An arm emerged from the charred remains of the burned house.
"Everyone! Someone's alive in here!"
One of the searchers, a man clad in an emergency response uniform, shouted as he rushed toward the rubble.
The others immediately dropped what they were doing and converged on the spot.
"Careful! The structure isn't stable!"
"Get the stretcher ready!"
Together, they began clearing away the debris.
Burned wood.
Broken concrete.
Twisted metal.
Piece by piece, the ruins gave way.
Then they saw him.
A young man lay buried beneath the wreckage.
His body was covered in soot and ash.
Yet not a single burn mark could be found on his skin.
The searchers froze.
"How is that possible...?"
The fire had reduced the house to ruins.
No one should have survived.
No one.
Yet there he was.
Breathing.
Alive.
As though the flames had deliberately spared him.
The young man's eyelids trembled.
Slowly, they began to open.
For a brief moment, his gray eyes reflected a faint crimson light.
Then it vanished.
No one noticed.
Far above the ruined house, a single scarlet feather drifted through the air.
It swayed gently in the wind before disappearing beyond the clouds.
"He's awake!"
The nearest responder immediately knelt beside him.
"Can you hear me? What's your name?"
Lucard stared at the man.
The words reached his ears.
Yet they felt distant.
Muffled.
As though he were hearing them through layers of water.
His head throbbed.
Fragments of images flashed through his mind.
Scarlet feathers.
A silver-haired ghost.
A colossal dragon.
Then pain.
A sharp, unbearable pain.
"Argh..."
He clutched his head.
The responders exchanged worried glances.
"Easy. Don't move."
"Possible concussion."
"Let's get him out of here."
Several men carefully lifted him onto a stretcher.
As they carried him away from the ruins, Lucard's gaze drifted toward the remains of the house.
Blackened walls.
Collapsed beams.
Smoldering debris.
A place that had once been his home.
For reasons he could not understand, a deep sense of loss gripped his heart.
As though he had forgotten something important.
Someone important.
The siren of an ambulance echoed in the distance.
His vision began to blur.
The world darkened once more.
...
Lucard opened his eyes and was met by a white ceiling.
For several moments, he simply stared.
His thoughts felt sluggish.
Heavy.
As though he had been asleep for a very long time.
A faint beeping sound echoed nearby.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air.
A hospital.
The realization slowly settled in his mind.
He turned his head.
White curtains.
Medical equipment.
A window through which pale morning sunlight streamed.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like the world had been muted.
The door clicked open.
Footsteps entered the room.
Lucard turned his head.
A man in an emergency response uniform stood at the entrance.
The same man from the ruins.
Their eyes met.
A brief silence followed.
Then the man exhaled in relief.
"You're finally awake."
Lucard hesitated.
His throat felt dry.
"What… happened?"
The man stepped closer, expression heavy.
"You were pulled out from the fire."
A pause.
"The house collapsed shortly after."
Lucard's fingers tightened slightly under the blanket.
"My house…"
The responder nodded slowly.
"It's gone."
Silence fell between them.
Only the beeping machine continued.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Lucard stared at the ceiling again.
Gone.
The word should have meant something.
It should have hurt.
But instead, it felt distant.
Like a story told about someone else.
Then, faintly—
Something flickered at the edge of his memory.
A scarlet feather.
A scarlet feather.
The image appeared for only an instant.
Then it vanished.
Lucard frowned.
No matter how hard he tried to grasp it, the memory slipped away like sand through his fingers.
The responder noticed the change in his expression.
"Something wrong?"
Lucard hesitated.
Then he shook his head.
"I don't know."
The man nodded.
"The doctors said you might experience temporary memory loss."
"Memory loss..."
The words felt strange.
As though they belonged to someone else.
Lucard closed his eyes.
He searched his mind.
His name.
His age.
His school.
Those memories remained.
Yet beyond them lay a vast emptiness.
A blank space he could neither explain nor understand.
As if entire pieces of his life had simply disappeared.
A knock sounded at the door.
Moments later, a doctor entered the room.
A woman in her forties.
Calm eyes.
Professional demeanor.
She glanced at the monitor before turning toward Lucard.
"How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts."
"That's to be expected."
The doctor flipped through several pages on a clipboard.
"You were unconscious for three days."
Lucard blinked.
"Three days?"
She nodded.
"Frankly, your survival is nothing short of miraculous."
The responder standing nearby gave a silent nod.
Neither of them needed to elaborate.
Lucard had already seen the ruins.
The fire should have killed him.
Yet somehow, it hadn't.
The doctor continued.
"Physically, you're in surprisingly good condition."
A pause.
"Almost too good."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"There are no major burns. No broken bones. No signs of smoke inhalation severe enough to explain your condition."
Lucard remained silent.
The doctor's words only deepened the unease growing inside him.
Almost too good.
She closed the clipboard.
"For now, get some rest. We'll continue observing you for a few more days."
After a few final instructions, she left the room.
The responder followed shortly after.
Before leaving, he paused at the doorway.
"If you remember anything about the fire, let us know."
Lucard nodded.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The room felt larger now.
Emptier.
Lucard turned toward the window.
Outside, clouds drifted across the morning sky.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
His mind was filled with questions, and every one of them seemed to point toward a single beginning—the book given to him by the old lady he had helped.
The memory surfaced in fragments.
An old lady.
A grateful smile.
An ancient-looking book pressed into his hands.
After that, strange things began happening.
Dreams of endless ashen sands stretching beyond the horizon.
An elf with silver hair watching him with a gaze filled with concern.
Visions of wars fought by incomprehensible beings whose mere presence defied understanding.
Then came the fire that reduced his home to ashes.
And after that—
And a ghost! Not just any ghost, but an elven spirit whose beauty and presence made her seem like some sort of deity.
At the time, Lucard had thought little of the book. It was merely a gift from an old woman he had helped, nothing more.
But now, looking back, the chain of events seemed impossible to ignore.
Each strange occurrence, each impossible encounter, seemed connected by an invisible thread leading back to a single source.
The book.
Lucard had already read the book. Thanks to his extraordinary memory, every page and every word remained etched clearly in his mind.