The faint aroma of pepper and soy sauce from the pan filled the Mendoza household. It lingered in the air, clinging to the wooden walls and mixing with the subtle, popcorn-like fragrance of freshly steamed rice.
The Mendoza family is among the many who reside in the prosperous kingdom of Aetherius, whose capital is Aether. However, they make their home in Ether, a small city known for its peaceful tranquility and rich natural surroundings, largely due to its small population.
Seven-year-old Genzai sat between his parents, his short legs dangling off the chair, unable to reach the floor. He grinned with all the innocence of a child as his mother, Shiro, leaned over with chopsticks in hand and carefully placed a slice of lettuce onto his bowl.
"Eat, Genzai," she said gently, her voice soft, melodic, carrying a warmth that wrapped around him like a soothing balm. "Does it taste good?"
"It taste yummy." He beamed, cheeks flushed from happiness, and obediently put the food into his mouth.
His father, Rin, sat across from them, chin propped on his hand, his dark eyes softened by the sight. He wasn't a man who smiled often. Being a police officer requires him to be more self-controlled and tough. His duty had hardened him, discipline sharpened him but when he looked at his family, all that melted. His heart filled with affection.
It was just another night. Another dinner. Another quiet reminder of how precious their ordinary moments could be. Even the smallest memories was truly important for the family.
Then..
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A sudden knock echoed through their whole house. Not a gentle knock. Not polite. Each thud landed like a violent blow.
The sound pierced through the warmth of the room, and silence followed. Shiro froze, chopsticks hovering in midair. Genzai blinked, chewing slowly, sensing the change. Rin pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape of wood against wood. His voice, calm but firm, pierce the quietness.
"Stay put," he said. His eyes never left the door. "I'll check who it is."
Shiro nodded once, her hand automatically reaching to steady Genzai, who had already stopped chewing. The boy's wide black eyes flicked between his parents. He didn't understand, but he could feel something shift. Something wrong.
Rin walked with careful steps toward the door, each foot was deliberate. He reached for the peephole, leaned slightly, and froze.
On the other side, illuminated by the dim porch light, stood a teenage boy. He looked almost ordinary... if not for the smile.
That smile who didn't reach the boy's eyes. A small twitch in his lips.
"Hi," the boy muttered. His voice was light, almost playful, but the lifelessness in his eyes told a different story. His grin was wide, stretched, unnatural. It radiated a malice that made Rin's stomach twist.
A chill ran through him. He had seen men like this before people twisted by their own hunger, their own hatred but never someone this young. A child. This one was different. This one wasn't here by accident. His instincts screamed louder than reason.
"Run!" Rin screamed, his voice loud and sharp. In the same motion, his hand slipped beneath his jacket, pulling free the black steel of a pistol.
Shiro reacted instantly. No hesitation. She grabbed Genzai by the arm, lifted him into her embrace, and run toward the basement.
BOOM!
The door shattered inward before Rin could even raise the gun, the wooden frame breaking into fragments as fire erupted across the entryway. The blast knocked Rin back, heat washing over him like a wave of hell itself.
Shiro didn't look back. Her arms clutched Genzai tight against her chest as she descended the narrow basement stairs.
"Mom!" Genzai cried, voice trembling, his small fingers gripping her blouse. "What's happening..?!"
Her footsteps were hurried, her breath heavy, but she forced herself to kneel once they reached the bottom. She looked into her son's eyes, forcing herself to be calm. Her hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears already forming.
"Everything will be alright, Genzai," she whispered, her tone tender, deliberate. "Your father and I will always protect you. Just stay here, okay?"
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead, her kiss lingering for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to imprint it into his very soul.
Genzai's chest ached. His throat tightened. He wanted to scream, to beg her not to go back up those stairs. But he didn't. He couldn't. His small voice failed him, leaving him only with silence and tears.
From the basement, he could already hear it, the fire spreading, the sharp crackling sound of wood devoured by flame. Smoke filled the air, harsh and bitter, stinging his nose.
His mother turned and ascended the stairs again. Every step she took was slower, heavier, as though her body knew it was walking toward its end. She couldn't let that cursed boy get to their son.
When she reached the top, her heart sank.
Rin was lying still on the ground. His gun was in his hand, his eyes were empty.
Her heart clenched, but there was no time to mourn.
The fire burned hotter now, shadows twisting in the orange light. The boy stood among the flames, smiling still, unharmed by the inferno he had done. His grin widened when he saw her.
Now it was her turn.
---
Below, Genzai pressed his back against the cold stone wall of the basement. His small hands clutched his knees to his chest, and his ears strained against the roar of fire above.
Run. Just stay here. Run. Just stay here.
He repeated the words like a fragile chant, clinging to them as though they were a rope holding him over an endless abyss. His parents' voices were all he had now. They were louder than the silence pressing down on him. Louder than the fire chewing through his home.
The basement was cold. Not the kind of cold that made you shiver, but the kind that burnt your bones, the kind that hollowed you out from the inside. The darkness hung heavy, swallowing the corners of the room until he could not tell where the walls ended.
Time no longer made sense. Had it been minutes? Hours? A day? His mind couldn't tell anymore. His thoughts looped endlessly, circling questions with no answers.
What's happening upstairs?
Is Dad okay? Is Mom okay?
Why did Dad tell us to run?
Why did Mom tell me to stay?
What's going to happen to them… while I wait here?
The questions burned, each one striking harder than the last, until his chest felt ready to burst. He wanted to run upstairs. He wanted to hold them, to scream, to fight. But he didn't. He couldn't.
He trusted them.
He trusted the fear in his mother's eyes. He trusted the firmness in his father's voice. He trusted that they were right, that staying here was the only way he would live.
So he stayed. Frozen.
Maybe they'll come back. Maybe they're just trying to protect me. Maybe…
His breath hitched. He pressed both palms against his chest, feeling the erratic drum of his heart.
Inhale. Exhale. Again and again.
He was seven years old, alone in a basement, clinging desperately to the last words his parents had given him.