The world had quieted—at least, that’s what people liked to believe. After the upheaval that reshaped reality itself, after the flames that once devoured cities and souls alike had finally dimmed, humanity clung to something unfamiliar: peace. The era of spontaneous human combustion had passed into history, spoken of in hushed voices and textbooks rather than sirens and screams. But peace, as it turns out, is not the same as stillness. High above the rebuilt streets, perched lazily on the edge of a half-collapsed tower that no one had yet bothered to tear down, Inca Kasugatani watched the city breathe. Her chin rested in her palm, golden eyes half-lidded with boredom. The wind tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. “No fire. No panic. No thrill,” she muttered, clicking her tongue. “What a drag.” To most, this new world was a miracle. To Inca, it was suffocating. She had always followed the scent of danger—the invisible trails that led her straight into chaos. It was never about destruction for its own sake. It was about the rush. The certainty. The way the world narrowed into a single, blazing moment where nothing else mattered. And now? Nothing burned. Well… almost nothing. Her eyes flicked slightly to the side, narrowing just a fraction. There it was again—that faint, prickling sensation at the edge of her perception. Not the roaring infernos of the past, not the catastrophic threads she once chased with reckless joy… but something smaller. Subtler. Unfinished. A slow smile crept across her lips. “Ah… there you are.” Maybe the world had changed. Maybe the great flames were gone. But as long as even a single spark remained—hidden, struggling, waiting to be fanned into something more— Inca would find it. And she would follow.