The Children Who Survived Fire
______
The world wasn't quiet when Rael woke up.
Even in the darkness, even in the wet stink of sewers, even under rubble and blood and rats — the world still hummed.
Not like music.
Like something broken.
A coughing echo. A rat's squeak. A girl sobbing in another tunnel. Distant shouting. Screams, muffled. Then silence again.
It was always like that here.
Rael's body felt like stone. His muscles ached. His throat burned. His stomach… hollow.
For a moment, he forgot why he was alive.
Then he moved his hand, and it stuck to dried blood. Not his own. The soldier's. The one whose face he had crushed into bone and jelly.
He sat up slowly.
The pipe still lay beside him, stained. The girl's torn scarf was still there too.
Rael looked at the walls. They were normal again.
No glow. No vision. No illusions.
Only brick, damp and dead.
Had it all been a dream?
He looked down at his hands. They trembled.
No, not a dream.
Just something new. Something awakened.
---
Someone cleared their throat behind him.
Rael whipped around, raising the pipe.
But the person didn't flinch.
It was a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. His skin was pale, cheeks hollow, eyes sharp like a rat that had learned to survive among wolves.
He wore a cloak made from sewn rags. One sleeve was too long; the other was burned off.
He nodded at the blood. "Messy."
Rael didn't reply.
The boy tilted his head. "You killed 'em?"
Rael lowered the pipe slightly.
"...Yes."
The boy stepped closer, casually, like they weren't surrounded by rot.
"No screaming. No calling for help. Just... took 'em out. Clean."
Rael looked away.
"They were hurting someone."
"Of course they were," the boy said, almost laughing. "They always are."
He looked at Rael like he was something rare. A new kind of animal.
"What's your name?"
"…Rael."
"Mine's Dust. Because my real name doesn't matter anymore."
Rael didn't ask why.
Dust tossed a small pouch toward him. It landed with a thud.
Rael opened it. Two hard biscuits. Stale, cracked. Probably scavenged.
He didn't say thank you. He just started eating.
Dust sat across from him.
"You're one of them," Dust said. "The ones that wake up."
Rael paused. "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes," Dust said, eyes distant, "when someone loses too much—when they fall so deep into the pit they're supposed to die—they come out different. Not lucky. Just... changed."
He stared at Rael.
"Did your head start playing tricks? Did you see things?"
Rael didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Dust smiled slightly. "Thought so."
---
They walked through the tunnels together. Slowly.
Dust knew every path. Every blind corner, every safe room.
They passed bodies — some old, just bones. Some new.
The deeper they went, the more broken things they saw.
A boy curled up with a plastic toy, unmoving.
A group of children sitting around a trash fire, silent, eyes dead.
A girl sharpening a blade that looked more rust than steel.
Dust pointed out the "territories" as they walked.
"That corner's controlled by the Bone Rats. They eat what they kill. People too."
"Those stairs lead to the Ash Market. Not safe after dusk. Men come down to hunt."
"That chamber's off-limits. Too many bodies. The air's poisoned."
Rael just listened. Quietly absorbing.
He didn't ask how Dust knew all this.
He knew the answer. Dust had lived here long enough to become part of the rot.
---
They finally reached a wide, half-collapsed space where dozens of children and teens sat.
Some stitched clothes. Some sharpened broken metal. Some just sat, staring at walls.
Rael felt like he had stepped into a forgotten world. A country where children ruled, not with games, but with scars.
"This is the Pit," Dust said. "We live here. Hide here. Die here."
Rael looked around.
"Why don't the soldiers clear this place?"
Dust laughed. "Because they like it. It keeps us below. Broken. Scared. Us being down here makes them feel tall."
Rael sat on a broken concrete slab.
His stomach still twisted. But the food helped.
Dust sat beside him.
"Do you want to know the truth?" he asked, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Rael didn't answer, but Dust continued anyway.
"They're not just evil. The people above. They're worse. They know what they're doing. Every choice is calculated."
"They rape girls not because they're monsters. But because they know no one will stop them."
"They cut kids up because it makes the others too scared to fight."
"They burn villages not for war — but for entertainment. Because it keeps people watching the news. Keeps them afraid."
Rael clenched his fists.
"And the worst part?" Dust looked at him.
"No one cares."
---
That night, Rael sat alone. Near the tunnel entrance. Watching the dark.
He didn't cry. Couldn't.
But his chest felt full. Like it wanted to split open.
He thought about his mother's last breath.
His sister's hand.
The soldier's face, pulped beneath his own rage.
And then he remembered the moment it all changed.
The glow.
The illusion.
The scream that wasn't real, but sounded real.
What did Dust say?
"When someone loses too much… they come out different."
Rael stared at the tunnel wall.
His mind whispered.
And the wall changed.
It shimmered. Flickered.
A new illusion formed — not by force, but by will.
A soldier — the one who kicked the girl. His face appeared.
Then a girl's scream echoed through the tunnel.
Others didn't hear it. Only Rael did.
He watched. Silent.
And then he whispered:
"You will remember every scream."
The soldier's illusion began to scream too. A scream full of madness and fear.
Rael blinked.
It vanished.
No one saw. No one knew.
But Rael now understood.
He didn't just imagine it.
He created it.
---
Somewhere far above, a group of rich officials dined in a mansion.
They laughed over wine.
A general talked about clearing the slums soon.
"Children slow down development," he said, slicing into a steak.
"No one will remember them anyway."
And no one around the table disagreed.
---
Back in the Pit, Rael slept with his hand on the pipe.
He dreamed of blood.
But also of silence.
And in that silence… something inside him whispered:
You were never meant to survive.
But since you did—
Make it matter.
---