The building was on fire. Plain and simply on fire. Black smoke poured out of the house and the sound of wood sizzling made his ears bleed. Harsh lights kept spitting back small bursts of fire into the wind, a small portion of the thing that was devouring his house like some sort of meal, and not a residents in which people lived in.
His family was there.
A crowd had grown outside, surrounding the house as they watched on in horror. He recognised some of them in the crowd – Yuki Hansuko, an old lady who had lived down the street for as long as he remembered, who he had met once or twice when walking from home, was now gazing into the fire, mouth hang open in shock – but most of the people there were shrouded in darkness, faces lit up from the heat of the fire.
His house, on fire.
His house. His family.
His family was in there.
At first, he was hesitant reaching out. Not sure what to do. Not sure if he could do anything to help — the shock had rendered him useless. Yet, that nagging — that thought, of his loved ones corpses burning with that place — it had set a fear like no other to nestle in his heart, and suddenly he knew what to do.
Not missing a beat, he walked over to the gate, crossing its boundaries and into his small front yard. Its flames hadn't reached here, seeming to stop at the doors entrance – interesting, but he didn't have the time to ponder why right now. Behind him, shrieks of confusion and worry came from those watching – yet, as no one came to stop him, he carried along, ignoring the pleas and cries for him to step back; after all, if they really cared, they would've rushed after him long ago.
They don't care.
Into the doorway, flames licking at his shoes, he paused for a moment. Would risking being burnt alive overcome the guilt of letting those he loved be eaten up from flames, or would it be better to wait for a professional to get here? A fireman, surely, an ambulance, hopefully – but as he looked across from him to the bystanders screaming to come back, he wondered how long it would take for them to arrive to his house. He wondered if he had enough time for that; enough patience for that.
The fire licked at his shoes, yet the fabric did not burn.
Go.
Free them.
He turned his back towards the bystanders and walked into the flames. The house was in ruins, fire in every corner and smoke engulfing all the spare space where fire wasn't – he could barely make out the foot of the stairs, barely breathe as it was as he rushed around the house. These flames wouldn't hurt him, but he wasn't so sure with his family – sure, Ritsu may be psychic, but he didn't have the same connection to it like he did.
No one is the same as you. Of course he wouldn't.
He took a look at downstairs, aura pulsing out for any bodies, reaching out across the coaches and benches and chairs – nothing, other then the prickle of flame. He took his right, to the base of the stairs, climbing up them frantically. The wood was unstable, and he had to make sure none of the wood collapsed from under him more then once, but when he reached upstairs nothing was better — if anything, it was worse.
Doors were swung open, and he raced around each room, searching for bodies or any sign of his family. Thoughts were swarming in his head, and the smoke that had invaded his lungs didn't help slow them down – if anything, it made his panic grow worse, his thoughts turn into chaos as each room proved to be empty.
