A shrill scream tore through the peaceful afternoon.
“A Marchen! There’s one there!”
A Marchen horde had penetrated the Liberated District’s barricades. An alarm was raised, and the people scattered.
“Ow!” yelled a little boy, who had tripped in the ensuing chaos.
One Marchen spotted the fallen child, eyeing its prey.
Adult on-lookers stared at the boy in fear, but none were brave enough to help him.
As the Marchen placed its slimy hand on the boy’s head—
“Stop.”
The Marchen’s hand was soon burned to a crisp.
“AGH!” cried the beast.
It stepped backwards, glancing at the shadow guarding its target.
There, it saw his protector.
A girl with fiery-red hair, clutching a box of matches in her hand. She was petite, but confident.
“Move, kid,” she ordered.
“S-Sure, thanks lady!”
The kid got to his feet and sprinted to safety.
Just then, a voice yelped, “Aah! Watch out!”
The girl, seeing the child run off, failed to realize she had left her back exposed to the Marchen as it swiped at her with its sharp claws. But instead of a splatter of blood— The girl vanished like mist.
“Heat Haze.”
“GRAGH!”
The Marchen flailed around in search of its prey, but was startled by the sight of the girl standing before it unharmed.
She returned a smug grin, still clutching the matchbox.
“I can do anything I imagine with this little flame. How’d that taste, stinky?” she teased.
“Gng...”
The Marchen steeled itself.
Soon, other Marchens swarmed to help the befuddled member of their pack in subduing the sly teenager.
“You’re all as a dumb as you look. Pathetic... Taste my flame!”
The Little Match Girl grabbed a handful of matches and struck them against the box, igniting a flame before tossing the matches into the approaching horde.
“FLAME GOD, DESCEND!”
“GYAAAAAGH!”
A magnificent inferno emerged from the tip of each match, the force of which whipped into a flaming tornado which reduced the creatures to piles of ash.
Only one Marchen survived, prompting the girl to light one more match.
“You look like you can use a...smoke.”
*flick*...
The match left her fingers, flying in a clean arc before engulfing the Marchen in flames.
　 ◯ In a blink, the flames were all extinguished.
“Aw. It’s gone.”
Somewhere in the Liberated District...
The girl tossed her used matches on the ground of a narrow alley.
She gazed longingly at the ashes, producing a small grin.
(Man, now that’s what I’m talking about. “FLAME GOD, DESCEND” was pretty cool of me, huh?)
“Heh. Uhehehe... Mwehehehe,” cackled the girl.
Spittles of drool formed in the corner of her lips.
(Oh, that was all a hallucination. Guess that’s my quota for the day.)
The girl was quick to snap out of her daze, and exited the alley to join the crowd of people in the street.
Meekly, she called out to a passerby, “Um... Anyone need matches? Hehe. Just kidding.”
But the girl escaped the notice of most everyone who walked past her.
It was a curious sight. To an outside observer, one might think they ignored her intentionally.
“Excuuuuse me! Matches...any...”
But, as usual, no one stopped to look at her.
(Hehe...)
(Typical. Another day in the life.)
No one noticed her.
Of course, no one would buy from her either.
It was almost as though she was invisible.
This pronounced isolation caused her to withdraw from the world.
(Whatever. As long as I’ve got my matches.)
She has no Heat Haze.
There was no Flame God, Descend.
　 ◯ Every story has its protagonist.
With names come meaning and purpose.
Minor characters, however, are often left out of these tales.
Characters who operate in the shadows, exempt from the glory reserved for those in the spotlight.
Very rarely, however, there are “nameless protagonists.”
How, pray tell, can such a person move this story?
Especially without powers.
Accepting her namelessness as fate, she takes it in stride.
Some die without recognition. Not everyone is meant to be.
The Little Match Girl.
Unbeknownst to her, her story has yet to begin.