Chapter 2

March 4, 2029

Nagasaki Airport, Japan

The airport was packed. Loud, hot, and overflowing with people.

Families clung to each other. Children cried. Announcements blared overhead in a loop, too fast and distorted to make any sense of. Soldiers in uniforms shouted directions that no one could hear over the crowd. The lines weren't lines anymore, just tangled masses of desperate people attempting to flee the country. I stood somewhere between it all, clutching my school bag tightly with both hands. The straps are digging into my shoulders, but I can't let go. It was all I had left of my old life.

Somehow, I'd ended up at the airport. Someone had told me to get here. That planes were still leaving. That Korea was taking in refugees. I followed the current of people until someone pointed me toward a gate. Gate 13, scrawled on a paper sign taped to a pillar. I didn't ask questions. I just moved. When they opened the boarding doors at last, the crowd cascaded like a wave. People shouted, shoved, and begged. Some were pulled aside. Others forced their way through. I kept my head down and walked fast, heart pounding like it might break out of my chest. A soldier barely glanced at me before granting me through. The plane outside was a military transport. It had a red and blue taegeuk on the tail with 3 black lines behind it. The Korean flag, used since 2027, was adopted after a difficult but peaceful reunification between North and South Korea. The plane was made specifically for mass refugee transportation from suffering countries. The rear ramp was wide open, and they let us inside depending on whether we were priority or not. First, the elderly and disabled, then first responders and government workers. Then, pregnant women and schoolchildren. A few of my classmates and I boarded the plane quietly.

Inside, there were no flight attendants, no luggage compartments, and no class dividers. Just metal floors, webbing, exhaustion, a narrow aisle, and way more seats than a commercial aeroplane. It smelled like fuel and sweat. I squeezed into a seat in the upper middle of the cabin, knees pulled to my chest, and held my bag close. No one talked. Everyone just waited as the others finished boarding. As the engines roared to life and the ramp started to close, I stole one last glance at the city I used to call home, now engulfed in flames and thick smoke. Then we were in the air, climbing fast. Now, everything I knew fell away behind us.