At first, the sound was soft, like the faint hiss of a spark burning out. Lucas turned in his sleep, half-dreaming of the fireworks that had filled the sky only an hour ago. The smell should have been smoke from the festival, but it was thicker now, bitter and stinging.
He coughed and opened his eyes. The ceiling glowed a faint red. For a heartbeat he thought the sunrise had come early. Then the heat reached him. Heavy. Wrong.
He sat up sharply, pushing the blanket aside. The air was dense and dry. Smoke crept through the crack beneath his door. He swallowed hard and tried to call out.
"Miss Aya?"
His voice was thin against the noise outside. Something creaked in the hall, a low groan of wood bending under strain.
He ran to the door. The handle scorched his hand. He wrapped his sleeve around it and pulled. Smoke rushed in as soon as the door opened. The hallway burned in patches of orange light. Flames climbed the wallpaper like vines. Streamers from the New Year's celebration fluttered before catching fire one by one.
"Miss Aya!" he shouted again. No reply.
The heat pressed against his skin as he ran. Somewhere beyond the stairwell, a child screamed. Lucas followed the sound, coughing as he went.
He found two of the younger children crouched by the stairs, clutching each other and crying. The floor beneath them groaned as the fire spread through the beams.
"Come on," he said, pulling them up. "We need to go."
They followed, eyes wide with terror. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. The living room was already gone. Furniture had collapsed in on itself. Curtains melted into dripping ribbons. The doorway was a wall of fire.
He tried again. "Aya! Can you hear me?"
Only the crackling of wood answered him.
Something small lay on the floor near the kitchen door. He rushed forward, praying it was her. It wasn't. It was one of the older boys, his face pale beneath a layer of soot. Lucas lifted him, half dragging him toward the entrance.
The front door waited only a few steps away. He kicked it once. It did not move. He slammed his shoulder into it, over and over, until his arms shook. The handle glowed red. Smoke filled his lungs.
Behind him, one of the smaller children began to cry. "It hurts," the boy whispered.
"I know," Lucas said, his voice trembling. "Stay behind me. Keep your heads down."
He guided them toward the nearest window. The glass had darkened with soot. He grabbed a chair and struck it. The frame cracked but did not break. He tried again until splinters flew from the seat and blood streaked his hands.
He coughed and staggered. His vision swam. The air was too thick to breathe. He turned back toward the hallway, desperate for another way.
Then he heard them.
Voices, clear through the roar. Calm. Almost gentle.
"Blame yourselves for being weak."
The words froze him in place. They came from outside, somewhere above the roof.
"Blame God for giving out Sacred Gears."
He stared upward through the smoke but saw nothing beyond the flames. The voices faded, swallowed by the heat.
He turned back to the children. "Stay close," he said, forcing the words out through the coughing. "We'll find another way."
The hallway ahead had begun to collapse. The ceiling split, throwing sparks in a wave. The oldest girl reached out to him, but the fire found her first. The flames caught her dress before he could move. She screamed once, the sound sharp and short. The others tried to run, but the fire spread faster than he could see.
He reached for them, shouting their names, but the heat drove him back. In seconds, the hallway was gone, replaced by a solid curtain of fire. Their cries vanished into it.
He stumbled backward, his chest heaving, the world flickering in red and black. He could not think. He could not feel anything but the heat.
Somewhere above the roar, another voice spoke.
"Kokabiel will be pleased."
The name burned itself into his mind. He did not know who it was, only that it sounded final, like a sentence being passed.
He turned toward the doorway one last time. The roof groaned. He moved without thought, reaching for something deep inside, something that had flickered once before. The air shimmered faintly, bending the light around him for a single breath. The heat dulled, the flames hesitated. For that heartbeat, he thought he had done it.
Then the shimmer broke. The fire roared back, alive again.
It crawled along the floor toward him, slow at first, then all at once. The nearest wall fell inward. He raised his arms in front of his face as the fire surrounded him completely.
For a moment, he felt nothing but warmth and weight.
Then everything went white.