Where were you when the world ended?

I remember it a little too clearly, as if it happened only yesterday.

I was only a boy when the demons invaded my home.

Fire rained down from the sky, scorching the land and taking the lives of millions in the blink of an eye.

I, along with many others did our utmost to try and survive.

Alas... the conflagration took everyone from me.

Those who were my friends.

Those who weren't my friends.

Those who risked their lives to keep me safe.

Before my eyes, they had lost their lives.

Even the one most precious to me.

Buried in the rubble and ashes of of our own city, my people were annihilated.

Not even I know how much time I've been here.

Where I was, I did not know.

I could neither move my body nor could I see anything.

Here, there was only darkness.

Where am I?

There is nothing here.

Not a sound or a scent.

Have I died? Am I dead?

"*****? ****!!"

And it was then that I heard a voice from above.

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"******! *** ***** ****!"

It was a hurried, panic-stricken voice.

For a moment, I thought that perhaps it was the voice of God, but I soon realized that it wasn't.

Cracks formed in the darkness and light seeped in.

Soon, the darkness crumbled away and the rocks obstructing my vision were removed.

Just like that, I had returned to the land of the living.

The first thing I saw was the face of my savior.

I will never forget the look on his face as he learned of my safety.

Tension from finding a body.

Agony from finding a corpse.

When he saw me covering my eyes from the sudden brightness, relief had taken over his pained expression as if saying, "Thank goodness."

He dug me out carefully and carried me towards a tent full of what looked like doves.

Ten. Ten of my people were here. Some were horribly injured. Others, unscathed but unresponsive.

My mother? Where is my mother? I looked around. She isn't here. Maybe she is in another tent?

Mother...? Did I... have a mother? I restlessly looked around, searching for a familiar face.

My barely lucid consciousness ached, on the verge of being snuffed out.

Ayla. At least Ayla. Surely, she must be alive.

My head was throbbing painfully.

I looked towards him, the one who saved me. His hands were bloody and his nails were chipped. The doves had wry expressions as they tended to his wounds.

All this time, he had been on his hands and knees, digging through the debris.

Looking for survivors.

Looking for me.

I lay quietly on what seemed like a bed for soldiers as the doves quietly chanted and worked their magic, healing my wounds.

The doves spoke to my rescuer in a language I did not understand and he replied in turn.

The bruises and cuts all over my body had already healed and the doves quietly left my side.

Some of them went outside of the tent, while the rest tended to the others like me.

I turned to my savior, a young boy who lo looked like he was in his early teens spoke to me in a language I knew, although broken and with a strange slur.

"You. Safe. I, Hero."

He said slowly and patiently, trying his best to impart the message.

I studied his expression carefully as the meaning of his words became clear to me, and I nodded.

Seeing me nod, a complicated expression made its way to his face.

He then sighed and then spoke again,

"Mine. Name be..."

This too, must have been the work of fate.