PROJECT FUEGO

01: Remnants of life

CAUSES OF DEATH ARE MANY AND VARIED

OLD AGE, ILLNESS, SUICIDE

BUT OUT OF THAT LONG MORBID LIST, THERE'S ONE END THAT PEOPLE FEAR ABOVE ALL OTHERS
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DEATH BY FIRE

♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢ ♢

The Story of Vulcan Kagutsuchi and the creation of the Fuego clan has always been one filled with controversy. It was painted in dim light and would simply bring slander and hate as a result.

Nevertheless, I found myself appreciating and developing a fondness for the tale. The inherent power he possessed demanded acknowledgment, even from those who disparaged his reputation, as his undeniable strength was apparent. My admiration extended, particularly towards his formidable resilience.

Just as he had wished and stated, the bloodline that he fearlessly carried with him was continued by that of his children left back in his lands at the time of his passing. Speaking honestly, there had only ever been one figure that I've truly admired besides the man known as Vulcan.

My grandfather, who despite his old age and great responsibilities as the clan's head still took me in and nurtured me after my late mother's tragic passing. Her passing had a great effect on both of us, yet he persevered, providing care for me before succumbing to his old age.

I will remain eternally grateful for the sacrifices he made, enabling me to thrive independently. Even now, as I patiently await the stroke of midnight, surrounded by stacks of books, his selfless contributions resonate in my heart.

Reading had become a pastime for me. No matter how boring it would seem to others, a book invariably found it's way to my hands whenever I was not engrossed in other pursuits.

The soft rhythmic clicking of the clock filled my ears, capturing my attention as I focused on its pendulum swaying from left to right. So engrossed was I in this spectacle that I failed to register the sudden presence that had entered the room.

"There you are!"

A sudden, loud feminine voice exclaims from behind me, and before I realize it, I'm lifted from the floor and enveloped in the arms of a woman. "I've finally found you, my little devil~" she declares with enthusiasm.

"Ms Cynthia, could I ask what it is you are doing?" Shifting my gaze toward her, I take in her appearance fully.

Before me stood a captivating woman with snowy white hair and a pair of enchanting crimson eyes. She wore an innocent smile while gently running her fingers through my hair.

Simply ignoring my question she speaks happily, "You're hair is so soft~!"

"Ms. Cynthia, could I ask that you refrain from such actions?" I sigh, noticing her innocent smile transform into a cheeky grin. Possibly misinterpreting my request as annoyance.

"Could it be that you find this embarrassing, dear~? No worries—I'm your mother, after all. There's no need to be shy," she reassures with a gentle smile.

I stare blankly as her words echo in my ears. This woman is not my mother. My mother passed away many years ago, shortly after my fourth birthday. Despite Ms. Cynthia's claim, there's no shared blood or characteristics that could make her my mother.