree was marked on his chest, and on his left palm were three red lines forming an unfamiliar symbol. He hadn't even noticed them until now.
"I… I don't know. I never had these," he said.
The man stepped forward, placing his hand on Arsalan's shoulder and keeping it there for minutes. His expression darkened with irritation before he finally pulled away and left the room, muttering, "What a waste of time."
The officer was stunned by the man's behavior. He turned back to the boy and gently asked, "Do you have any family or friends we can contact?"
"We lived in London. So we don't have friends here. The only family I have is my maternal grandmother. We were coming to meet her," Arsalan said.
"Good. I'll try to contact her. Do you know how to reach her? Even if you don't, we have information about your parents, so we can find her."
But the officer was confused. With the situation all over the news, the grandmother should have heard and come by now.
"She... She is hospitalized. She's in the last stage of cancer. That's why we were coming to meet her," the boy said, surprising the officer.
"Do you know which hospital she's in?"
Arsalan shook his head.
"Do you have any other family?"
Again, the answer was no. The officer felt the situation become even more complicated.
"Don't worry. We'll search for your grandmother. Get some rest," he said before leaving.
Arsalan couldn't rest even if he wanted to. He stared at the ceiling with a blank expression until exhaustion and the medication finally forced him to sleep.
Arsalan Adeon Arvendis (pic)
[A/N: How is the chapter? Please leave your thoughts in the comments.
The next one will be coming soon. The first few chapters may feel slow or a bit mundane, but in a couple more, we will fast-forward to his 18-year-old self, where the story truly begins. So please bear with me until then. At most, it will take only two more chapters to reach that point.
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