The smell of smoke hit him long before the heat did.
Philia squeezed his eyes shut, his small chest heaving as he choked on the thick, grey soot filling his bedroom. The world outside his door was a roar of crackling timber and shouting men.
Everything was red. Everything was burning.
BAM
The bedroom door burst open, and his mother scrambled inside. Her hair was torn from its pins, soot streaking her pale cheeks, and the hem of her nightdress was scorched black. She didn't say another word, she just scooped him up into her arms, clutching him so tightly to her chest that he could feel the frantic, rabbit-fast thudding of her heart.
"Mother, what's happening?" Philia whimpered, burying his face into the crook of her neck. "Why is it hot?"
"Shh, My Love. Keep your eyes closed. Don't look."
