You glanced around the room, searching for anything that could help.

Your eyes landed on the lamp oil your mother kept by the fireplace.

You grabbed it, your small hands wrapping around the heavy container as you dragged it closer.

The smell was sharp and made your nose wrinkle, but you knew it was what you needed.

You unscrewed the cap, your fingers slipping slightly on the metal, and began pouring the oil across the floor.

The liquid spread quickly, pooling around the bodies and soaking into the wooden planks.

You worked as quickly as your small frame would allow, dragging the container from room to room, leaving a trail of oil in your wake.

Your breathing was heavy by the time you were done, the container nearly empty in your hands.

You set it down by the fireplace and stepped back, your chest heaving as you took in the scene.

The thought of lighting the fire made your stomach twist. This was your home. Your memories were here. But you couldn’t let that stop you. You couldn’t afford to hesitate.

You reached for a piece of wood from the fireplace, the end already ablaze. The heat was intense, and you had to hold it carefully to avoid burning your fingers. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stepped toward the first trail of oil.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Please forgive me.”

With that, you lowered the burning wood to the oil. The flames erupted almost instantly, racing across the floor in bright, crackling lines. You stumbled back, your wide eyes reflecting the growing fire as it spread.

The heat was unbearable, and the smoke began to fill the air, stinging your eyes and making it harder to breathe.

You coughed, covering your mouth with your sleeve as you backed toward the door.

The flames grew larger, consuming everything in their path. You stood in the doorway, your bag slung over your shoulder, watching as the fire swallowed the home you had known your entire life.

The memories, the laughter, the safety—it was all gone now, turning to ash before your eyes.

You stepped outside into the cold night air, shivering as the contrast hit you. The stars above seemed distant, almost indifferent to what was happening below.

You turned back to the house one last time, the flames roaring behind you.

Tears streamed down your face, but you didn’t let yourself cry out. You couldn’t. This wasn’t the time for that. Instead, you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you made a silent promise.

“I’ll survive, Mommy,” you whispered. “No matter what. I’ll survive.”

And with that, you turned away, walking into the night with only the faint light of the stars to guide you.

---

“…zzz…”

Bang! Bang!

“Huh?” Armin jolted awake, his small body sitting upright in his bed. The noise had shattered the quiet of the night, pulling him from his sleep.

His blonde hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his wide blue eyes darted around the room in confusion.

He was only seven, barely old enough to make sense of the world around him. But even at his age, he knew something was wrong.

His heart raced as he slid off his bed, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor.

The noise came again, softer this time—tap, tap, tap. He froze, his breath caught in his throat, before realizing it was coming from his window.

Cautiously, Armin moved toward it, the dim moonlight casting long shadows across his room. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the edge of the curtain, pulling it aside to reveal the source of the sound.

What he saw made him gasp.

There you were, standing outside his window, your figure barely visible in the pale light. Your clothes were dirty and torn, and there were faint streaks of soot on your face.

Your hair clung to your damp skin, and in your eyes—those eyes—was a mixture of exhaustion and desperation that struck him silent. You looked like you had been through hell.

Armin fumbled with the latch on his window, his hands shaking as he pushed it open. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice small but filled with concern. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you climbed through the window, your small frame landing on the wooden floor with a soft thud.

You stood there for a moment, clutching the strap of your bag tightly, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I… I had to leave,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Armin’s eyes widened as he took in your appearance, the smudges of ash on your skin, the tear tracks on your cheeks, and the faint smell of smoke that clung to you.

“Leave? What happened? Are you hurt?” He asked the questions quickly, his words tumbling over each other in his panic.

You shook your head, but your expression remained distant, as though you were somewhere else entirely.

“No. I’m not hurt,” you murmured, your voice flat. “But… my home…” You trailed off, your fists tightening around the strap of your bag.

Armin’s brows furrowed as he watched you, his heart aching at the sight of you so broken.

He didn’t understand what had happened, but he knew it had to be bad. Really bad.

He reached out, placing a small, tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You can stay here. I’ll… I’ll ask Grandpa tomorrow, but you can stay here tonight, okay?”

You nodded, your eyes finally meeting his. For a moment, the weight of everything lifted just slightly, replaced by the faintest flicker of warmth.

You hadn’t expected Armin to say no, but hearing the kindness in his voice still made your chest ache.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

Armin smiled, his grip on your shoulder tightening just a little. “Come on,” he said, leading you toward his bed. “You can sleep here. I’ll stay on the floor.”

“No,” you protested quickly. “I can sleep on the floor—”

Armin shook his head, cutting you off. “You’re tired. Just take the bed, okay? Please?”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, too worn out to argue. As you climbed into the bed, Armin grabbed a spare blanket from the corner of the room and made himself a spot on the floor beside you.

He stayed quiet after that, giving you space, though his mind raced with questions about what had happened.

For the first time that night, you felt a small sense of safety. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t erase what you had lost, but it was enough to keep you going.

And as Armin lay there on the floor, listening to your soft, uneven breaths, he made a silent promise to himself: whatever had hurt you, whatever had made you leave, he would help you through it. Somehow.