New Age

Chapter 4 ~ Rebellion

The flames roared like a living creature, crackling and spitting embers into the night sky. The air reeked of smoke and charred wood, stinging Omori’s eyes as he stumbled further away from the burning house. His hands trembled as he cupped them around his mouth, his voice breaking through the chaos.

“Somebody! Please! Help!” he cried, his voice hoarse, tears streaking his soot-stained face.

He tripped over a piece of debris, landing hard on his knees, but scrambled back to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum. The night that had once been peaceful was now filled with screams, chaos, and the sound of collapsing homes. Neighbors were running frantically, some carrying children, others dragging whatever they could save from their burning houses.

Omori spun around with eyes wide, searching for any familiar face. “Mama! Scar!” he shouted, his voice cracking, but there was no response—just the relentless roar of fire devouring their home.

“Help! Someone! Please!”

A group of villagers rushed toward the scene, their faces illuminated by the glow of the inferno. One of them, an older man named Pumi grabbed a wooden bucket from a nearby well.

“Over here! Quick!” he barked at the others. They formed a shaky line, tossing buckets of water toward the burning house, but it barely made a difference.

“The fire’s too strong!” another villager shouted.

Omori stumbled closer, his small frame shaking. “My dad’s in there! Please! You have to save him!” he cried, his tiny voice trembling with desperation.

pumi dropped his bucket and knelt in front of him. “Omori, listen to me,” he said gently, though his face was grim. “You need to stay back. It’s too dangerous.”

“No!” Omori protested, tears running down his cheeks. “He’s still inside! Please!”

Pumi glanced toward the house, his jaw tightening. The flames had swallowed most of the roof, and beams cracked and snapped under the heat. The front doorway glowed orange as fire licked the frame, and a loud crash echoed from inside. “We’ll try!” pumi barked to his neighbors. “Get the door down! Move fast!”

Two men rushed forward, grabbing a large wooden beam to ram against the door, but as soon as they hit it, the door frame gave way, and a wave of fire shot out like a dragon’s breath. They stumbled back, shielding their faces from the heat.

“It’s no use! It’s collapsing!” one man yelled, coughing from the thick smoke. Omori’s hands clenched into fists. He couldn’t accept it. His dad couldn’t just… be gone. He had just pulled him from the cupboard. He had just saved him. “Let me go!” Omori cried as pumi held him back. “Papa!”

“Omori!” Pumi barked, grabbing his shoulders. “If you go in there, you won’t make it out alive! Do you hear me?!”

“I don't care...”

“Look!” pumi pointed at the roof. With a deafening c***k, the burning beams gave way. The roof collapsed inward, sending a spray of sparks and flaming debris flying into the air. The house shuddered as if it were taking its final breath.

“No!” Omori screamed, his voice raw and broken. He tried to break free again, but pumi wrapped his arms around him, holding him back.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Lucas muttered, his voice heavy with grief. “There’s nothing we can do now.” The other neighbors fell silent, their buckets dropping one by one. All they could do was watch as the fire consumed the home completely.

Omori’s cries echoed through the night as he struggled against pumi’s hold. His little hands clawed at the man’s shirt, his small legs kicking.

“He promised me! He said he’d get me out! He said....” His voice cracked, his words breaking into sobs.

pumi’s grip tightened, his face grim as he pulled Omori away from the flames. “He saved you,” he said quietly. “He gave his life to make sure you’d live. Don’t let that be for nothing.”

Omori’s sobs grew louder as pumi carried him to a safe distance from the wreckage. The boy’s head hung low, his tears dripping onto pumi’s soot-stained shirt.

Behind them, villagers worked desperately to contain the spreading flames. The rebels had torched more than just Omori’s home—several houses nearby were also burning. The smell of smoke, the heat of the fire, and the chaos of the village filled the air like a nightmare come to life.

“Get more water!” a woman screamed. “We can’t let it spread any further!”

“Where are the guards?!” another man shouted.

“They attacked the gate first!” someone else replied in panic.

Omori curled up in pumi’s arms, the sounds of shouting and crackling fire ringing in his ears. His chest heaved with sobs as he buried his face in his hands. He felt cold despite the heat all around him, empty—despite the chaos.

Pumi gently set him down near a well, kneeling in front of him. “Stay here,” he said firmly. “Don’t move, understand?”. Omori nodded weakly, though his body trembled uncontrollably. pumi turned and sprinted back toward the fire with the other villagers.

The boy hugged his knees tightly, his eyes fixed on the orange glow in the distance. His home was gone. His father… gone. And his mother and brother had been taken by those masked men. The weight of it all crushed him, and for a long time, he could only sit there, sobbing softly.

Omori crouched behind the well where Pumi had left him, his small frame trembling. He waited at first, expecting Pumi to return, but the man never came back. The only sounds were the roar of flames and the distant shouts of panicked neighbors. The air was thick with smoke, burning his throat with every breath.

He peeked out from his hiding spot. The street he’d known his whole life was gone. Houses that once stood proudly side by side were now engulfed in flames, their windows glowing orange, their roofs collapsing in showers of sparks. Smoke curled into the night sky, blotting out the stars. The world felt smaller.

Bodies littered the ground, their outlines stark against the firelight. Omori’s stomach twisted, but his eyes couldn’t look away. There was the baker who always saved him sweet rolls, lying face down. Across the street, a familiar shawl covered a woman’s still shoulders. Omori clutched his knees tighter.

Something rolled toward him with a soft clatter—a wooden bowl, its surface scorched but intact. He recognized it instantly. Mama’s bowl. The same one she used every evening. And with that simple sight, a memory pierced through the smoke and fire.

“Omori, Scar, dinner is ready!”

Her voice was so warm, so alive, that it made his chest ache. He could almost see her again, standing in the doorway with a soft smile, ladle in hand, the smell of stew filling the house. Scar would come running, bumping into him playfully, and Papa would finally sit down, tired but smiling.

Omori blinked, but the vision was gone, replaced by smoke and death. Tears welled in his eyes. He buried his face in his arms, trying to hold back the sobs that shook his small body. His breath hitched painfully. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to understand that everything—his family, his home, the life he knew was all gone.l

The fire crackled louder, and part of a roof collapsed nearby with a deafening crash. Omori flinched, scrambling backward until his back hit the well handle. The world felt like it was closing in, the heat pressing against his skin, the smoke choking him, He couldn’t stay here.

Omori rose on shaky legs. He wiped his face with soot-covered hands and glanced around. “Pumi?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Papa?” No one answered. The night was alive with chaos, but not with their voices.

Step by step, he crept from behind the well. The ground felt cold beneath his bare feet, slick with spilled water and ash. He walked past the bowl, picking it up for a moment before letting it fall. His hands shook too much to hold it.

The street stretched ahead of him, lined with burning homes and fallen neighbors. He moved forward, almost in a trance, weaving through the chaos. He recognized places he’d played in, corners where he’d laughed with Scar. Now, everything was twisted and broken.

Omori didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he couldn’t stop. His small figure darted through the smoke, slipping between alleyways, avoiding the glow of burning homes. Every sound made him flinch, every shadow made him want to cry, but he didn’t stop moving.

His chest ached with each breath, his tears cutting paths through the soot on his cheeks. He thought of Mama’s soft hands, Papa’s deep voice, Scar’s laugh. He wanted to hear them again, but the night was silent except for fire and screams.

By the time he reached the edge of the burning street, Omori was running, running in pain, running from the fire, running from the memories, running from the truth. The streets ahead were dark and empty, but he didn’t care. He was alone now. And so he disappeared into the smoke-filled night, the last trace of his family vanishing behind him in flames.