Kazou plunged into the smoke-choked street, the heat blistering against his face. Flames licked up the sides of shops and tenements, swallowing wood and plaster with ravenous hunger. The firelight carved the city into a nightmare of gold and black, shadows stretching long and jagged across cobblestones slick with broken glass.

  People ran everywhere—mothers clutching children, old men staggering with canes, neighbors dragging buckets of water too small to matter. Their screams mingled with the crackle of fire and the barks of Nowak’s men, who hurled torches into open windows and shouted like zealots at war.

  Kazou’s lungs seized in the smoke, but he forced himself forward, weaving into the tide of people. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer urgency boiling through his veins. Don’t think. Move.

  He grabbed the arm of an elderly man who had frozen in the middle of the street, his eyes glassy in the glow.

  “This way!” Kazou urged in Polish, tugging him toward the alley.

  The man resisted, muttering something about his wife and his shop.

  "I-I- My shop- F-for m-my w-wife..."

  Kazou’s chest burned as he shook him gently, his voice raw.

  “Please! You’ll die here! You have to escape, sir!"

  A crack split the night—a window burst as fire bloomed inside. The heat pushed them back. Kazou wrapped the man’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him into the alley, ignoring the searing pain slicing through his ribs.

  He barely had time to breathe before another scream tore across the street. A woman staggered from a doorway, clutching a toddler to her chest, her other child—a boy of six—lagging behind, coughing hard. A torch arced through the air and shattered against the doorframe, the flames leaping instantly. The boy froze, his small hands clutching his knees.

  “Move!” Kazou bellowed. He rushed across, ignoring the shouts of the arsonists. He scooped the boy into his arms, the child’s coughs rattling against his shirt. “Go! Go to the outer branch of the district! That way!” he urged the mother, who nodded frantically, clutching her toddler tighter.

  A shot rang out. Stone splintered near Kazou’s feet.

  One of Nowak’s men spotted him, shouting in Polish: “It’s him! The scientist!”

  Kazou’s heart lurched, but he didn’t stop. He shoved the boy into his mother’s arms and pointed down the street. “Don’t look back!”

  The man raised his pistol again, but the crowd surged between them, civilians screaming and running in every direction. Kazou ducked low, pulling himself into the cover of a doorway. His breath rasped. His vision swam from smoke. But there was no time.

  A stairwell collapsed nearby, the wooden beams crumbling in a spray of sparks. From inside the burning building, Kazou heard pounding fists and muffled voices screaming. He staggered toward the sound. He threw his weight into the warped door—it didn’t budge. He coughed hard, choking, then spotted a metal rod near the gutter. He jammed it into the frame, prying with everything his body had left. The door finally snapped, and smoke billowed out like a tidal wave.

  Three people stumbled through—an old woman and two teenagers. Their clothes were scorched, their faces black with soot. The old woman collapsed immediately, hacking violently. Kazou dropped to his knees beside her, tilting her head back, forcing air into her lungs. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening for breath. A faint wheeze—still alive. Relief surged through him.

  “Help her! Take her out!” he ordered the teenagers, who blinked at him in shock before obeying, dragging her toward the street.

  Kazou remained in the doorway, swaying, the firelight dancing across his eyes. The heat tore at his skin, the smoke clawed at his throat. He knew he was being hunted. He knew Nowak’s men were scouring the district for him. Yet the thought didn’t stop him.

  Another scream cut through the inferno. A child this time—shrill, terrified.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Kazou’s pulse thundered in his ears as he forced his battered body forward, into the fire again.

  The stairwell groaned above him as Kazou stumbled deeper into the burning building. Flames clawed up the wallpaper, chewing through beams, showering embers across the floor. He shielded his face with his sleeve, squinting through the smoke.

  The scream came again—higher, raw. A little girl, no older than seven, crouched in the corner beneath a collapsed beam. Her ankle was twisted beneath the rubble, her small hands bloody where she’d tried to push it free.

  Kazou dropped to his knees beside her. “It’s okay—it’s okay!” His voice broke, but he forced steadiness into it. He wedged his shoulder against the beam, biting down hard as he pushed. Pain ripped through his ribs, white-hot, but the wood shifted just enough. He yanked her leg free and pulled her into his arms.

  Her face pressed against his chest, wet with tears. “Mama—!” she sobbed.

  Kazou’s heart tore. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

  He staggered toward the doorway with her clutched against him—only to freeze.

  A figure blocked the exit.

