Chapter 21 – Fire That Burns Cold
The forge roared like a beast awakening. The cauldron's glow pulsed across the night sky, staining the clouds crimson and gold.
The new batch of refiners—twenty men in all—stood shirtless before the flames, their skin slick with sweat and soot. They were the strongest laborers in the Flintclaw Tribe, broad-shouldered, hard-eyed, and resentful.
Among them stood Zac.
The youngest by nearly a decade.
When he'd arrived that morning, every conversation had stopped. The men stared at him in disbelief, then in scorn.
"What's this brat doing here?" one spat. "Can't even lift a hammer and wants to refine the core?"
"Pathetic," another sneered. "Guess the Patriarch's gone senile—sending children to play hero."
Zac ignored them. He'd grown used to contempt.
The only reason anyone wanted to be near the Desolate Core was for the reward: meat.
Those who refined were given desolate beast flesh to "replenish their strength." Even a small strip could mean survival. So when a child took one of their places, their anger was natural.
Garrin, supervising the team, barked out orders. "Feed the flames! Rotate shifts every two bells! And no slacking—Young Master Ren wants steady progress!"
He stalked past Zac, sneering. "Try not to cry when the heat bites, runt. We don't have milk to soothe you."
Zac didn't answer. He simply took his place beside the cauldron, feeling the heavy air tremble with strange energy.
The closer he stood, the more he could sense it—a pulse beneath the surface, faint but constant. Like a heart beating inside the metal.
When the men began feeding ores into the cauldron, the flames surged high, white-gold at the edges and deep red at the core.
Then Zac saw it.
Tiny dots of light rose from the cauldron, like fireflies born from molten metal. Most were invisible to the others—but to him, the world was awash in drifting color.
Two kinds of light floated among the smoke.
The first were purple, bright and smooth, flowing in the air like streams of liquid silk. They hovered, aimless, but whenever Zac focused on them, they responded—turning, circling, and slowly drifting toward him.
He understood instantly. These are essence particles—the true Desolate energy.
The Yellow Amethyst, merged with his heart, pulsed softly. Through his Second Vein, Zac could control it now. He could open or close that connection at will.
He reached out with his will—only slightly—and the purple dots melted into his skin.
A cool warmth spread through his veins. It was energy, pure and clean.
But not all the light was purple.
A smaller stream drifted beneath it—icy blue. The particles shimmered like frost crystals, and wherever they floated, the air grew colder.
The moment one brushed his cheek, a wave of bone-deep chill stabbed through him.
Zac flinched. "This feeling…"
He recognized it immediately. He'd felt that same cold when he'd passed near the refinement site days earlier—just after breaking through to the Second Vein.
It wasn't simple cold. It was toxic.
The realization hit him like lightning.
This was the same energy that had made the villagers sick—the same poison disguised as progress.
The blue light wasn't "evil" in the moral sense; it was simply lethal.
Like radiation on Earth—harmless to stone, deadly to flesh.
Zac's thoughts raced. Back home, a few grams of Polonium could kill millions. A few hundred grams could wipe out all life on the planet. This… this is no different. They're standing next to a living reactor.
He clenched his fists. "Then aren't I in danger being here?"
But as the next wave of energy rose, he realized something incredible.
When the blue motes touched his skin, they didn't sink in—they vanished. The Yellow Amethyst within him flared faintly, absorbing them, refining both streams—the pure purple and the deadly blue—without harm.
The toxic energy that killed others was fuel to him.
He stared at his trembling hands, awe and fear warring in his heart. "You… can refine both."
Hours passed. The air grew thick with heat and cold, clashing in unseen currents.
The men around Zac coughed, wiped blood from their noses, and forced themselves to keep working. Their eyes were fever-bright; their skin had begun to turn pale.
They didn't see the blue lights threading through the air, sinking slowly into their bodies.
Zac's stomach twisted. They're absorbing the toxin…
He could have drawn more of the light to himself—perhaps even purified the air around them—but that would draw attention.
If anyone noticed the energy bending toward him, they'd start asking questions.
And in this tribe, questions led to knives.
He looked at Garrin, at the men grinding ore with trembling arms, and guilt stabbed through him.
If I told them the truth, they'd laugh. Or worse—they'd tell Ren for a scrap of meat.
He took a long, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Then he did the only thing he could—he focused on refining more.
The Yellow Amethyst pulsed stronger with every breath, pulling in both the purple and blue lights, purifying them into clean essence.
His veins hummed with quiet power, the faint golden glow under his skin hidden by soot and shadow.
No one noticed the boy standing silently at the edge of the forge—the only one among them whose strength was growing instead of fading.
By night's end, the men staggered away, coughing and exhausted. Garrin barked orders to clean the cauldron, and the Patriarch's attendants handed out meat rations as reward.
The air smelled of blood and fire.
Zac accepted his share quietly, hiding the faint gleam in his eyes. The amethyst within his heart beat slow and steady, like a second life pulsing beneath his ribs.
He knew this was only the beginning.
The longer the refinement continued, the more essence—and danger—it would release.
But he would stay. He had to.
If he wanted to master the power that destroyed others, he first had to learn to live beside it.