The storehouse groaned as if the ancient timbers themselves feared what was happening inside.
Flame did not ignite in the usual way—it did not crawl along the wood or leap from the lantern. It erupted from Yoshiki himself. Ember veins spread like molten cracks across his forearms, glowing brighter with each ragged heartbeat. The air thickened, heat rolling outward in waves, pressing against Hikaru and Yuzuriha until their lungs burned.
"Yoshiki—!" Yuzuriha's voice cut through the roar, sharp with alarm.
But he could not answer. His body convulsed, chest heaving as though the fire inside had been caged for years and now clawed its way free. Sparks spat from his clenched fists, scattering across the dirt floor. The lantern's flame bent sideways, bowing toward him, as if compelled by some invisible force.
Hikaru shielded his eyes against the glare, teeth clenched. "He's burning alive…"
Yoshiki staggered forward, clutching at his chest, but the light only grew brighter. The old boards of the storehouse walls rattled as the pressure swelled, dust cascading from the rafters. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath—then the fire burst outward.
A ring of heat rippled from Yoshiki, blasting apart the rotting planks around them. The lantern shattered, drowned by the blaze. The entire storehouse erupted in light, a beacon cutting through the night sky.
From beyond the square, voices rose in panic. Villagers gasped as the abandoned ruin flared like a second sun. Soldiers on patrol shouted orders, rifles snapping into position as the glow drew their attention.
Inside the blaze, Yoshiki stood trembling. Flames coiled around his arms but did not consume him. His eyes, once dark, now burned with faint orange light. He lifted his head, and for the first time his voice did not waver—it thundered like the fire itself.
"I won't let them take us."
The earth itself seemed to quiver at the vow.
Hikaru stepped forward cautiously, shadows clinging to his heels despite the blaze. His voice was tight. "Yoshiki… can you control it?"
Yoshiki looked at his own hands. The fire bent with his movement, sparks flaring with every breath. His skin blistered beneath the heat, pain stabbing through his nerves, but he clenched his fists tighter. The fire obeyed—not fully, not yet—but enough.
Yuzuriha's eyes were wide, both in awe and dread. Her voice was steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Resonance…" she whispered. "This is it. The island's energy—it's awakened in you."
The sound of boots thundered closer. Shouts from the village grew sharper, soldiers cutting through the streets toward the burning ruin.
Hikaru turned his head, jaw set. "They're coming."
Yoshiki straightened, flames licking higher around his arms, his body trembling under the strain. The glow cast his face in sharp relief—young, furious, and already carrying the weight of something far greater than himself.
He stepped through the shattered doorway, the fire trailing him like a mantle. For the first time, the villagers saw him not as a boy, but as something else entirely—something that frightened them as much as it gave them hope.
The soldier's voice rang like a death sentence.
"Subject Takahiro Yoshiki, male, eighteen years old… resonance type: Pyrokinetic. Codename: Infernal Sovereign."
The words rolled across the square, carried by the hush of stunned silence.
The villagers, huddled in doorways and behind shutters, froze. Some pressed trembling hands to their mouths, others clutched children closer. They stared at Yoshiki as if they no longer recognized him.
"Infernal Sovereign…" someone whispered, the name heavy with dread.
The soldiers advanced in formation, rifles glinting in the firelight. But not a single one stepped forward to fire. The blaze had reshaped the night—every shadow danced with orange, every breath burned. They watched the boy who had become a furnace, as if approaching meant stepping into a volcano's maw.
Yoshiki stood tall in the doorway of the ruined storehouse, flames tracing his arms like veins of molten iron. Sweat slicked his brow, his body trembling with effort, but his eyes burned steady.
"This power…" he murmured to himself, voice cracking under the weight of both awe and terror. "It's mine… but it feels like it could swallow me whole."
Behind him, Hikaru emerged, shadows clinging stubbornly even against the light. He said nothing, but his stance was clear: ready to stand beside his friend, no matter what form he took.
Yuzuriha followed, clutching her notes to her chest, her sharp eyes already dissecting the phenomenon even as her heart pounded. She glanced at Yoshiki's blistered arms and thought, This power is killing him even as it saves us.
The crowd shifted. A woman cried out, half in fear, half in hope. An old man fell to his knees, muttering prayers to the island itself. Others stepped back, shaking their heads, as if a single spark might leap from Yoshiki and consume them all.
Then, from the line of soldiers, another order cut the tension like a blade.
"Do not fire. Hold formation. The Director will want this one alive."
The rifles lowered slightly, but their muzzles still tracked Yoshiki. The soldiers' boots stamped in unison, encircling the square with iron discipline.
Yoshiki's fists flared brighter, the heat rising in waves. He clenched his jaw. "Alive? Then let him come. I'm done hiding."
The villagers gasped at the defiance, but in Yoshiki's chest, the fire surged higher—as if the island itself heard his vow.
The night had changed forever.
And from the shadows beyond the torches, unseen by most, Director Shiga's cold eyes reflected the firelight. His lips curved into the faintest, merciless smile.