  One of Nowak’s men stood in the ruined doorway, torch in one hand, pistol in the other. His face was streaked with soot and sweat, but his eyes burned with fanatic light. He sneered when he saw Kazou holding the girl.

  “There you are,” the man spat in Polish. “The traitor doctor. Casimir was right—you can’t resist saving the useless.” He jabbed the pistol at Kazou’s chest. “Put her down. Leave her to the flames. Or you both burn.”

  Kazou’s blood ran cold, but his grip on the girl only tightened. His breath rasped in the smoke, his chest trembling with every inhale. Yet his voice, when it came, was quiet, hoarse, but unyielding.

  “No.”

  The man blinked. “What?”

  Kazou’s eyes shone, fever-bright in the firelight. “She’s not useless. None of them are. You think burning them will bring Casimir? You’re wrong. You’re only killing the innocent.”

  The zealot’s lips curled into a grin. He raised the torch high, as if to crown himself in flame. “NO! NO! NO! NOWAK IS RIGHT! Casimir is coming! The weak will burn, and the worthy will rise with him! ?ródmie?cie will be our altar!” His voice cracked into a scream, veins bulging in his neck. “Put her down, or die with her!”

  The girl whimpered against Kazou’s chest, clutching at his shirt.

  Kazou’s heart pounded, but he kept his gaze locked on the man. He thought of all the people he had failed,

  Rose, Dr Fujino, Nine, Ten, Four...

  all the times he had turned away. Not tonight. Not this child.

  Kazou's voice came steady now, like a vow whispered to himself as much as to the zealot.

  “Then I’ll die with her.”

  The fanatic snarled and raised the pistol—

  But a beam overhead cracked, snapping like a gunshot. The ceiling collapsed between them in an explosion of sparks and flame.

  Kazou shielded the girl with his body, rolling onto the scorched floor. Heat seared his skin, but he clutched her tight, covering her head with his arms.

  When the smoke cleared, the zealot was gone—buried beneath burning timber.

  Kazou coughed violently, his chest heaving, then staggered to his feet with the child still in his arms. His vision swam, black at the edges. He forced himself forward, step after step, until he stumbled back into the street, the firelight blazing around him.

  The girl sobbed against his shoulder, alive.

  Civilians gasped as he emerged, soot-stained, bleeding, but carrying her like something holy. Someone rushed to take her from his arms, thanking him in rapid Polish. Kazou swayed, nearly collapsing, but managed to wave them toward safety.

  Behind him, the building gave way, fire roaring up into the night sky.

  "Karla!" A woman cried, running up to Kazou and the child. "My daughter!"

  Kazou smiled gently and put the little girl into the woman's arms.

  "Thank you! Xie Xie! Arigato!" The woman bowed, unsure how to properly address Kazou.

  ***

  The firestorm raged behind him, swallowing whole streets in a roar of collapsing beams and shattering glass. Kazou’s chest burned, every breath like knives. His legs felt hollow, leaden, but he forced them to move—one step, then another, pushing through the chaos as the survivors poured toward the edge of the district.

  Soot streaked his skin, and blood crusted at his temple. The girl he’d saved had already been carried away by her mother, lost in the tide of fleeing civilians. Their cries blended into the night, a chorus of grief and relief all at once.

  Kazou didn’t stop to watch them vanish. He couldn’t. He turned from the crowd, breaking away, sprinting alone into the smoke-stained streets that sloped toward the river.

  His lungs screamed. His vision pulsed dark at the edges. Still, he ran.

  The cobblestones were littered with debris—splintered wood, broken glass, discarded belongings. And then—he saw it.

  A pistol, lying alone in the gutter. Black steel, half-hidden beneath an overturned crate. Its magazine gleamed faintly under the firelight.

  Kazou skidded to a halt, his body shaking. He just stared at it for a long, frozen second, his breath ragged.

  He hated the weight of guns. He hated what they meant, what they turned people into.

  But Hannah. The blonde girl. Nowak’s men.

  His trembling hand reached down. He picked it up, heavy, cold against his palm. The metal clacked as he pulled the slide back, locking it, checking the chamber. Loaded. Functional.

  He swallowed hard, then shoved it into his coat pocket, the weight dragging against his side like a sin.

  The fire roared behind him, pillars of smoke rising into the sky like funeral pyres. He ran again, down the narrow streets, his mind fixed on only one thing.

  Hannah.

  The river wasn’t far now. He had promised.