[B1] Chapter 1: The Day The Light Left

What is the point of life?

Sure, you breathe, eat, and laugh when it feels right—or even when it doesn't. You stumble through days like a marionette, pulled along by strings you can't see and forces you can't name. 

Maybe it's survival. 

Maybe it's hope. 

Maybe it's nothing at all.

Or maybe it's a curse.

Perhaps like what Neil Gaiman wrote in his comic book series, The Sandman. 

"Life is a disease; sexually transmitted, and always fatal."

That's what Lucien Imanov thought, anyway.

The 16-year-old young man with sky blue eyes and wavy blonde hair lay curled on top of a ragged mattress, the cold, brisk January air outside sending shivers down his spine. 

He stared up at the ceiling, dully looking at the faint strips of paint peeling away. His phone buzzed faintly on the floor beside him, the vibration rattling against the cracked wood. He didn't reach for it. He already knew what it was.

Another message. Another friend offering condolences.

Condolences for her.

But it wouldn't help. Nothing did. The texts, the empty words—they only brought out the horrible memory all over again.

Cien turned over on the bed, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the dim light seeping through the curtains. 

He grimaced as the familiar ache clawed at his chest

Why her? Why not me?

He just felt numb now, the tears not coming out anymore. They hadn't come out for a long time.

Cien squeezed his eyes shut as if he could push the memory away. But it burned, etched into his mind like a scar that refused to fade.

The memory of the fire, the smoke, and the destruction.

And the smell of blood in the air.

△▼△▼△▼△

It had just been a regular day, the bitter chill clawing at the windows, muted sunlight filtering through frost-covered glass. 

Cien's little sister, Masha, had been restless all morning. 

"Let's go out," she'd said. She pulled on her dark red scarf, a present from Cien that he had given her for her 12th birthday. "You look like you haven't seen the sun in weeks."

"It's freezing out," Cien muttered, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was nursing a cup of cheap instant coffee. "Why not stay in?"

Masha pouted. "Because it's boring. Come on, we'll take the long way around the park. You need some fresh air."

She gave him a puppy-dog face.

Cien sighed, setting his mug down. "Fine," he relented. "But don't complain if you get cold."

She grinned warmly. 

"Deal."

△▼△▼△▼△

The park had been quiet, the path lightly dusted with snow. Masha had walked ahead, her scarf trailing behind her as she turned to smile back at him every so often.

Her boots crunched against the frozen ground, and she hummed a soft tune under her breath.

"Let's stop by the bakery," she said suddenly, pausing to wait for him.

"Why?" Cien asked, catching up to her.

"They're making fresh rye today. You know, the kind with the seeds you like," she said.

Cien shrugged. "Fine. But don't take forever."

The bakery was a cozy, narrow shop wedged between two taller buildings. As they stepped inside, the scent of warm bread wafted out, and Masha immediately gravitated to the display cases.

"Two loaves of rye, please," she told the baker, a round-faced man with flour covering his apron.

Cien waited by the door, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He watched as Masha handed over the cash, the joy on her face as she held the paper bag making him smile.

"See?" she said, nudging him with her elbow. "Fresh bread makes everything better."

"It's just bread," he replied, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

They made their way home as the sky grew darker, evening creeping in. 

But as they approached their apartment building, that…

That was when everything started to go wrong.

Cien had stopped in his tracks, squinting at the darkened structure.

"Do you smell that?" he asked.

Masha sniffed the air, her brows knitting together. "Smoke?"

Their steps quickened. 

As they rounded the corner, Cien's stomach dropped. 

Flames danced behind the windows of their apartment, thick pillars of smoke darkening the sky.

"No," Cien whispered, breaking into a sprint.

"Mama!" Masha cried, as she ran after him.

The heat hit them as they neared the entrance, the flames roaring. Thick smoke billowed out, stinging Cien's eyes and throat. 

He coughed, pulling his scarf up over his mouth.

"We have to go in!" Masha shouted, already reaching for the door.

