cHApTEr 14. HAir on firE (1 of 3)

He was actually enjoying it, swinging from one building to the next, stretching out his arms and pulling them back in. Mioray had pulled up his hood and covered his face with the wooden tree-mask. As always, he felt protected by it, even if others found it hideous. Behind it, he was unrecognizable, yet everyone in the city knew who he was. He felt unstoppable. The mask gave him a freedom he could never have achieved as just Mioray. Flying over the city like this… only John Doe could do it.

The sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving Mars hanging in the twilight sky, waiting for the moon to rise beside it. Mars looked beautiful from a distance, but its beauty carried a grim reminder. Earlier that year, a meteorite had struck one of Reath’s cities, wiping out half of it. If nothing was done, the threat of further impacts remained, but so far, no solution had been found.

Reques City was awash in the warm glow that evening. The streets were still lively. As he swung overhead, people paused mid-step and looked up at him in astonishment, some pointing while others simply staring as if unsure whether what they were seeing was real. Behind the mask, Mioray smiled. He wondered if the city would ever grow used to the idea that someone with superpowers moved among them, as if pulled straight from a comic book.

Thanks to weeks of practice, Mioray no longer struggled with wide gaps between buildings. When the distance was too great, he shot an arm toward whatever was available – a tree, a road sign, a streetlamp – and then pulled himself forward by retracting the black threads that connected the limb to his body. The motion propelled him upward and ahead with a rush of speed,after which he would detach the other arm, repeating the motion.

There was a limit to how far he could launch his limbs. The range depended on how much soul energy he had left. At best, he could stretch them around fifteen meters. In his current state, that was the total length of the strange black threads inside him, something woven from veins and sutures. If he extended one limb to its maximum, he couldn’t extend the others until it retracted.

About ten minutes later, John Doe reached Calm Street. On foot, it would have taken at least half an hour. Three residential buildings were engulfed in flames. Smoke rose into the sky, dark and thick, casting a heavy shadow over the surrounding area. The buildings were seven stories high, and the fire was climbing steadily, swallowing floor after floor.

Ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks crowded the streets below, their lights flashing, though they seemed faint compared to the intensity of the blaze. People moved quickly in all directions. Firefighters carried residents out of the buildings while paramedics fitted them with oxygen masks and treated burns. Others directed powerful streams of water at the flames. In some areas it helped, but the fire still raged fiercely, and it was too early to tell whether they could bring it under control.

Reporters were already present, filming the scene and attempting to interview victims, only to be held back by police. As he approached from above, John Doe tried to spot Detective Natalie Lance among the crowd, but from that height the people looked too small to distinguish. He did hear her voice over the police frequency.

“There are still people trapped inside,” she said. “Firefighters are doing their best, but I’m afraid they won’t get everyone out in time.”

Don’t worry, John Doe thought. That’s why I’m here.

He was already airborne, so he launched his arm toward a fifth-floor window. The glass had shattered from the heat, but the room inside hadn’t caught fire yet. John Doe grabbed the windowsill and pulled himself in.

The crackling of flames and the whistling wind filled his ears, yet he could swear he heard gasps from below. People had noticed him, of course. Reporters quickly shifted their cameras from the victims to the masked figure flying into the building, much to the police’s relief.

I wonder if Numinies is down there filming this too, he thought just before disappearing inside. No, really, the mysterious vlogger seemed to turn up everywhere John Doe went.

The apartment was full of sound. John Doe landed in a bedroom that was still untouched by flames, but the hiss and crackle of fire nearby made it clear that it was only a matter of time. John Doe grabbed a blanket from the bed and moved toward the front door. He wrapped the blanket around his hand, extended his arm and grabbed the door handle. He might not feel pain, but that didn’t mean he wanted to risk unnecessary damage. The metal could be scorching hot, and if fire raged outside, it would surge into the room the moment the door opened.

He was right.

As soon as the door swung open, flames burst inward with a roar. Fire consumed the frame, tongues of heat licking at the ceiling. John Doe threw the now-burning blanket aside and pulled his arm back into place.

