Akio, clinging to everyone with the last of his strength, suddenly heard a faint voice pierce through the chaos of quakes and screams.
A child's voice—hoarse, soaked in tears.
He turned sharply and saw a small body trapped beneath a broken piece of wooden roof among the collapsing debris.
The little girl was crying and screaming, her eyes wide, her hands reaching into the air as if grasping for life itself.
In that instant, the world around him shrank. He could hear nothing but her voice.
His heart clenched, and he rushed toward her without thinking.
He let go of everyone's hands, as if instinct had overpowered fear.
His mother screamed, and his father reached out to grab him but couldn't.
"Akio! Noooo!"
Her voice was swallowed by the roar of another collapse.
He didn't hear them—didn't think of anything.
All he could see was the crying girl under the wreckage, blood covering her face.
He ran through the dust and shaking ground, ignoring his father's angry shout and his sister's terrified eyes.
Only one thought filled his mind:
"I have to save her… even if I die."
Akio moved through the chaos with surprising agility. His body reacted on its own, driven purely by instinct.
He leapt over shattered planks, reached out in a swift motion, and tore away the debris trapping the girl.
Sparks of lightning burst from his body unconsciously, scorching the fallen wood the moment it touched him.
He lifted the rubble in one motion, pulled her free into his arms, and carried her away from danger.
The girl sobbed violently, clutching his shirt, but he smiled despite the blood running down his hand.
"Run… hurry!"
His voice came out hoarse, but gentle.
Inside him, fear burned—but not for himself.
It was something heavier, a chaotic sense of duty, as if the whole world had placed its weight on his shoulders.
Then the earth betrayed him.
In one violent tremor, a massive fissure split the ground beneath his family.
Akio froze in horror as they began to fall amidst the dust and screams.
His mother fell first—her hand outstretched toward him, her face streaked with dirt, her voice fading as darkness swallowed her.
Murasaki stumbled near the pit, clinging to the edge with both hands, her body dangling in the void, legs kicking helplessly.
His father, Fanko, roared her name as he tried to reach her, but the ground moved like a living beast beyond control.
As soon as Akio grasped what he was seeing, he sprinted with all his strength toward them, the air trembling around him, his eyes wide with terror.
"Dad! Mom! Murasakiiii!!!"
But his voice was lost amid the crashing earth. He couldn't reach them.
He couldn't grab a single one.
He stopped halfway, trapped between rubble, dust, and emptiness.
His knees shook. Tears streamed down his face despite his effort to hold them back.
He stretched his hand toward the gaping void, gasping for breath, lightning sparking across his body from the surge of emotion.
"Come back… please… Mom… please!"
But there was no sound. No movement.
Only darkness—deep and devouring—swallowing everything, including a part of Akio's own heart.
Murasaki clung to the crumbling edge with bloodied fingers, her breath ragged, arms trembling with pain.
The earth beneath her kept eroding, dust choking her as she screamed in raw agony she had never felt before.
"Akiooooo!!"
Her voice was filled with terror.
When Akio saw her, his heart clenched hard.
He didn't think. He didn't measure the distance or the danger.
He ran with the last of his balance, blood dripping from the hand he'd injured saving the girl.
The ground split open behind him as he ran, but he didn't care.
When Murasaki's hands finally slipped, a scream tore through the air.
Before she vanished into the pit, Akio leapt toward her, stretching his arm as far as he could—and caught her wrist at the last moment.
His body lurched forward violently, his knee slamming into the cracked earth, but he held on with every ounce of strength he had left.
"Hold on! Don't let go of my hand!"
Her tears mixed with dust as she screamed,
"Akio… I can't… the ground is collapsing!"
Akio tightened his grip, every muscle in his arm straining, his body shaking under the pressure.
Murasaki's nails scraped against the shattered rock, her body half-hanging in the air, half-fighting to stay alive.
"Akio… let me go! It's no use!"
But Akio didn't answer. He didn't even have time to speak. His teeth were clenched, and sweat mixed with the blood running down his arm as he pulled her up in deadly silence. He felt his bones might shatter, yet in one pure moment of defiance, all the pain, anger, and fear turned into a single scream bursting from his chest as he yanked her up with brutal strength, their bodies slamming against the ground.
