A Message in the Fire - I
Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap
A rhythmic tapping of shoes echoed through the school corridor, bouncing off the walls in hurried urgency.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no-I'm going to be late! No, no, I have to hurry. Oi, my feet, heed my words and carry me faster!" Heh, as if that would work. Even now, I'm being so dramatic... and now I'm talking to myself.
Muttering under his breath, he quickened his pace, finally slipping into his classroom just in time.
--
As the classroom door creaked open, a wave of chitter-chatter came to an abrupt halt. Every head turned toward the entrance, curiosity flickering in their eyes. The boy who stepped in, however, was utterly unremarkable-the kind of face that blended into a crowd yet never quite disappeared. His uniform was neatly
pressed, his shoes polished just enough to reflect the dull school lights-a silent testament to his quiet obedience.His hair, a nondescript shade that wavered between deep brown and black depending on the light, was cut just above his ears-never too long, never too short, always within the school's regulations. His eyes, dark and steady, held a subtle attentiveness, a quiet sharpness-not of defiance, but of curiosity and calculation.
He spoke only when spoken to, walked always with a purpose or goal, and rarely questioned authority-but he always questioned the world around him.
--
The school day passed uneventfully. After classes, he had to visit the convenience store for his part-time job and later attend his tuition sessions. But today, the teacher had given him an extra task-sorting through stacks of test papers and categorizing them.
After finishing his assigned work, he finally made his way to the convenience store. Then came tuition. The day dragged on, exhaustion settling in his bones. But as the hours ticked by, an odd sensation crept up his arm-a faint burning on the back of his right hand, like something was being engraved into his skin.
By the time he reached home, the pain had intensified. He wanted to scream but held it in. Rushing through the door, he stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the tap with trembling fingers.
His hand-his entire hand-was glowing red, like a piece of iron fresh from the forge.
The pain finally broke through his restraint, and he let out a sharp cry. Cold water splashed against his burning skin, sizzling against the invisible heat. Slowly, the sensation faded, leaving behind... a mark.
A fire emblem, seared into the back of his hand.
--
Despite the lingering sting, exhaustion weighed heavier on his mind. He dragged himself to his room, barely managing to reach his bed. As he moved to drop his arm, his fingers accidentally brushed against a candle-And it lit up.
His breath caught in his throat. His mind scrambled for an explanation.
"What the hell was that?! Am I hallucinating from exhaustion? Or... did I really just light the candle without a lighter?"
He tried to reason with himself, but before he could fully process the event, something even stranger occurred.
A letter-wreathed in thin, flickering fire-appeared out of nowhere.
It floated beside his nightstand, suspended in all its fiery glory. Despite himself, curiosity stirred within him. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward. The flames didn't burn,
didn't scorch the paper. And then, words of fire materialized across its surface:
"Acceptance is not submission. To accept is to understand-but to defy is to evolve."
His eyes widened. He didn't understand a word.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the letter vanished.
--
That entire fiasco drained whatever strength he had left. He collapsed onto the floor, grabbed a pillow, and,without another thought, fell asleep-like a bear retreating into hibernation.
Tomorrow, he would question everything.
But for now... sleep.