The year was 2197.
Humanity had learned to extract fire from the earth's core, to trap lightning in metal containers, to weaponize energy itself. But there was one thing it never learned—mercy.
Kiyohara meant "clean fields" in an old Japanese dialect. Nothing about it was clean anymore.
The city sprawled across three vertical levels. Above, where the wealthy breathed filtered air and conducted their corporate wars from glass towers that pierced the sky. In the middle, where machines churned endlessly and workers ground their lives away for wages that never quite fed their families. And below—the lower depths where people like Enjiro Aketsu suffocated beneath layers of concrete, metal, and despair.
Enjiro descended into Reactor Three every day.
Today felt no different. Or so he thought.
The maintenance tunnels were familiar to him like the scars on his body. The heat was unbearable. The air hung thick with the smell of steam and corroded metal. Massive pipes pulsed overhead like the veins of a dying organism, and everywhere, a faint red glow flickered like a failing heartbeat.
"Kaen, where are you?" A voice crackled through his comm unit—gruff, impatient.
"East corridor. Replacing valves," Enjiro replied without enthusiasm.
He had worked here for four years. Four years of grinding shifts, of friends disappearing and never returning, of radiation seeping through his suit like a patient poison. Four years watching people collapse, cough blood, then get discarded like broken machine parts.
Nobody asked about them.
The pressure readings had been strange all morning. Enjiro felt it—a faint vibration at first, then stronger. He looked up at the main conduits. The automated system in his suit began screaming warnings.
"Abnormal readings detected in the core sector. Immediate evacuation recommended."
Enjiro shrugged. "False alarm. Same as yesterday."
He'd grown used to the alerts. The safety systems were ancient, their sensors misfiring constantly. But this time felt different. The vibrations were intensifying.
Then he heard the scream.
A child's voice. Weak. Terrified.
Every muscle in Enjiro's body went rigid. He knew that voice—Taro. His younger brother. Started working here six months ago. Enjiro had tried to stop him, begged their mother not to let him take the job. But debts piled up, and the hospital treating their mother's cancer didn't care about pleas.
Quick money for dirty work. It was the only option.
"Taro!" Enjiro shouted and bolted in the opposite direction.
Every other worker was fleeing toward the exits. Enjiro ran toward the heat, toward the smoke, toward the screaming that wouldn't stop.
He found him trapped behind a steel door that refused to budge. The boy was small, soaked in sweat, his eyes drowning in fear. Behind him, the fire crept closer.
"Taro!" Enjiro dropped and grabbed the door with both hands. The metal was so hot it burned even through his suit. His skin scorched beneath.
"Brother!" Taro cried out. "You can't—"
"Come on!" Enjiro roared, pulling with everything he had. His muscles screamed. His blood pumped hard in his veins. The door wouldn't move.
"Hang on!" he desperately pulled again. "I've got you!"
Then the impossible happened.
The fire came.
Not ordinary flames. Something else entirely. Something white and pure and ancient. A surge of raw energy that erupted from the reactor core like a soul waking from an endless nightmare. It burned with a power that consumed reality itself.
And Enjiro was in its path.
He didn't think. Didn't calculate his odds. He simply opened his arms and stepped forward, shielding his brother.
"If you're hungry..." he whispered softly, "take me. Leave him."
The white fire consumed him.
He woke in darkness.
First thing he noticed—no pain. He expected to burn. Expected death. But all he felt was a strange coldness moving through his body, a heaviness, as if gravity itself had grown stronger.
He opened his eyes.
Ruins surrounded him. Twisted metal, jagged stone, portions of corridor still smoldering. He lifted his hand—no scars. No burns. His skin was pristine.
But different.
A faint glow pulsed beneath his skin, like fire burning from within but never consuming. It was strange. Unnatural.
He sat up slowly. His head ached. The memories were hazy. He tried to recall what had happened, but everything felt distant and blurred. All he remembered was the white fire and an ancient voice speaking to his soul.
Then he remembered.
Taro.
He looked around frantically. Found the boy lying beneath a light pile of debris. Not moving. Enjiro crawled toward him urgently, fear clawing at his chest.
But the boy was breathing. Warm. Alive.
"Taro!" Enjiro gently shook his shoulders. The boy's eyes fluttered open and he began to cough.
"Brother?" he whispered weakly.
"I'm here. You're safe now."
Enjiro wasn't sure if that was true. He didn't know what had happened, or how he'd survived. All he knew was that something inside him had changed fundamentally.
Above, emergency sirens wailed. Footsteps echoed. Rescue teams were approaching.
Enjiro lifted his brother and moved into the darkness—deeper into the tunnels, away from the lights, away from questions he couldn't answer.
In his chest, he felt the faint fire glow. It didn't hurt. Didn't burn. It was simply there, waiting.
And for the first time in his life, Enjiro Aketsu felt powerful.
End of Chapter 1: Ashes Rising