The city did not welcome the living.
It never would again.
Each step he took forward felt like walking through the remains of something sacred that had been violently defiled. Broken stone shifted beneath his feet, loose fragments scraping softly against each other in the endless quiet.
The air smelled of ash.
Of smoke.
Of death.
The boy adjusted his grip on his mother carefully, supporting her weight against his chest. His arms trembled—not from hesitation, but from exhaustion. His body was still weak. Still fragile.
Still human.
But he did not stop.
He could hear them now.
Voices.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Survivors.
Proof that the world had not completely fallen into silence.
Proof that there was still something left to protect.
Or perhaps—
Something left to lose.
He moved carefully, his eyes scanning the ruins around him.
Every collapsed wall.
Every broken archway.
Every shadow.
Fear still lived within him. It had not disappeared with the awakening of the System. It had not vanished with the birth of the ember within his chest.
But something had changed.
The fear no longer controlled him.
It no longer froze his body.
It walked beside him instead.
A reminder.
A warning.
A teacher.
The warmth within his chest pulsed faintly.
Steady.
Present.
Watching.
He stepped over the shattered remains of what had once been a marketplace. Burned stalls stood like skeletons beneath the open sky. Charred goods lay scattered across the ground, abandoned in the chaos of that final moment.
People had died here.
Running.
Screaming.
Begging.
He could almost hear them.
His jaw tightened.
He kept walking.
The voices grew clearer.
"…over here!"
"…still breathing!"
"…careful!"
His heart pounded faster.
He turned a corner, stepping past a partially collapsed stone wall.
And then—
He saw them.
Five figures stood in the open street ahead.
Humans.
Two wore damaged leather armor, their bodies covered in dust and dried blood. One held a spear tightly, his posture tense, his eyes scanning their surroundings.
A guard.
Or what remained of one.
Beside him stood a woman in white robes, now stained gray with ash. Her hands glowed faintly with soft blue light as she knelt beside an injured man on the ground.
A healer.
The other two appeared to be civilians.
Survivors.
Broken.
Frightened.
Alive.
The guard noticed him first.
His spear raised instantly.
"Stop!"
The word cut through the silence like steel.
The boy froze.
Not from fear.
But from instinct.
The guard's eyes narrowed, studying him carefully.
A thin, fragile boy.
Covered in ash.
Clothes torn.
Body trembling.
Carrying an unconscious woman.
Not a threat.
Not a warrior.
Just another survivor.
The guard's spear lowered slowly.
"…You survived," he said quietly.
Not a question.
A statement filled with disbelief.
The boy said nothing.
He did not know what to say.
The healer looked up, her eyes widening slightly as she noticed his mother.
"She's alive," the boy said, his voice hoarse.
The healer stood immediately, moving toward him without hesitation.
"Bring her here."
He obeyed.
Carefully lowering his mother onto the ground.
The healer knelt beside her, placing a glowing hand over her chest. The soft blue light spread outward gently, illuminating her pale face.
Seconds passed.
The healer's expression grew tense.
Then she looked up.
"She's alive," she confirmed.
Relief flooded his chest.
But the healer did not smile.
"She's in a deep coma," she continued quietly.
The words struck harder than any blade.
His fingers clenched.
"She won't wake up on her own."
Silence fell.
The healer's gaze softened slightly.
"She needs proper treatment. A sanctuary. Skilled healers."
Things he did not have.
Things he could not reach.
Not yet.
The guard stepped closer.
"The evacuation camps are gathering survivors," he said. "If you can walk, you can come."
Walk.
Such a simple word.
Such a simple demand.
Yet it meant everything.
The boy looked down at his mother.
Fragile.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
The warmth in his chest pulsed faintly.
He did not hesitate.
"I'll walk."
The guard studied him for a moment longer.
Then nodded.
"Good."
He turned, gesturing toward the distant edge of the ruined city.
"It's not safe here."
No.
It never would be again.
The boy lifted his mother carefully into his arms once more.
His muscles screamed in protest.
His body trembled.
But he did not stop.
He would not stop.
Behind him lay death.
Ahead of him lay uncertainty.
Between the two—
He walked.
Step by step.
The ember within him burned quietly.
Not to protect him.
Not yet.
But to remind him.
This was only the beginning.