For a moment, Akio lay there, his chest heaving violently, his arm still trembling from holding Murasaki. He slowly closed his eyes, his energy fading.
While the earth quaked beneath him, far away, the sea was devouring everything in its path. On that island, there was no time for thought or fear. Even the air had grown heavy, forcing the lungs to fight for every breath.
On a slanted surface of rubble, a red-haired boy was trying only to stay alive. His boots were soaked in mud, the cold biting into his skin. His eyes scanned the ground—not searching for random survival, but for a pattern, something he could cling to amid the chaos.
He leapt over a shattered window, pushed across the slanted roof of a half-sunken house, then onto a floating wooden plank. Every jump was calculated. Every move had purpose.
He thought to himself:
The flood's faster than I expected… If I stay at this height, I'll drown with the first backwave. The west side's clearer—natural elevation there.
He jumped again, braced against a tilted wall, and took a quick breath while analyzing.
Thirty seconds should be enough to reach the next ledge.
But he didn't see the slick debris beneath his foot. His right leg slipped, his balance vanished, and he plunged straight into the heart of the flood. His body hit the cold water hard, and fierce currents wrapped around him, dragging him down before he could take a full breath.
He moved fast, trying to swim upward, but the current was stronger than he thought. He opened his eyes underwater—dust and mud filled his vision, the sea turned into liquid earth. He kicked his legs, but didn't rise. He swallowed a mouthful of water. Then another. He coughed hard even below the surface, his chest burning, his body heavy.
He pushed harder, thrashing despite the exhaustion, forcing himself upward with every ounce of strength left. Finally—his head broke the surface, gasping and coughing violently.
He floated for a few seconds, scanning desperately for something to hold onto. But he wasn't afraid. He was angry. Angry at himself for falling. Angry because survival today was no longer about skill… but luck.
As he kept himself afloat, his eyes caught something amid the chaos—a small patch of land that the flood hadn't yet swallowed. In the middle of it lay a little boy, motionless. His tiny body was half-buried in mud, blood spilling from where his right arm and leg had been torn away.
The boy didn't move. But what froze the red-haired teen in place was what hung above the child—a massive piece of wreckage, a broken roof sliding from a collapsing building, about to crash straight down on him. Time was short. A second, maybe less. Instinct moved faster than thought.
His eyes widened, his left hand lifted above the water before he'd even steadied himself. A burst of flame shot from his palm, fast and precise. It sliced through the wet air, striking the wreckage just before it hit the child. The wood exploded instantly, burning to ash midair. The charred fragments rained harmlessly around the boy.
The teen exhaled sharply, chest trembling from the effort. But silence didn't last. The flood rose again. The water crept toward the boy, touching his limbs, then lifting him slowly—his small body began to drift away, sinking, soundless and still.
The teen's eyes widened further. He saw it all unfold in a single second. He could have turned back. He could have told himself it was too late. But he didn't. His jaw tightened, breath hissed through his teeth, and then he surged forward with everything he had left.
"You idiot… risking everything again. Why can't you just save yourself?!"
He swam against the current, but an image burned into his mind—another child, same age, in a city burning under bombardment. That child's voice had screamed back then:
'Dan!!! Please don't leave me!!! Brotheeeeer!!!'
That memory had never faded.
That child was me…
He dove without hesitation, disappearing beneath the waves—as if choosing to drown first rather than let another child die alone as he once had. He grabbed the boy tight, his arm wrapping around the frail body.
The sound of rushing water was muffled in his ears, but another sound pierced through it—a voice from his memories:
'Keeeeen!! Run, my son!!'
He froze for a second. That voice… he knew it. A voice he hadn't heard in years, carved into his mind no matter how hard he'd tried to forget. And in that moment, for the first time amid the chaos, his name was spoken—Ken.
He gripped the child tighter, kicking hard with his injured shoulder screaming in pain. His lungs burned, but the boy—bleeding, limbless, eyes closed—was still alive.
When Ken finally broke the surface, he gasped, then swam silently toward the nearest piece of land. Suddenly, a small hand wrapped weakly around his shoulder. Despite the bleeding and exhaustion, the child was still holding on. Still alive.
That was how Ken survived.
And how he began carrying someone else's life.