His phone started ringing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Natalie’s voice came sharp and furious through the speaker. “Leave this to professionals. You don’t know how to handle fire hazards. Have you ever even been in a fire before?”

“Actually, I have,” Mioray replied, as calmly as if they were discussing something trivial. “Remember when Terry and I were chasing the Dismantler?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!”

“We can argue all day, Natalie, but I am already inside,” he said, glancing toward the hallway. He noticed that the air closer to the floor looked clearer.

He dropped down and moved forward in a crouch, keeping as low as possible and holding his breath when he could. Even though he was dead, he could still lose consciousness from suffocation, though likely slower than an ordinary person. Matt’s little experiment had at least confirmed that much.

“I heard firefighters are struggling to reach everyone,” he continued as he made his way into the hallway. “Let me help. I’ll make sure they get out.”

The flames roared along the walls, but the center of the corridor was still passable. As he straightened up briefly, he felt intense heat against his back. Turning his head, he saw fire spreading across his backpack. He quickly shrugged it off before it caught onto his clothes.

He watched for a moment as the flames swallowed it whole. That backpack had served him well. He would have to buy another one.

“Fine,” Natalie growled after a pause, once he raised the phone back to his ear. “There’s a six-year-old girl and her mother on the sixth floor. We had the mother on the line, but she passed out. We can still hear the girl crying. The stairs to the fifth floor have collapsed, and firefighters can’t reach them.”

“Okay. I’m on it,” John Doe said and ended the call, heading for the staircase.

Just as Natalie had described, the stairs leading down to the fourth floor had collapsed. The fifth and sixth floors, however, were still connected. He hurried upward, drawing in air despite the heat. It probably burned his lungs, but he felt no immediate consequences. They would heal anyway.

“Is anyone here?” John Doe shouted as he ran along the corridor, checking apartments as he passed. The fire hadn’t reached this level fully yet, but thick smoke made it hard to see. He began coughing.

“Little girl! With your mother! Where are you?”

He pricked up his ears. At first, all he heard was the fire raging below, but then a faint cry reached him. He moved toward the sound and saw a door engulfed in flames, its wooden frame burning away and exposing the steel structure beneath. Without hesitating, John Doe pushed his arm through a gap in the exposed metal, straight into the flames, and unlocked the door from the inside.

As soon as it opened, he dropped to the floor and rolled to extinguish the fire that had caught on his hoodie sleeve. The flames died quickly, but the skin on his right arm had already burned away in places. Melted fabric clung to the raw flesh beneath.

It was manageable. He had dealt with worse.

John Doe stepped inside and searched for the girl and her mother. He found them in the bathroom. The girl was crying, holding her unconscious mother’s head in her lap. A phone, still connected to the call, lay beside them.

“I found them,” John Doe said loudly.

The girl looked up at him and screamed, tightening her grip around her mother. Tears streamed down her face. The wooden mask had clearly frightened her.

Oh well, Mioray took off the mask and crouched down to her level. I guess not everyone heard about John Doe yet.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said calmly. “I’m human, just like you. I’m here to help. What’s your name?”

“Rosie,” she sobbed.

“Rosie, that’s a beautiful name.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m John Doe. I know this is scary, but listen to me for a moment. Fire needs three things to survive. If you remove one of them, it goes out. Do you know what they are?”

She shook her head.

He held up three fingers and bent them one by one.

“Oxygen. Fuel. Heat.”

She blinked at him, clearly not expecting a lesson in the middle of a fire. Still, she had stopped crying.

“Rosie, I need you to sit on my back and hold on as tight as you can. I’ll carry your mother and get both of you out. Can I count on you?”

She nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

“Good,” he said gently. “Let’s move.”

“Wait!” Rosie suddenly cried as he tried to lift her mother. “What about Peevie?”

“Who?”

“Peevie. My hamster. He’s in my room.”

