Chapter 8: Hope

  It had been a few days since the mosquito incident, and to be frank, they weren’t the most productive days of my life. I had said that I would experiment with my pyromanic abilities, but in reality, it's been difficult to make any real progress.

  All the information I gathered from observing light-loving bugs that occasionally fly into me has been that they were hot and cold.

  What did you expect from a part-time, non-genius with no life? I’m not exactly adept at things like experimentation. For my defense, experimentation requires observation, and I’m more or less blind, deaf, and lacking in every sense, including thermosensory. All I can see are the dots, now known as living beings, and my own flame.

  What’s the common point? I have no fucking idea. I don’t think there’s any direct relation between fire and life—other than me, of course. So, I suspect I can see them because they share part of my “life.” That might explain why I felt tired after using them too much. But what do I know?

  All I know is that whatever is happening to me is real. If it’s just my brain making up content to keep functioning, then who cares? The “brain in a vat” theory just means that maybe I have a world all to myself. For those who don’t know, the “brain in a vat” is a philosophical scenario where a brain is connected to a supercomputer that feeds it sensory input, creating a false reality.

  But I’m not that important, so it’s very unlikely this is happening to me. Unless, of course, they want to test it on the simplest minds first to see what happens. Maybe they should have taken my friend first, then me, for finding that guy cool.

  Ahhh...

  Anyway, today would probably be uneventful—or so I thought. Because suddenly, an unexpected event happened.

  Third-Person POV

  That day, the world witnessed something thought to be dead for nearly a month: hope. A surge of red energy washed over the world.

  Everywhere it passed, the fierce, destructive wind became a gentle breath of fresh air. The scorching fires died down, the roaring volcanoes quieted, and the ocean calmed.

  It had an even more profound effect on the surviving living beings. The grass grew greener, the dying trees regained their vitality, forgotten grains sprouted into saplings, and even the animals on the brink of death regained their strength—and more.

  It wasn’t just simple healing or a growth spurt; it was a baptism of life. They were not only revitalized—they were empowered. They were evolving. They were given hope. They were given the possibility of living in this less-than-ideal world.

  Unfortunately, not everyone was so lucky. Our hero was one of the unlucky ones. Due to his fire composition, he was actually considered a dangerous entity to the living. And to be fair, yes, he was a danger to his surroundings. But who really cares about bugs, anyway?

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Instead of enchanting him, the red light tried to extinguish him—like a giant blowing on a candle. What this giant didn’t expect was that the fire would fight back.

  First-Person POV

  While I was idle, spending my sweet time contemplating the uselessness of my life, I felt a sudden wave of uneasiness. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I can't really explain the feeling, but I knew I had to do something soon, or I would become a victim of something more dreadful than death. And as someone who had already died once, I knew exactly what I was talking about. The problem was, I had no idea what was going to happen. How could I prepare myself?

  It was then that it happened: the world suddenly shone in a terrifying red hue for the first time in a month. I could finally see my surroundings under the crimson light. I saw a cloudy sky, a desolate land, and the well where I had died. At that moment, I wanted to cry. Even in its worst state, the world was still more beautiful than the darkness I had grown accustomed to. I saw the newly sprouted grass, the bugs walking on leaves. I saw the most mundane rock and the most common dust, and I found them beautiful.

  It was under this seemingly ordinary view, which would forever become one of my most cherished memories, that it hit me. It felt like a fresh gust of wind, yet every part of me felt like it was tearing apart. It was a kind of pain no one could truly understand or imagine. It was strange because it wasn’t something anyone with a body could have experienced. It was pain that wasn’t painful, but mixed with extreme discomfort. Perhaps that’s the most accurate way to explain it.

  Every second, I felt like part of me was fading with the wind, and my mind grew muddier bit by bit. I could feel every moment of my life flashing through my mind—my happy childhood, my life as an orphan, the struggle of being a loner, the rebellious delinquent I once was. The advice of teachers I never listened to. All the mistakes a kid can make. All the adversity most kids would never face.

  Of course, it wasn’t all bad. I met amazing people. I learned from my errors. I found a friend. I was happy—really happy.

  Then came the sorrow. For the past month, I had pushed those thoughts away, but now that I was about to disappear, all those emotions broke the dam of my heart. I missed them so much: those happy memories, my parents, the nagging teachers that kept breaking my ear, the taste of cold noodles from the night before...

  During this month, I had felt so helpless, so alone. I wanted to live more, to try to be better, to wash away all my regrets—but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. I was even stripped of my right to scream and cry. And now, when I finally found hope, when I finally made up my mind, I was going to be erased.

  The last thought that went through my mind was: “So infuriating.”

  What happened next wasn’t something I did consciously—or at least, not something I could have done with intention. As I was fading away, the last bit of me left was fury. A boundless rage, a rage that could burn everything. So it did.

  As the fire that was me scattered in the wind, a spark ignited. Its green color turned red, then the spark expanded, doing the only thing fire could do: it burned. Fielded by pure wrath, it grew. The spark became amber, and the amber became a blazing fire. But it didn’t stop there. Soon, I felt like I was expanding from a few inches to a foot large, then two feet, then three. I continued to expand, burning off all my rage, all my grief, and all my misfortunes.

  And then, I screamed. Yes, screamed. With real sound and not just the voice in my mind. It wasn’t made of gloating or rationalized words. It was a pure, natural, and irrational scream. A scream to the world. The first scream of a newborn. The scream of unruliness.

  “AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!”

  I felt big. I felt powerful. I felt accomplished and relieved.

  It was then that I heard a childish voice in my head saying, "Who are you?"