The roar of a crowd felt distant, like it was happening underwater, muffled and detached from the rhythm of my heartbeat. I could hear the faint crackle of lingering fires behind me, sirens wailing in the background, their blaring harmonizing with the chants growing louder—"Fox! Fox! Fox!"
I didn't stand up immediately. My legs were still there, functional, but my body felt weightless, like I was a shadow pretending to have mass. The ache wasn't in my muscles—it was somewhere deeper, coiled in my chest like a flame that wouldn't go out.
Chief Ryan's eyes haunted me.
But the cameras didn't care. Neither did the microphone shoved inches from my face. The reporter's voice was insistent, piercing through the fog.
"Mr. Fox, please—just one more question! Your name is spreading like wildfire—no pun intended—you saved hundreds today! Can you tell us your rank?"
My body moved before my mind did. Standing up felt foreign, as if I was borrowing someone else's strength. My gloves felt heavier than before, soaked with more than just sweat. The ash in the air clung to my suit, but none of it mattered. I reached into my scorched jacket, pulling out the ID card I'd nearly forgotten existed.
"Here," I muttered, flashing the badge.
The camera zoomed in.
[MR. FOX | C-RANK FIREFIGHTER]
Skills:
Fire Suppression (Lv. 3)
Emergency Response (Lv. 2)
Hazard Assessment (Lv. 2)
Strategist (Lv. 4)
Silence.
Then—
"What?!"
"That can't be right!"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
Voices exploded around me, disbelief rippling through the crowd like a sudden gust of wind feeding a fire. People pressed closer, phones raised, flashes popping like distant fireworks.
"Sir, you just—You saved over three hundred people in under five hours. That's… that's beyond A-Rank performance!" the reporter stammered, her face flushed with shock.
I held the card a second longer before sliding it back into my pocket. The truth sat on the tip of my tongue, heavy and sharp. But I couldn't let it out—not here, not now.
"With all the fires these last couple of days," I said slowly, my voice steady despite the storm inside me, "and the major one today… my rank's probably due for an update. It's A-Rank now."
I wasn't necessarily lying though you can't say I was being honest either.
But, who cared? All that mattered was that it was sufficient for people not to investigate further.
The crowd erupted, not with more questions this time, but cheers. Deafening, unrelenting cheers. Some people cried. Others clapped until their hands turned red. "An A-Rank!" someone shouted, like they'd just witnessed a legend being born.
A-Ranks were celebrities. Untouchable, respected, admired.
But all I felt was hollow.
The reporter wasn't done. She leaned forward, her voice lowering slightly, as if peeling back the layers of celebration to touch something rawer. "Mr. Fox… were there any casualties?"
The question hit harder than the smoke ever did.
I froze. My mask hid my face, but not from me. I felt every muscle tense, every breath grow heavier. The skills that kept my body moving couldn't patch the fractures inside. Chief Ryan's voice echoed in my mind, sharp and clear.
"You must answer."
I swallowed. "Chief Ryan," I whispered, the words cutting deeper than I thought possible, "has passed away in the fires."
The crowd's roar collapsed into silence, like the oxygen had been sucked out of the space around us. The reporter's mouth parted slightly, her next question dying before it could be born. People whispered his name like it was fragile, like saying it too loud would shatter what was left.
Chief Donovan Ryan wasn't just an A-Rank firefighter. He was the firefighter. A man whose values burned brighter than the fires he fought.
And now he was gone.
"Do you think…" The reporter hesitated, then asked, "Do you think this was a planned attack?"
I recalled Ryan's voice cutting through the flames, his determination staying persisting as his life faded away. He had no fear of dying—not due to a lack of appreciation for life, but because he had faith in a purpose greater than himself.
Hope.
I straightened. My heart beat harder, not out of grief, but something else—anger, maybe. Purpose.
"This wasn't an accident," I said, my voice cutting through the thick air. "This was a planned attack."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The atmosphere shifted from mourning to something sharper—fear, maybe. But I didn't let it sit. I stepped forward, raising my voice over the murmurs.
"But let me make one thing clear." My fists clenched. "No matter who's behind this, no matter how many fires they start, they will never—never—bring this district down. Not while we're here. Not while firefighters like Chief Ryan fought with everything they had. Not while there are people willing to carry that flame forward."
I paused, letting my words sink in.
"They can burn our buildings. They can try to break our spirits. But they'll never extinguish us."
The crowd exploded again, this time louder, fueled not just by relief but by defiance. People chanted my name, "Fox! Fox! Fox!" as if it was more than a name—as if it was a symbol.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, it was Logan's. "You've done enough, man," he murmured, his voice low enough only for me to hear. "Go rest. We've got it from here."
I didn't argue. My body moved on autopilot as I slipped away, leaving the crowd, the cameras, and the noise behind.
Back at Station 47, I peeled off the suit, the weight of it hitting me the moment it left my shoulders. The mask came off last, revealing a face I didn't recognize in the cracked mirror—smudged with ash, streaked with dried sweat, eyes hollow and red-rimmed. I put it back on before heading home, I didn't need asking why Reynard Vale was exiting a fire station.
Luckily, no one followed me home.
But the world was fully aware of me.
Social media was on fire, more relentless than the actual blazes I'd fought. Headlines screamed: "The Fox of Flames Emerges!" "Mysterious Firefighter Saves Hundreds!" "A New A-Rank Hero?"
I didn't care.
As I opened the door to my apartment, I fell into Sienna's embrace silently. Her warmth seemed like the sole connection keeping me grounded in reality. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I'd forgotten to check it since the fires started.
Instead, I whispered, "Are you okay?"
She nodded, pulling off my mask gently. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, tracing the dried salt trails left by tears I didn't even remember shedding.
We sat on the couch, tangled together like two people trying to stitch themselves whole again. She told me about the fire at the construction site—how a firetruck had arrived just in time to put it out.
"Logan and the rest," I muttered. "It had to be them."
She nodded, her fingers threading through my hair, grounding me.
Then—
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Event Quest: District Inferno - COMPLETE
Original Reward: Firefighter A-Rank Promotion - REPLACED
New Reward: Choose Your Next Job
I stared at the message, the words blurring for a second before they sharpened again. A new job. A new path.
But all I felt was a small, flickering flame deep inside me—one that wouldn't die. A fire not born from duty, but from something more personal.
Revenge.
Sienna noticed the shift in my expression, her hand pausing mid-stroke against my hair. "Rey… what's wrong?"
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I turned to her, my voice low but steady.
"Ask Camille to make me a second mask."