After the Great Disaster, my father and I returned to Japan, hoping to rebuild our lives there.
We were poor now, it was true, but we had been lucky to escape the destruction, having been in Mali at the time of the disaster.
The Great Catastrophe lasted only a second, and yet... 72% of the world's countries were wiped off the map.
There is only one continent left untouched: Africa, and a few ruined lands scattered here and there.
Japan is sadly one of these remnants. From Tokyo westward, the country is largely destroyed. A shattered territory, just like our daily lives.
Faced with this unprecedented event, the world has been awash in speculation. Some are talking about an alien invasion 👽, others about a natural phenomenon.
There are even voices that speak of top secret military experimentation.
But the consequences go far beyond the initial shock. Humans have begun to develop powers linked to words. One word, one power:
"Fire," "fire," "nare" (fire in Arabic)… No matter the language, if the word chooses you, then it becomes your essence. Creating, manipulating, embodying: the connection is real, even if the effects vary.
And as if that weren't enough, strange creatures emerged. Beings previously unknown, prowling the ruins of the world. To confront them, hunter guilds were formed.This work attracts the bravest... or the most desperate. It's dangerous, but incredibly profitable.
Me? I wanted to be a hunter. I'm willing to risk my life. But my word... I still haven't found it.
September 28, 2013. The day I turned 7.
It wasn't the catastrophe that marked my life that day, but something much more personal: I lost my only best friend. Not in a cataclysm,
nor in a conflict... but in a simple road accident. An ordinary end, in a world that had become extraordinary.
The years have passed. My father remarried. And here I am, the big brother of an adorable little sister. If you only knew... she's so cute. My father found a job, but I still don't know exactly what he does. He keeps it a secret. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Aki, my sister is Loa, and my friend mentioned above is Kenji. Today, I'm 17. She's 9. And me... I'm getting ready to take my baccalaureate. Even if, honestly, I don't really see the point. I'm a student at Sora High School, nestled in the old districts of Tokyo. That day, exhaustion weighed on me, born from the monotony of classes and the calm rhythm of a silent autumn. On the way back from school, with every step, the rustling of maple leaves resonates like a memory that one can't forget
The streets, bathed in the subdued light of traditional lanterns, exude the discreet scent of incense diffused by local shops. The twilight, tender and melancholic, brushes the cobblestones with an almost unreal veil, giving the city a disturbing calm.
As I walk home, a figure stands out at the end of an alley. It seems to belong to the shadow itself. Yet, its appearance is strangely familiar to me. My heart can't help but project onto it the memory of Kenji, my childhood friend, the one who once embodied kindness.
<<<< Kenji! Wait for me! >>>
This cry is not his. It is my heart that invents it, in a foolish hope. Without thinking, I set off in pursuit of him, carried by the vertigo of the past. My breath mingles with the silence of the alleys as my steps sink into a labyrinth of narrow passages, where every corner seems to whisper
But just as my hand could almost brush against this shadow, a group of individuals emerges from the darkness. Uniforms with ancient patterns mixed with modern cuts... An authority that resembles neither the police nor the army. One thing is certain: they come from Japan, and their presence imposes silence and elegance.
I don't have time to understand; the air itself seems to hold its breath.
<
His fist sank into my abdomen, bending my body like a leaf in a storm.
Just before fainting, I had time to see that he was so filled with anger that he wanted to continue.
But luckily for me, two colleagues stopped him.
When I woke up, a pale light hit me. I was sitting in a low-ceilinged interrogation room, lit by the cold glow of a rice-paper ceiling light. The atmosphere was as austere as it was stifling. In front of me, a man whose authority was frozen in every gesture, in every silence.
I tried to explain, but my words broke before they could come out.
"I... I, someone was following... Kenji..."
I stammered, fear tightening my throat. My
Sentences collapse under the weight of the moment. Everything seems hollow, derisory, in a place where every word can seal my fate.
The interrogator stares at me. His gaze is a silent blade.
<<< Do you know why you're here? >>>
he asks, his voice smooth.
<<<< No... ma'am... well, sir... >>>
I stammer, my confusion betraying my insecurity.
His answer falls with surgical precision. << You disrupted a classified operation. Do you know what that entails? >>>
His voice is soft, but every syllable is a condemnation. I remain there, prisoner of my own actions, unable to escape the spiral I've set in motion. This room becomes a cruel mirror of my inexperience, a reflection of the unsuspected gravity of my act
As the information is distilled, I begin to understand: my impulsive pursuit of Kenji's figure—that shadow that crossed the alleys like a disguised memory—has drawn me into a situation beyond my control. A simple errand, a surge of the heart, has now endangered not only my life... but perhaps the precarious balance of Japan itself.
I sit there, frozen, as each word of the interrogator strikes like a verdict.
Obsessive questions forced themselves upon me:
In this silent flood, my thoughts raced. Who was this man I saw? Is Kenji alive? And above all... how am I going to get out of this quagmire?