Danger loomed above the warehouse with the children within totally unaware about the events that were about to occur.
"Mikado! Watch that side, they're trying to break through!" The team captain yelled while pushing back enemies on his own side. "We can't let them steal our flag again or we'll lose!"
As soon as he finished his sentence, a bunch of their teammates were knocked over as Kiroku jumped right into the zeppelin. "I'm here suckers! Your flag is mine to take!"
The others screamed to fire, blasting loads of plastic rifle rounds at Kiroku—which failed to connect. "Wow, your guys' aim sucks," he mumbled to himself, peering over the crate, unaware of who's behind him. He sat still for a moment, feeling the enormous pressure behind his back.
"I got you now!" He turned and began emptying his rifle rounds at who he thought was Mikado. It was in fact—not Mikado. He fired at a military soldier. One who's uniform he did not recognise…
The warehouse froze as a suffocating atmosphere drowned it in momentary silence, only to be interrupted by distant booms that sound like thunder.
The soldier raised his hand—stopping just short of his lips, holding a radio. In an eerie and monotone voice, he whispered in a language that no one present could understand.
Mikado peeked around the crates to question the silence of the others—only to start sweating bullets as his eyes widened in terror. In a shaky voice, he mumbled, "T-that uniform… he… he's a Velkaris soldier!"
That statement made the entire warehouse erupt in gasps. The Velkaris Union was an enemy to the nation of the Eurina Empire—the nation that the children belong to. To see an enemy soldier in their territory, something was very wrong.
Kiroku got up and made a run for it, tears sprinting down his face in fear as he cried, "HE SPOKE IN THE RADIO! HE'S CALLING FOR BACK UP TO KILL US ALL!"
The children knew Kiroku understood some of the Velkarinian language, though—he usually jokes a lot. This time, they knew it was for real.
As soon as he yelled, panic surged as quick as excitement. Everyone began to run for their lives, pushing and shoving to get out first. First—a horrifying groan of twisting metal and bolts, Then, multiple heavy footsteps, accompanied by the roar of tank tracks. The metal walls burst open as the soldiers began dumping rounds of rifles, tanks, and machine guns at the children who could not escape the warehouse in time.
This was a raid. A plunder. A massacre.
Pained screams and gunfire filled the once-silent air above Kiroku and Mikado, who have already fled the warehouse, darting down the forest that led to it. In the distance, the city of Pillar Erodus that was once the pride of the Eurinians—was engulfed in flames.
The sight that Kiroku saw began to write an expression on his face that screamed; "WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" But it is one that no one has ever seen. Not even Mikado. A mix between dread, despair, rage, disgust, and the feeling of losing someone or something dear, all surged at once and formed a composition of emotions—one that's too much for such a young boy to experience.
Mikado barely kept composure—though, the look of fear and despair betrayed him. Thanks to the psychological training that his father put him through, he didn't panic—even as a child. But this is too much for a child to handle.
"Why now…?" Kiroku mumbled, his tears dripping from his face. "Why today…?"
Mikado's façade shattered, and he too—began to drain his eyes of tears. "K-Kiroku… we need to find our parents… Then, we'll meet back here… okay?" He muttered, voice breaking under the immense pressure they're going through.
Then, they ran. Fast—far—in different directions. To their homes. Mikado ran into the ruins of what used to be a city. It was set ablaze. People panicked as they ran aimlessly to get away from the machine guns and the mounted cannons on the enemy Zeppelins above. Mikado navigated through the streets, glass crunching under his feet, dust floating in the air, and the stench of smoke filling his lungs. His eyes were watering from the smoke, and his lungs couldn't get enough air, slowly suffocating him as he ran.
But he had one thing in mind. Get back to his family.
He pushed through, finally arriving at his home, only to find a pile of rubble—charred blood, and a stiff bloodied hand sticking out of the rubble. This could only mean one thing. They're dead.
Mikado began to jitter, his breathing turned rapid, and his eyes couldn't look away. He was having a panic-attack.
He desperately tried to dig into the rubble, but the flames kept pushing him back, burning his hands, but he kept trying aimlessly.
"Please… someone… anyone… Please be alive…"
It was pointless. They were already dead.
The marching of boots and the echoes of bombs grew louder. They were coming. Mikado had no choice but to leave them behind. He turned and ran as bullets flew right by him. One struck him in the shoulder. Another struck his back, but he kept running and turned the corner into an untouched medical shed, where he found out-of-date first aid kits. He was able to quicky bandage his shoulder, though it wasn't a great tie, it was good enough to patch it up.
The soldiers were coming closer, so he had no choice but to run again. His lungs burned, his back ached, and his legs cramped, but he still pushed forward. He had to find Kiroku, his last hope. Who he believed was still alive. He saw the bodies of some of the other children at the warehouse scattered across the streets he ran through. Looks like not many survived the ambush.
In the distance, he saw the silhouette of a boy. Kiroku. Mikado picked up the pace, but he tripped on the rubble, crashing into the charred concrete, hitting his head on shards of broken glass, which pierced his skin—making him bleed. He cried in pain as he attempted to get up, but all his energy had already been exhausted, and was stuck on his knees. That's when he saw it. Kiroku being held up from the neck by a silhouette of a soldier. Kiroku flailed, trying to break free, but it was futile.
