The two-storey shophouse loomed ahead, its upper windows vomiting black smoke into the golden evening sky.
Jack sprinted toward the entrance, the heat hitting him like a wall. The glass door hung ajar, its frame blackened and warped. Smoke billowed out in heavy gusts, but the interior wasn't yet fully swallowed. Coughing against the thickening air, Jack braced himself and pushed inside.
The world narrowed to heat, smoke, and the roar of flames. Visibility was low, but not yet hopeless. Acrid smoke seared his lungs, and Jack instinctively yanked up the hem of his T-shirt to cover his mouth and nose. It was the peak of summer, and he was dressed lightly—just a T-shirt and cargo shorts, his skin prickling under the oppressive heat.
"Not too bad," he muttered under his breath. A lie.
For a moment, memory surged—the searing, all-consuming fire of the dragon's breath, the agony so complete it had obliterated thought itself. His heart stumbled in his chest. Jack clenched his teeth and shook his head hard. Not now. Focus.
The ground floor stretched out before him, a narrow boutique choked with toppled shelves and scattered goods. Purses, clothing racks, and splintered wood formed treacherous obstacles in the haze. Shadows twisted against the flickering light. Staying low, Jack moved quickly, instinctively crouching where the air was clearer. Around him, his aura flared faintly—a thin, unseen shield, dampening the worst of the heat against his bare skin.
It wasn't much, but it offered some minor protection. If only he had mastered the higher stages—then his aura would have been stronger. For now, it was little more than a thin shield, barely enough to keep the worst of the heat at bay.
Above him, the wood groaned and cracked under the fire's weight.
The second floor.
That was where the boy was trapped. He had to move—fast.
Jack's head snapped toward the back of the store, where a narrow staircase clung to the left-hand wall. Flames were already licking down from the upper floor, crawling hungrily toward the top of the stairs. If he hesitated, the path would be lost.
Without a second thought, Jack sprinted toward the staircase, weaving around fallen debris. As he reached the first step, a beam from the ceiling above gave way and crashed to the floor behind him with a deafening thud. He barely flinched, his focus narrowing to the path ahead.
He took the stairs two at a time, the railing scorching hot under his palm. Jack pressed on, heart hammering in his ears, the fire's roar growing louder with every step.The staircase creaked and groaned under Jack's weight. For a split second, he thought he felt it sway.
Halfway up, another chunk of burning debris tumbled down from above. Jack ducked instinctively, his aura flaring with a sharp hiss as it absorbed the brunt of the heat. His skin was spared, but he caught the acrid scent of scorched fabric—his t-shirt was singed across the shoulder.
He pressed on, heart hammering, the roar of the fire growing louder with every step.
It was worse on the second floor. The heat was blistering. Visibility was almost zero. He could barely see a few feet ahead through the churning smoke.
Jack stepped past a patch of burning floorboards at the landing, staying low to the ground where the air was clearer. He scanned the upper floor quickly, eyes stinging. The flames hadn't swallowed everything—yet. The worst of the fire seemed to be at the back, where the kitchen likely was, judging by the metallic counters he glimpsed through the haze. Flames were already crawling across the ceiling.
To his left, near the kitchen, he spotted a bathroom door. To his right, a hallway stretched toward two rooms.
Jack hesitated, his mind racing.
Where's the kid?
"Hello?! I'm here to help! If you can hear me, call out!" he shouted, his voice rough against the smoke.
He waited, straining to hear over the crackle of fire. Nothing answered but the hungry roar of flames. Jack called out again, this time focusing his mana into his senses, sharpening his hearing.
There—faint but unmistakable—the soft, muffled sound of sobbing.
It was coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway.
Jack pressed forward, each step heavier than the last as waves of scorching air battered his exposed skin. The walls radiated heat like open furnaces. Somewhere outside, sirens wailed faintly, growing louder, but Jack knew he couldn't afford to wait.
The air was so thick it felt like breathing through a wet cloth. His eyes watered from the smoke, his vision blurring at the edges. Gritting his teeth, he dropped to his hands and knees, crawling low where the air was marginally cooler. His palms scraped against the blistering floorboards, rough with splinters and dust.
Every breath was a battle. The smoke curled down his throat, bitter and acrid, making his lungs seize. His hand brushed along the cracked plaster of the wall, following it like a lifeline through the blinding haze.
His fingers found a door. Jack shoved it open with his shoulder, the warped wood sticking for a moment before giving way.
Inside, the room was a murky grey, dense with choking smoke but untouched by fire. The floor was cluttered with overturned furniture and scattered toys. Jack squinted through the haze—and there, under a scorched but intact table, he spotted a small figure. A boy, curled up tightly, coughing hard, his body trembling with fear.
Jack moved in quickly, his footsteps muffled against the floor.
"Hey, buddy," Jack called, keeping his voice calm despite the urgency pounding in his chest. "I'm a firefighter. I'm here to help, alright?"
The boy's wide, tear-streaked eyes locked onto Jack's. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he nodded, a hoarse cough escaping him. Relief flickered across his soot-smudged face.
But they weren't safe yet—not even close. The smoke was getting thicker by the second, the air hotter and more oppressive.
Jack quickly scanned the room. No immediate flames, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. The heat from the hallway was already beginning to bleed inside. He grabbed a blanket from the scorched bed, shaking off the dust and ash, and wrapped it tightly around the boy's small frame.