Cien grabbed her arm, yanking her back. "Are you insane? You'll get us both killed!"

"She's still in there!" Masha struggled against him, her voice shrill with panic.

Cien hesitated, his heart pounding. 

He looked up at the windows, the flames consuming everything. He knew that their mother inside—with her frail body, already weak from years of illness, and the gas attacks from the Arctic War, wouldn't stand a chance.

But the fire was too strong.

"Masha, we can't," he said, his voice shaking.

Tears streamed down her face as she pulled away from him. "Then I'll go!"

Before he could stop her, Masha darted toward the side of the building.

"Masha!" Cien shouted, but she was already disappearing into the alley.

Panic stabbed at his chest as he ran after her. 

He turned the corner just in time to see her climb through the broken ground-floor window, the flames illuminating her determined face.

"Masha, no!" he screamed, but she didn't look back.

The fire roared louder, swallowing her whole.

Cien stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. The acrid smoke stung his lungs, but he barely noticed. 

He watched helplessly as the fire grew.

But he couldn't just stand there.

He charged toward the building. 

The heat was unbearable, searing his skin even before he reached the window Masha had disappeared through. 

Smoke clawed at his throat and eyes, and he staggered, but he pushed forward.

"Masha!" he screamed.

He didn't think—he couldn't. All he knew was that his sister was inside, and he had to get her out.

Cien hauled himself through the broken window, the jagged edges scraping his hands and knees. He hit the floor hard, coughing as thick black smoke engulfed him. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to stand.

The heat was suffocating, pressing down on him like a thick blanket.

"Masha!" he shouted again, his voice breaking.

Through the haze, he thought he saw movement—a faint silhouette in the corner of the room.

"Masha!" he called, stumbling toward it.

The silhouette moved, shifting slightly.

His heart lurched, and he stumbled toward her, tripping over the ashen debris.

But before he could reach her—

The world exploded.

BOOM!

An explosion tore through the room, its force hitting Cien like a battering ram.

He was thrown back outside, pain exploding across his body as he rolled, skidding to a stop.

The impact left him dazed, his ears ringing and his vision swimming. 

For a moment, he couldn't move.

Then through the haze, he caught a glimpse of Masha. She was closer to the window now, her small form crumpled on the ground, her scarf fluttering faintly in the heat.

"Masha..." he croaked.

But before he could reach for her, the floor beneath her buckled, flames surging upward.

"No!" Cien screamed, the sound ripping from his throat as he watched her disappear.

The heat roared around him, the flames growing higher, and brighter until they consumed everything. 

And then, mercifully, the darkness had taken him.

△▼△▼△▼△

Cien woke with a start, his heart pounding against his chest.

The room was now dark and even colder, the faint lights of the streetlamps outside casting shadows on the wall. 

He let out a shaky breath and sat up, forcing himself to sit on the edge of the bed, gripping his knees. Hot sweat covered his whole body, his clothes sticking to his skin.

Had I fallen asleep?

His phone buzzed again, the familiar ping of another message. 

Then, beep.

The quiet chime of a clock. 

He glanced at the small alarm clock on the bedside table. 

12:00 am.

Midnight. 

The start of another day.

He shook his head, standing up from the tattered mattress. He rubbed his face, groaning as a heavy headache hit him out of nowhere.

Had I really slept for that long?

He started stumbling over to the bathroom, flicking on the dim light, when—

When it happened.

The fracture appeared.

Right in front of him.

It started small—just a line, a thin crack in the air, barely noticeable against the dim light of the bathroom. 

But then it shimmered, like glass catching the light.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He could feel it pulling at him. 

The crack in the air shimmered again, wider now, the edges fraying like burnt paper.

Cien took a step back, eyes widening. What in the world—

The air crackled, charged with a strange energy. A metallic tang filled the air—ozone.

Then, without warning, the world around him shifted.

The room dissolved into darkness, and Cien felt himself falling, weightless and untethered.

And then, there was nothing.