Mioray suppressed a sigh. Of course there had to be a pet involved.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get him too,” he said, putting the mask back on. “Show me where your room is.”

He detached his left arm and wrapped the black threads around Rosie’s mother to secure her. Rosie watched wide-eyed, momentarily forgetting the danger around them. Once the woman was supported, he crouched so Rosie could climb onto his back. She did without hesitation.

Moving wasn’t easy with the girl clinging to him and her mother suspended from his arm, but he managed. He made his way to Rosie’s room, avoiding flames that had already begun creeping inside. She pointed toward a small table. A cage stood there, a hamster squeaking frantically inside.

John Doe opened it and scooped the hamster up with his right hand. It bit his finger sharply, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tucked it carefully into the front pocket of his hoodie, hoping it would stay put.

“Now the fun part,” he muttered under his breath.

He ran to the window and forced it open. Smoke poured out as he climbed onto the sill, adjusting his position so the unconscious woman hung securely from his left arm and Rosie held tightly to his back.

“Remember, hold tight. Don’t let go,” he reminded Rosie.

With his right hand, he grabbed the outer edge of the windowsill and then stepped off into open air.

The black threads extended steadily from his right arm as they bore their combined weight. They lowered them in a controlled descent along the burning facade, the threads stretching further and further as they moved down.

“Just keep holding, Rosie,” he said, keeping his voice steady as they descended.

People below cheered and clapped as John Doe continued descending. But when he reached the level of the second floor, the black threads stopped extending. They went taut, refusing to lengthen any further, leaving them suspended in midair.

Oh, crap.

“Uh, a little help here?” he shouted, hanging awkwardly with the unconscious woman tied to one arm and Rosie clinging to his back.

“Bring the fire lift over here, now!” Natalie Lance’s voice cut through the chaos.

Within moments, firefighters maneuvered the lift beneath them. They carefully took Rosie and her mother first, then helped John Doe step down onto the platform. He released his grip on the windowsill and reeled his right arm back in, drawing gasps from the crowd as the black threads retracted smoothly into his body.

Paramedics rushed forward as soon as the lift reached the ground, placing oxygen masks on the girl and her mother and checking their pulses. A frantic man pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees beside them. It quickly became clear he was Rosie’s father. He kept thanking John Doe over and over until a paramedic gently moved the masked figure aside, concerned about his burns.

The paramedic reached for his injured arm, but John Doe pulled back slightly.

“Trust me, it’s nothing,” he said.

At that moment, Detective Natalie Lance and her partner, Chad Haytham, approached.

Both detectives were covered in soot. Natalie’s eyes immediately went to John Doe’s burned arm, and the worry on her face was hard to miss. She never approved of his involvement and always looked uneasy when he put himself in danger.

“Anyone still inside?” John Doe asked before either of them could speak.

“Firefighters just finished evacuating the first four floors,” Natalie replied, pointing toward the lift, which was already rising again with firefighters on board.

“Okay. I’ll help them.”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere, young man,” Detective Haytham said. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he pulled handcuffs from his belt. “The police would very much like to have a conversation with you.”

“Really? You’re going to arrest me now?”

“Chad, we have more important things to deal with,” Natalie said firmly.

“You want me to let him go?” Haytham stared at her in disbelief.

Natalie hesitated, her gaze shifting between her partner and John Doe.

“If it means more people get out alive, I’ll take that risk.”

Haytham stood there for a moment, handcuffs still in hand. With a reluctant sigh, he clipped them back onto his belt.

“Thanks, Chad,” Natalie said quietly. Then she stepped closer to John Doe and lowered her voice. “Meet me on the roof when you’re done.” She gestured toward a nearby building at a safe distance from the flames.

Just then, a high-pitched squeak came from somewhere near John Doe’s midsection.

Natalie frowned. “What’s that?”

“I completely forgot,” he muttered, pulling the wriggling hamster out of his hoodie pocket and giving it to Natalie. It tried to squirm free. “Here. Take Peevie. Careful, he bites.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Natalie asked, holding the hamster awkwardly.