"I've got you now. Stay calm and hold on tight, okay?"
The boy nodded again, wrapping his tiny arms around Jack's neck as Jack hoisted him up. The child's body was warm and trembling against him, and Jack could feel the seconds ticking away in the heat.
Jack didn't hesitate. He turned and bolted back the way he'd come—only to find the fire had spread, devouring the ceiling in a writhing blanket of flame. Heat lashed at his exposed skin, the air so thick with smoke it scraped his throat raw with every breath. The staircase was nearly swallowed by the inferno, its outline flickering like a dying beacon. Above him, debris rained down; to his left, a windowpane shattered, the explosion of glass drowned by the fire's roar.
His gaze snapped to the window.
Second floor. A survivable drop—maybe.
But as he took a step toward it, an icy unease coiled in his chest. His vision blurred, the edges warping as if the very air resisted him—
"Jump, Jack!"
The voice was a ghost in his skull—his predecessor's father, a memory that didn't belong to him. His breath hitched. For a heartbeat, his muscles locked, torn between instincts: the firefighter's trained reflex to flee and the warrior's grit to stand firm.
No.
He clenched his jaw. That past wasn't his. So why did it feel like his lungs remembered the smoke, his hands the weight of a phantom axe?
Mana surged through him, sharpening his sight. The world snapped into focus—just long enough to spot a gap in the flames, a sliver of crumbling stairs still passable. His aura flickered around him, a second skin against the heat, but the drain was brutal. Every second burned through his reserves like kindling.
There.
The ceiling groaned. A beam split with a crack like a gunshot, spraying embers. No time left.
Jack sprinted straight into the fire.
His team would've called him suicidal. Good thing they weren't here to watch him prove them right.
Hell, he might've agreed—if not for the quiet certainty in his bones. The boy's weight in his arms, the way his predecessor's muscle memory guided his footing over collapsing steps. Logic said they'd die. But Jack had survived worse.
He'd survive this.
Jack hurled himself through the gap—no hesitation, no second guess.
Do or die.
Flames clawed at him, heat searing through his aura's thinning shield as embers singed his sleeves where the magic frayed. The boy in his arms whimpered, the sound a knife-twist in his ribs.
The staircase shuddered. Steps groaned, then buckled beneath him.
Faster.
His lungs burned—not from smoke, but from the foreign ache of this body's limits. Muscles coiled with a firefighter's trained precision before launching forward, his sprint explosive as a starter's gun.
For half a step, his legs moved with someone else's memory—then he was airborne, taking the stairs three at a time as wood splintered under his shoes. His shield flickered dangerously, the drain like a live wire under his skin.
Caution didn't matter. Survival did.
The staircase gave way beneath them.
The boy's scream tore through the roar of flames as they plummeted. For one gut-wrenching second, Jack felt weightless—then the world slammed back into him as they crashed onto the lower floor. He twisted mid-air, taking the impact on his side, the boy cradled against his chest.
Crack.
A rib? Maybe. But they'd been close enough to the ground that the fall hadn't killed them. Yet.
Air burst from Jack's lungs as he skidded across debris. Smoke and sparks swirled around him, his vision swimming. He forced his mind clear—assess, adapt—even as his body protested. A cough ripped through him, his mouth filling with the taste of ash and copper.
"Boy. Look at me." He peeled back the blanket. The child's eyes were glazed with shock, but alive.
Then—agony. A searing brand across his back as burning timber pinned him. His aura flared, sputtered—almost gone—before he heaved the wreckage aside with a snarl. The movement tore fresh fire through his ribs.
Visibility: almost zero. The exit: swallowed by flame. Sirens wailed closer, but Jack knew better than to wait. Fire didn't negotiate.
Gritting his teeth, he wrenched mana through his limbs. Strength surged—and with it, a vise-grip around his heart. His veins burned as if filled with molten lead. Overdrawing. He'd pay for this later.
If there was a later.
"Hold on!" he barked to the boy—then charged blind into the inferno.
Jack burst through the exit, sunlight slamming into him like a physical blow. The summer heat felt cold compared to the hell he'd just escaped. He gulped down air, his lungs seizing with coughs that tore black sputum from his throat.
Out. Safe.
His legs gave out. Knees cracked against concrete, pain radiating up his thighs, but he barely felt it.
"Jack!"
A voice—familiar, but blurred by adrenaline—shouted his name. Hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him.
"My God, what were you thinking?!"
Jack blinked through watering eyes as another pair of arms peeled the boy from his grasp.
"We've got him, Jack. It's over."
A woman's face swam into focus—an EMT, her mouth tight with worry. Behind her, a scream:
"Micah!"
The boy's mother crashed into them, her hands fluttering over her son's soot-streaked face. A gasping laugh punched its way out of Jack's chest.
Alive. They were alive. He did it. He saved—
"You're laughing? This isn't fucking funny!"
Jack tilted his head up. A firefighter loomed over him, in full bunker gear, piercing blue eyes blazing beneath his helmet.
Should I know him?
Jack's muddled brain supplied.
What's his—
Another coughing fit bent him double. The firefighter cursed, hauling him upright with a jerk.
"Jesus. Let's get you checked before you die on me, you idiot."