Don't Look Back

The heat pressed against his skin—searing, suffocating. Smoke curled in his lungs, thick and choking. Overhead, the wooden beams groaned, splitting under the fire's relentless hunger.

He stumbled forward, feet dragging through the embers, instinct pushing him toward the man—toward Jack's father.

"Where are you?!" the man shouted, his voice cracking.

The hero—no, Jack—tried to move faster, but his legs felt small, clumsy. A child's legs. His hands, when he reached for balance, were small too.

The realization struck like a blow. He wasn't just seeing Jack's memory. He was inside it.

The world tilted. A doorframe loomed ahead, wreathed in flames. Jack's father stood just beyond it, his face streaked with soot, eyes frantic.

"Come on, kiddo!" he pleaded. "Reach for me!"

The hero lifted his arms—Jack's arms—but something shifted.

A ripple in the air. A wrongness deep in his gut.

This wasn't real. This had already happened.

But the fire didn't care. Neither did the memory.

He was trapped inside it. A passenger, unable to change a single thing.

Yet, he didn't resist. Jack's memories were unraveling before him, raw and unfiltered. The hero needed to see more. So, he let the past take him.

Flames raged, swallowing the room in searing heat. Young Jack reached for his father, but the fire was too big, too strong.

"Dad!" he screamed. "I can't!"

"Hold on!" came the desperate reply.

Jack waited. Seconds stretched into eternity. The fire only grew stronger. The walls crackled. The ceiling groaned. Fear clawed at his chest—what if his father never came?

Smoke thickened, burning his throat. He coughed, wheezing. The air was too hot, too thin. Desperate, he turned toward the open window, sticking his head out. Cool relief rushed over his face, but it wasn't enough. The heat was unbearable. His vision blurred.

Just as the world threatened to fade, a voice—faint, strained—cut through the chaos.

"Jack! Just hold on, okay? I'm coming through!"

A figure burst into the room, leaping through the flames. He was wrapped in thick, soaked fabric—blankets? Maybe. In his arms, a wailing baby.

He hit the ground hard, crashing onto his right shoulder to shield the child. Steam hissed as the damp blankets met fire. He coughed, gagging on the acrid smoke.

"Dad!" Jack screamed, scrambling toward him.

"I'm alright, kiddo." Jack's father groaned, peeling away the scorched blankets before pulling his son into a fierce embrace.

"The window, Jack! We have to go!"

They stumbled toward it, each breath like swallowing embers.

His father shoved the window open. Cold air rushed in, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat behind them. Jack gasped for it, his lungs desperate for relief.

It was a long drop. Two stories down. A crowd had gathered. Sirens howled in the distance, growing closer.

"Oh my God! There are people still inside!" a woman's voice shrieked.

Jack's father leaned out, scanning the ground.

A neighbor sprinted forward.

"Jump! We'll catch you!"

"My kids!" Jack's father shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

"We'll get them! Just hurry!" More people rushed forward, arms outstretched, ready.

But behind them, the fire roared, licking at their backs. Time was running out.

Jack's father crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulders. His face was streaked with soot, eyes wild but steady.

"Listen to me." His voice was firm, urgent. "I'm gonna put you on the windowsill, and you're gonna have to jump. You understand?"

Jack's breath hitched. His wide eyes darted to the ground below. Two stories. Too high.

"N-no! I—I can't!" He shook his head violently.

"You have to." His father cupped Jack's face, his calloused hands firm yet gentle. "Be brave, okay? I know you can do it."

Jack's legs trembled. He stammered, searching for an excuse, a way out—anything but this.

His father pressed something into his arms. Warm. Small.

His baby sister.

"Hold her tight, Jack. Don't let go. No matter what. You get me?"

Jack's arms locked around Andrea. The baby squirmed, whimpering against his chest. Hot tears streaked down his soot-stained cheeks. He shook his head, clutching her tighter.

"What about you?!" Jack choked out.

His father smiled—a soft, familiar smile. The same one he gave when Jack was scared before a big test. Or when he scraped his knee. Or when he struck out at Little League and needed a pep talk.

"I'll be right behind you."

Jack knew that smile. Knew what it meant.

Only then did he realize—his father was burned all over.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" he sobbed.

His father's smile faltered. "Jack…"

"NO!"

His father's voice was soft, urgent. "Listen to me."

Jack's breath shuddered.

"From now on, you're a big boy. You take care of your mom and your sister, okay? And be good to James. Brothers support each other. Always."

Jack whimpered. He nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed no.

"Be brave." His father cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the tears streaking through the soot. "I love you. And I will always be with you. You got that?"

Jack shook his head violently. He didn't want to grow up. He didn't want to say goodbye.

His father smiled, though his eyes glistened. "You got this. You've always been quick. I know you can do it."

He pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead.

The last one.

"I love you. Now go."

Jack trembled. "Dad—"

"Don't look back."

Strong arms lifted him—just like all those times before. When he hoisted Jack onto his shoulders at a baseball game. When he swung him high into the air at the playground. When he scooped him up after a nightmare.

The last lift a father could give his son.

Jack wobbled on the edge of the window, baby Andrea clutched tightly to his chest. The heat licked at his back. Smoke burned his lungs. His breath shuddered.

Below, the crowd had gathered, arms stretched, a makeshift sheet spread between them.

"Come on, kid! Jump!"

Jack hesitated, his heart hammering. He glanced over his shoulder. His father stood there, framed by the inferno. Flames roared, creeping closer.

If he jumped, he knew—deep down, in a place he didn't want to acknowledge—that he would never see his father again.

"No…" Jack gripped the wooden frame.

The flames surged behind them.

"Go!" His father urged.

"Come on! Jump! We got you!"

Hesitation.

Fear.

Adrenaline.

His father's words…

Jack squeezed his eyes shut.

He had to jump. If not, his father wouldn't make it out. He needed to be sure of Jack's survival before his own.

Jack stepped over the edge—and jumped.

Gasps rang out. Screams pierced the night.

The air whizzed past his ears.

Andrea, still tightly clutched to his chest.

"Don't let go, no matter what," his father's voice echoed.

And—impact.

Jack hit the sheet hard, the force knocking the air from his lungs. His arms locked around Andrea, holding her tight as the fabric dipped beneath them. Voices shouted—urgent, panicked—but the world was a blur.

He gasped, eyes wild, searching. Dad.

Above him, framed in the burning window, his father stood, silhouetted against the inferno.

Jump.

Jack willed him to move. To leap. To do anything but stand there.

But he didn't.

The flames surged behind him, hungry and relentless.

"DAD!" Jack screamed, his throat raw.

His father vanished from the window, swallowed by the flames.

Jack screamed.

Agony ripped through his chest, raw and unbearable.

Why didn't his father escape?

Why?

WHY?

He bolted toward the burning apartment, legs pumping, desperation blinding him.

But he was just a child.

Strong arms wrapped around him, yanking him back. Someone scooped him up, turned him away from the inferno.

"No! Let me go!" He thrashed, kicked, clawed. His vision blurred, swimming between fire and faces—strangers, neighbors, people who cared.

None of them were his father.

His lungs burned, not just from the smoke but from the crushing weight in his chest. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Dad.

It was too much.

Too much.

Jack fought against the hands that held him, but they didn't let go.

Anger surged through him, wild and directionless.

Anger at the world.

At fate.

At himself.

He sobbed. Sobbed until his chest ached and his throat burned. He didn't know how long it lasted. Minutes? Hours? Time lost all meaning. The arms around him were distant, like a memory. Faces drifted in and out of his vision, indistinct and blurred.

Then, one face broke through the haze.

"Jack!"

A familiar voice—frantic, trembling.

He blinked. He was back in the room. There was no fire, no choking smoke.

It was Ellen. Her wide, tear-streaked eyes searched his, her face drawn with grief.

"M-Mom?"

Jack—no, the hero—was still drowning in Jack's memories. The past held him in its grip, refusing to let go.

"Dad is… he's…"

His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

Ellen's face crumpled. "Oh, my sweet boy…"

She pulled him into her arms, clutching him tightly.

"It's okay... You're safe now," she murmured, stroking his back. Her voice wavered, thick with emotion.

The hero sobbed into her embrace. He wept for a father he never had. Jack's pain was his now. It was real. Overwhelming.

Slowly, the storm of sorrow settled. His breathing steadied. His trembling eased.

And then—pain.

A sharp, searing agony lanced through his skull.

He gasped, jerking in Ellen's arms.

"Jack?"

The hero clutched his head. The pain was blinding, scorching through his mind like wildfire.

Right.

Mana circulation.

He had been practicing. He had nearly reached the first stage when—Jack's memories. They had surged, consuming him. Now, all the gathered mana, concentrated in his mind, was unstable. It churned violently, struggling to settle.

And now, it was tearing him apart from the inside.

A guttural groan escaped his lips. His fingers dug into his scalp as the pain escalated.

"Jack? What's wrong?"

Hands gripped his shoulders. James? Someone else? It was hard to tell. The world blurred at the edges.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the mana into control. Willed it into submission. Forced it to obey.

But he pushed too hard.

Like compressed gas forced beyond its limits, the energy had nowhere to go.

And so—it burst.

The mana exploded outward in a violent surge.

Agony. Searing, unbearable agony.

His vision shattered into white-hot pain. His eyes rolled back. His body pitched backward.

And then—silence.