“Don’t look at me,” Haytham said, raising his hands.

“It belongs to the girl,” John Doe replied. “See you later!”

Without waiting for further discussion, he launched his arm upward, grabbed the edge of the fire lift platform, and pulled himself up.

By the end of the operation, John Doe had rescued four more people. Two were a young couple who had barricaded themselves in their bedroom, waiting for help. The third was a woman who worked night shifts and had been sleeping, unaware of the fire spreading through the building. The fourth was a paraplegic man whose wheelchair had been destroyed by the flames, forcing him to drag himself along the floor in an attempt to escape.

All of them had been on the seventh floor and likely would not have made it out without him. Each time, John Doe secured the person with his arm and stepped off the windowsill, lowering them carefully, aiming for the raised fire lift. He had no intention of repeating his mistake and getting stuck midair again because his threads refused to extend any further.

After leaving the last rescuee with the firefighters on the lift and hearing over the radio that no one remained inside the building, John Doe launched himself into the air. He didn’t go down to avoid journalists who’d surely try to push microphones toward him and police officers who, like Detective Chad Haytham, seemed eager to arrest him. Apparently, helping people and swinging through the city was considered disturbing public order.

Night had fully fallen. Smoke covered most of the sky, obscuring the full moon, but the burning residential complex tore through the darkness like an inferno. It would be a long night for the firefighters, but at least now they could focus entirely on containing the blaze. Little by little, the flames began to weaken under the constant pressure of water.

John Doe approached the nearby building from below and pulled himself up onto the roof. Natalie was already there, sitting on a maintenance curb. She was eating a protein bar and washing it down with water. The firelight reflected in her tired eyes. She seemed lost in thought until he landed beside her.

“One of your twigs is on fire,” she said evenly.

“What?”

“Your mask.”

“Oh shit!”

Mioray quickly removed the mask. Natalie was right, one of the carved branches at the top was smoldering, burning like the end of a match. He patted it frantically until the small flame died out, his chest tightening at the thought of losing the mask. It was Erinel’s gift. He should have been more careful.

“If you insist on throwing yourself into danger,” Natalie said, “why not wear something practical? A helmet, for example.”

“Did you two plan this or something?” Mioray muttered, remembering Angelika saying the same thing earlier.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” He shook his head and sat down beside Natalie. “So what happened? Do you know what caused the fire?”

“Yeah, we figured it out pretty quickly,” Natalie took another sip of water. “A guy on the second floor had been hoarding stardust, convinced the price would rise next year. Claimed he’d done deep research. He should have researched how to store stardust safely instead, that asshole.”

“Some people are just asking for trouble,” Mioray said quietly. “The worst part is when they drag others down with them.” He hesitated before adding, “Speaking of assholes… I’m sorry I mentioned Terry and the Dismantler earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Natalie nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “What are you apologizing for? It’s not like we can never talk about it again. What happened, happened. Aren’t you the one who insists on keeping the past accurate?”

He gave her a small smirk. It was typical of her to stay composed, even with a burning skyline in front of them. He looked back at the towering waves of fire. He had done everything he could tonight. There were no casualties, and that alone felt unreal. Erinel would probably say it had always been meant to end that way, though.

“Do you think Farah could absorb all the heat and put the fire out that way?” Natalie wondered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Mioray said, stretching his burned fingers in front of him. “Heat is one of the elements fire needs, after all. But I doubt Farah would agree to do it. IIt’s not really in her nature.”

“Someone’s being judgmental.”

Next, Mioray expected Natalie to start telling him again that it wasn’t his job to rush into danger and rescue people. Lately, it felt like everyone had an opinion on that. However, she didn’t scold him this time. Instead, she finished her protein bar, folded the wrapper into a small, precise square, and slipped it into her pocket.

“So, I’ve been looking into Herman Clopton’s wife,” she finally said, her eyes still fixed on the fire. “It wasn’t as easy as you’d think.”

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