Mikado's breath hitched. Please… not you too…
He saw a ring on the silhouette of the soldier glow a faint red. As that happened, Kiroku burst into flames, going still and lifeless as he began to char. His body exploded into a puddle of blood, limbs flying off, chunks of flesh spraying past Mikado.
Then Mikado's eyes lost its light. His breathing stopped, and his pupils dilated. Without a word, he was able to get up and make a run for it. He ran through the body-littered streets, through alleyways, charred rubble, and destroyed military vehicles. He didn't stop for even a moment, as a slight pause would risk the chance of his death. So, he kept moving—kept running—into a building that was about to collapse, he found an iron crate. He tore it open with the planks nearby, climbed inside and closed it shut. As he lay in the crate, the cool, untouched surface made his burnt skin tingle. Blood was slowly pooling in his mouth—choking him as he coughed it up. His lungs burned hard, and every breath ached. His fingers stung, and even a gentle touch forced a flinch. His condition is terrible.
But, he can't undo what he saw. This would be too much for even an adult to handle, let alone a child. He slowly closed his eyes, exhausted. A faint tear dripping down his face.
He began to dream. About a time where he sat at the edge of the pillar with his parents—watching the view as the gentle breeze tickled his skin. About the time when he reconciled with Kiroku, giving him a bar of chocolate after a huge fight. About the times he laughed. The times he cried. The times he felt at home. He dreamed. Maybe if he kept dreaming, he won't have to wake up to reality. He won't have to face the truth. That he can dream in the beautiful lie.
But it wasn't that simple. Dreams never last forever. They slip through our fingers like smoke, leaving the hollow ache of what could've been. We clutch at memories as if they were lifelines, but even memories fade, dissolving into the quiet spaces between heartbeats, until all that remains is the bittersweet whisper of a life we once imagined.
But Mikado didn't care. He wanted to live in a dream, where the pain of reality won't reach him. He instinctively clung to its fragile edges, savouring the warmth of a world that had already passed by him. The unforgiving events outside didn't wait. It continued, leaving him suspended between what he wished for and what he could never truly have.
But for a while, the world will let him dream. Even for a little bit.
Rewinding back in time—moments before the raid. Or, in other words, an extermination.
The airship patrol moved lazily through the clouds, their engines humming like tired giants. Their mission was the same as it had been for three quiet years: survey the capital, maintain order, and watch over Pillar Erodus—the pride of the Eurina Empire.
"Life is boring," a young soldier groaned, slouching against the zeppelin's railing as the wind slapped his cheeks. "I became a soldier for adventure. Not this… sky babysitting."
He puffed his cheeks like a child denied dessert.
His comrade immediately smacked him in the back of the head.
"Are you an idiot? Peace is a blessing—be grateful for it."
"Whaaaat? But it's so boring!" he whined, hanging over the railing like a limp cloth. "At least let something happen once in a whi—"
He stopped.
Mid-sentence.
Mid-breath.
Something glinted far, far across the clouds—too sharp, too metallic, too deliberate.
He slowly straightened.
"You… see that?"
His comrade looked up from his cigarette, annoyed—until he followed the line of sight.
A long silence.
Then:
"…Yeah. I see it."
His cigarette slipped from his fingers.
"That's a zeppelin."
Before the thought could settle, sirens screamed throughout the patrol ship.
ENEMY APPROACHING. NORTH. MINIMUM THREE AIRSHIPS.
The Eurinian patrol fleet scrambled, turning hard toward the threat. Their formation tightened in midair—zeppelins pulling closer, gunners preparing hurriedly. Officers barked orders, engines roared, and the once-bored soldiers found their hearts punching against their ribs.
But they made a fatal mistake.
They focused on the north.
The three zeppelins approaching from that direction were pristine, perfectly visible, and perfectly intentional.
A decoy.
The real attack came from the south—
from below the clouds—
from the blind spot no one had bothered to monitor because "nothing ever happens."
The first Eurinian captain to notice the shadow beneath them barely had time to shout.
The clouds exploded upward as the Velkaris battle fleet surged out of the fog—
sleek armoured hulls, heavy cannons primed. A dreadnought leading like an iron behemoth swallowing the sky.
A blinding muzzle flash.
The patrol commander screamed, "BRACE—BRACE—!"
Too late.
The Velkaris broadside struck like divine punishment.
Half of the Eurinian fleet erupted in orange fire.
Zeppelins were shredded open, their gondolas torn apart like cheap tin. Engineers were sucked screaming into open air before the flames swallowed them whole.
The young soldier who had complained just minutes ago watched the sky split apart in front of him.
"This… this can't— this can't be happening—"
He never finished the sentence.
A second barrage hit.
The zeppelin lurched, metal screaming, ballast bursting. The deck tilted violently, throwing bodies overboard. A gunner crashed into the railing beside him, bones snapping as the ship's side was torn open.
The endless peace they had taken for granted vanished in a single breath.
All across the fleet, patrol ships fell—
one by one—
spiralling down toward Pillar Erodus in burning trails.
Within minutes, the guardians of the capital were reduced to scattering fireballs, their ashes joining the inferno consuming the city below.