The late afternoon sun, a buttery smear across the sky, kissed the thatched roofs of Oakhaven. Seven-year-old Ash Elric, all knobby knees and sun-kissed hair, chased a dandelion puff across the village green. His little sister, Elara, a tiny whirlwind of giggles, stumbled behind him. The air thrummed with the low murmur of anticipation, the scent of roasting meat already drifting from the square. Tonight was the Lantern Festival.
"Ash! Wait for me!" Elara's voice, bright as a spring robin, chirped from behind him. She was holding a crudely carved wooden bird, its wings chipped from a thousand imaginary flights.
He spun, a wide grin splitting his face. "You're too slow, Elara! The wind will get you!" He puffed out his cheeks, mimicking a gust.
She giggled, a sound like tiny bells, and caught up, her small hand finding his. "Don't let it get me, then. Promise you'll protect me forever, big brother?" Her eyes, wide and earnest, held his.
He squeezed her hand. "Forever and ever. I'll never let anything hurt you, Elara. Not ever." The words felt solid, a shield already forming around her in his heart.
Then, the world tore open.
A shriek, raw and guttural, ripped through the festive air. Not human. Ash's head snapped up. The sky, once a soft canvas of orange and purple, pulsed with an angry, violet light. A tear, a jagged rip in reality, widened above the village square. From it, a chorus of guttural growls erupted, followed by the sickening *thump-thump-thump* of heavy bodies hitting the earth.
"Monsters!" someone screamed, a voice choked with terror.
The air filled with the stench of ozone and something else, something ancient and foul. Buildings, moments ago charming in their rustic beauty, became kindling. *CRACK!* A wall of flame erupted, swallowing the general store. *ROAR!* A hulking, multi-limbed beast, its skin like obsidian, lumbered into view, tearing through houses as if they were paper.
"Ash! Elara! Inside!" His father's voice, usually a rumbling laugh, was a sharp command. Mother, her face pale, was already trying to weave a flimsy shield spell around their small cottage, her hands trembling.
"Papa!" Elara cried, her voice a thin thread of fear.
His father, a farmer with hands calloused from the earth, stood his ground, a rusty pitchfork his only weapon. He roared, a sound of pure defiance, as a smaller, winged creature with talons like razors swooped low. *WHOOSH!* It struck, a blur of leathery wings and sharp claws. His father staggered, a dark bloom spreading across his tunic.
"Mama!" Ash screamed. His mother's shield shimmered, then *CRUMPH!* shattered under the weight of another beast, its breath a searing wave of heat. She crumpled, a broken doll.
Then, Elara. A shadow, swift and brutal, detached itself from the chaos. *SHINK!* A sickening wet sound. Elara gasped, a small, choked sound. She looked down, her eyes wide with bewilderment, at the dark stain blooming on her small chest. Her wooden bird clattered to the ground.
"No!" Ash's voice tore from his throat. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he reached for the wound. His promise. He had promised. "No, no, no, Elara, you'll be okay!"
His hands, small and desperate, touched her chest. A searing heat, like liquid fire, shot up his arms. His vision swam. *AIEEE!* A scream ripped from his own throat, raw and agonizing. It wasn't his scream alone; it was Elara's pain, every ounce of her suffering, every tear of her delicate flesh, pouring into him.
His bones *CRACKED*, a sound like dry twigs snapping. His skin felt as if it were being flayed, *SZZZT*, every nerve ending alight. He spasped, convulsing on the ground, the pain a tidal wave drowning him. He saw it all: the beast's talons, the tearing, the sudden, shocking cold of death creeping into her tiny body. He took it. All of it.
Then, silence.
Elara's eyes, moments ago glazed with death, blinked. The wound on her chest was gone. Her breath hitched, then steadied. She coughed, a weak, small sound, and looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion.
He tried to smile, but his face was contorted in a silent grimace. His own body screamed. Blood seeped from his nose, his ears. His small fingers, curled into fists, trembled. He had saved her. But he couldn't move.
"Ash!" His mother's voice was a weak whisper. She crawled towards them, her face etched with horror, not at the monsters, but at him. Her eyes darted from Elara's miraculously healed chest to his shuddering form.
He tried to reach for his father, lying motionless, face down in the dirt. But his body refused. The beasts still roamed, their roars shaking the ground. *THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.*
A shadow fell over him, not from a monster. A figure, tall and cloaked, moved through the rubble, unaffected by the chaos. They paused, looking down at him, a silent, unreadable presence.
Days later, Ash woke. His head throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the phantom pains still singing in his bones. He was in a small, unfamiliar room, the air thick with the scent of herbs and dust. Bandages, stiff and white, wrapped around his chest and arms, a second skin. He tried to sit up, a sharp pain in his ribs making him gasp. He moved his hand, his fingers brushing against a jagged, raised line of skin on his forearm. A scar. A permanent etching of the fire, the breaking.
He was alone. No Elara. No Mother.
A quiet, somber voice, belonging to an old woman with kind eyes, told him they were safe. Taken to a refugee camp. Far away. She didn't mention him. She didn't know.
Everyone assumed he was dead. Just another casualty of the firestorm. He, the boy who had taken on the pain of a family, was now just… ash. Forgotten.
He saved them. He took it all. But if no one remembers… did I even exist?