The old maintenance depot sat three levels below the main tunnels, buried so deep that even the surveillance drones rarely ventured there. It was the kind of place that didn't officially exist—which made it perfect for people who didn't officially exist either.
Enjiro set Taro down on a rusted cot and knelt beside him, checking for injuries. The boy's eyes were still clouded with shock, but his vitals seemed stable. No burns. No radiation sickness. Somehow, miraculously, he was unharmed.
"Where... where are we?" Taro's voice was small, fragile.
"Safe," Enjiro replied, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. "Don't move. Rest."
He stood and walked to the depot's grimy window, peering out at the lower tunnels. In the distance, he could hear the sound of rescue teams, their boots echoing through the corridors. They'd be searching for survivors soon. They'd find the reactor destroyed, the core scattered. And they'd find questions they couldn't answer.
They'd find him, if they looked hard enough.
Enjiro looked down at his hands. The glow beneath his skin had faded, but he could still feel it—a warmth, a presence, like something alive coiled around his bones. He clenched his fists. The warmth responded, pulsing gently.
What was he now?
A sound behind him made him turn. Taro was struggling to sit up.
"Don't," Enjiro said, moving back to the cot. "You need rest."
"I saw..." Taro's eyes were wide, searching. "Brother, what happened? How did we survive? The fire... it was everywhere. It should have killed us."
Enjiro didn't answer immediately. How could he? He didn't understand it himself. He'd made a choice in that last moment—sacrifice himself for his brother. And then... then something had answered. Something had chosen him.
"I don't know," he finally said, which was the most honest thing he could manage. "But we're alive. That's what matters."
Taro reached out and grabbed Enjiro's wrist. The boy's hand was trembling. "Your skin... brother, something's wrong with you. It's glowing. What happened to you down there?"
Before Enjiro could respond, an alarm pierced the silence—not from the reactor, but from somewhere in the tunnel system itself. An automated alert, cold and mechanical.
"Unknown thermal signature detected in maintenance sector seven. Security teams dispatched. Unidentified individual, approach with caution."
Enjiro's blood went cold. They'd found him. Faster than he'd expected. Of course they had—the reactor explosion would have triggered every sensor in the lower city. They'd be tracking anything anomalous. Anything that didn't belong.
Anything like him.
"We have to move," Enjiro said, helping Taro to his feet despite the boy's weakness. "Can you walk?"
"I... I think so."
They made their way deeper into the depot, toward the old access tunnels that connected to the forgotten sections of Kiyohara—places so old that even management had forgotten they existed. Enjiro had discovered them years ago during his wanderings. Dead ends. Abandoned infrastructure. Perfect for disappearing.
The sound of boots grew louder. Closer. Voices echoed through the corridors, shouting orders in the clipped tones of corporate security.
"Thermal signature is moving east. Two contacts, one small, one adult-sized. Potential hazmat situation."
"Copy. Initiating pursuit. All units converge on sector seven."
Enjiro quickened his pace, supporting Taro's weight as they descended into darkness. Behind them, flashlight beams cut through the shadows, growing brighter.
"Faster," Enjiro urged, though he knew Taro was already at his limit.
They reached a maintenance shaft—ancient metal, corroded with age. Enjiro helped Taro inside and began pulling the sealed hatch shut. The security teams' footsteps were almost on top of them now.
"Go, go!" Enjiro hissed, pushing Taro toward the shaft's interior.
The hatch slammed shut just as the first security officer rounded the corner. Through the narrow gaps in the metal, Enjiro saw them—four figures in sleek black armor, assault rifles held at ready, their visors glowing with targeting data.
"Movement in the maintenance shaft," one of them reported. "We have them cornered."
The officer raised his weapon and fired.
The shot hit the hatch with a metallic shriek. Sparks flew. But the hatch held—ancient materials, designed before modern weaponry, tougher than anything the security teams had expected.
Enjiro dragged Taro deeper into the shaft, the sound of gunfire echoing behind them. They crawled through passages so narrow they had to squeeze through, their breath ragged and panicked. The shaft twisted and turned, descending at a steep angle.
