Chapter 3 - chapter 3:The Firestorm's Embrace

The true apocalypse struck at dusk. No longer mere ashfall, Vesuvius birthed pyroclastic surges—avalanches of gas, rock, and steam racing like demons from Hades. The first wave slammed Herculaneum fully, entombing it under 60 feet of mudflow. Pompeii quivered next. Lucius's family neared the Temple of Apollo when the blast hit: a hurricane of 700-degree fury, faster than galloping stallions.Marcus shoved Lucius behind a column. "Hide!" The surge roared past, scorching air turning skin to parchment in an instant. Livia screamed once, then silence—her form outlined in ash later by rescuers. Marcus charged a looter threatening them, perishing sword-in-hand. Lucius curled fetal in the temple's lee, ears ringing, lungs searing. The world became a furnace, visibility zero.Survivors huddled in cellars and brothels, unaware surges would recur. One family scratched graffiti: "The 16th of August. Restitutus fled here. Despair." Gladiators barred arena doors, only to suffocate. Lovers embraced eternally, bodies contorted in final throes. A dog chained in a courtyard thrashed, preserved mid-bark.By nightfall, four surges had buried Pompeii under 20 feet of pumice and surge deposits. The population—20,000 strong—saw 16,000 perish, their carbonized remains later molded in plaster voids. Vesuvius's column collapsed, unleashing mudflows that sealed fates definitively. Lucius awoke choked in gray hell, clawing free after hours. Ash caked his mouth; his skin blistered raw. Stumbling through ghost streets, he called for family, answered only by wind.He found a baker's shop, loaves petrified mid-bake. A tavern held frozen revelers, goblets tipped. Horror mounted: shadows of agony everywhere. Emerging at dawn, he saw the mountain quieted, its peak calderaed. Pliny the Younger's letters would later chronicle from afar: "Fire met sky, sky fire." But Lucius lived the nightmare firsthand.Weak and alone, he scavenged bread from ruins, evading bandits. Days blurred into survival. Roman patrols eventually arrived, digging sporadically. Lucius waved rags, rescued at last. Carried to safety, Vesuvius's shadow haunted him—a boy forged in cataclysm.