Akari means light.
Light meaning the only array of hope given to the Ayumu nation. One of the largest empires known to mankind.
When the empire suddenly disappears on the young girl's seventh birthday, an invasion erasing the nation forever, causing...
And for a split second, when I stare into Shikamaru's widened eyes, catching the bright orange beginning to reflect into his brown ones, small dots of flames, unnatural but oh so unsettling. I then remember why I prefer the cold. And I also know what I must do.
I pause my running, and I'm that small moment time, the dome finishes, with me out of it.
My gloved fingertips graze the cold ice exterior, and for the first time, I return his widened gaze as the bombs explode. And I am blown away Into the now burning, night sky.
...............
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Even though I have accepted my fallen fate time and time again, just like this one. It is strange how my arms outstretched in his direction for help.
I have never asked for help.
But when the same fiery orange orbs of light reflected into my own eyes, the deep abyss of everything and nothing, instead of his own oblivious and young brown ones, I knew I was a goner.
Of course, my depressive thoughts must stray far from my mind as the bombs set aflame my cold exterior and the wind that comes with it throws me into the deep lands of the forest.
Instead of flailing my arms rampant like a fish out of water, I cross them over my face as my only form of protection against the heat burning my skin.
And as I leave the flames, gravity takes control of me, and I flail back first into the middle of a branch.
And I simply hang there.
I simply hang there because of the excruciating burning on my limp arms, and the dryness that enters my throat equally as painful in ways that I cannot endure at times.
Instead, my head lies empty, an abyss just like the eyes on my face.
But even when I'm near death with a near snapped spine, I cannot mess up. Not after I have left the team in such catastrophes. For that is the only thing on my mind—returning.
With continuous weak attempts, I feebly turn just slightly, falling multitudes of feet onto the ground.
My throat begins to clog with dark grey smoke as I stab my palm into the dirt, choking into the ground. I find that my gloves remain burned and scorched, my left sleeve completely gone from sight as well. Only my hair lies tied just as neatly as before.
My thin arms struggle to lift myself up and garner any sprinkles of strength in my soulless drought of pain and limp away. My eyes water and burn of smoke, doused in the smell of ash and fire as the world holds blurry amidst my sights.