"Where does this go?" Taro gasped.
"I don't know," Enjiro admitted. "But it goes away. That's all that matters."
They emerged into a vast underground chamber—one of the old factory sectors from before Kiyohara was restructured into its current form. Massive turbines lay dormant, covered in dust. Cables hung like vines from the ceiling. It was a graveyard of forgotten technology.
And it was empty. Silent. Safe, at least for the moment.
Enjiro and Taro collapsed against one of the old turbines, both gasping for breath. Behind them, the sound of pursuit had faded.
"They'll find us," Taro said, his voice hollow. "The corporation doesn't let people just disappear. Especially not after what happened to the reactor."
"I know," Enjiro replied.
He looked at his hands again. The glow was brighter now, responding to his stress, his fear. Small flames danced between his fingers—not burning, but definitely there. Definitely real.
"What are you?" Taro whispered.
It was the question Enjiro had been asking himself since waking up in the rubble. He didn't have a good answer. All he knew was that the fire had chosen him for a reason. That voice in his head—ancient and knowing—had said something about mercy. About being a guardian.
But what kind of guardian ran and hid?
A sound reached them then—different from the boots and weapons of the security teams. This was mechanical, rhythmic, the steady pulse of something massive moving through the tunnels. Through the gaps in the old factory, Enjiro caught a glimpse of it.
A drone. Sleek and menacing, about twice the size of a man, its armor painted in corporate colors. Thermal imaging sensors swept back and forth, searching. Looking for the anomalous heat signature that had become Enjiro Aketsu.
"Stay still," Enjiro whispered.
But it was already too late. The drone's sensors locked onto them, and a cold mechanical voice announced their position across all frequencies.
"Thermal targets acquired. Engaging defensive protocols."
The drone's weapon system activated—a plasma cannon, designed to incinerate anything the corporation deemed a threat. And right now, Enjiro and Taro were definite threats.
The cannon charged, its barrel glowing with building energy.
Enjiro stood. He didn't know why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was something deeper—that ancient fire responding to danger. He spread his arms wide, mirroring what he'd done in the reactor chamber. Protecting. Shielding.
"No," he said to the drone. "Not them."
The cannon fired.
A beam of pure plasma energy screamed across the factory floor, aimed directly at Enjiro. It should have vaporized him. Should have erased him from existence.
But the fire inside him responded.
Something erupted from Enjiro's chest—a wave of energy, golden and pure, that met the drone's plasma beam head-on. The two forces collided in the center of the factory, and the sound was like thunder. Like the world breaking.
The drone's beam shattered. Scattered. Dispersed into harmless fragments of light.
And the wave of golden fire continued forward, crashing into the drone with unstoppable force. The machine shrieked—a digital wail of systems failing—and crashed to the ground, smoking and dead.
Silence fell over the old factory.
Enjiro stood there, breathing hard, his entire body glowing with an intensity that lit up the shadows. His hands were wreathed in golden flame, but he wasn't burning. He was something else entirely now. Something that had been asleep inside him, awakened by necessity.
"Brother..." Taro's voice was barely a whisper.
Enjiro turned to look at his younger brother, and saw the awe and terror in the boy's eyes. Saw himself reflected in that gaze—not human anymore. Something other.
"I know," he said quietly. "I'm scared too."
But fear was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not anymore.
Above them, alarms were sounding again. The corporation had detected the drone's death. They'd be sending more. More security teams. More drones. More everything, because now they knew something extraordinary had happened at Reactor Three.
They knew that something had survived the impossible.
Enjiro helped Taro to his feet and began moving deeper into the factory, away from the alarms, away from the lights.
"Where are we going?" Taro asked.
"Somewhere they can't find us," Enjiro said. "At least, not yet."
He didn't know if such a place existed in Kiyohara anymore. But he had to try. Because now he understood what that voice had meant. It wasn't just about mercy. It was about resistance. About standing up to a world that had decided he was expendable.
The fire in his chest burned brighter, eager and fierce.
And for the first time since waking up in the rubble, Enjiro Aketsu felt something beyond fear.
He felt purpose.
End of Chapter 2: Echo of the Flame