Bomond had never experienced the world pass by this quickly, certainly not while he was on foot. From the periphery of his sight, he took scant notice of the dense shrubbery rooted in the firm mud marking the beginning of the incline of Mount Veren. The Slope that was forbidden to people was a sight to behold. Yet, Bomond could not be bothered. His attention was elsewhere.

Running. Faster than he had ever run. He was running through a rain of fire. ‘Well, cold fire,’ thought Bomond, ‘but still…,’ and that is when the first pangs of agony manifested themselves. Deep within his calves, a bolt of power struck Bomond with a ferocity that brooked no resistance. Bomond nearly tripped as he tried to balance his weight with one hand on the ground and heaved massive gulps of sweet air.

Jolted by the tangled jumble of emotions ravaging his mind, Bomond struggled his way to regain some kind of awareness. As realization returned, the audacity, the thrill, the sheer abandon with which he made his run dawned on him as his eyes threatened to pop out. When his cavernous breathing subsided, Bomond reined in his body as he half-collapsed and half-sat on the slope.

The forest was thick here. He was surrounded by all manner of flora. Had botany ever held any fascination for him, Bomond could probably have named a lot of the plants he saw, but this wasn’t meant to be. He could see the colors, though. While every color known to man appeared on the plants decorating the slopes, Bomond clearly identified green as the main color coating the leaves.

Instinct made him look back down and take note of the path he had run through without thinking. He was not an expert tracker. Far from it. Hunting was a skill Bomond had yet to master. Well, at least it was far superior to his botany which, he had to admit, was shamefully meager.

But expertise was hardly required here. Even a half-blind man could clearly see the trampled ground that resulted from his mad dash up the slopes. Leaves lay crushed, and some minor plants appeared uprooted, accusing Bomond of their demise.

Before he could take solace from not having destroyed more vegetation with his copious girth and insane rush, Bomond’s hopes were razed as more shrubs parted to reveal the impossibly lithe Emojen catching up to him.

‘No, she didn’t,’ protested Bomond silently, but Emojen had clearly seen his chagrin. He would be damned before he let her see him panting like some enervated desert-dweller on the verge of death. ‘Close mouth… Close your horrible mouth,’ Bomond willed himself.

With a supreme effort, Bomond shut his jaws, compelling air to rush through his nose instead. He could do nothing about his whacking heart, which now threatened to burst out of his chest. And that was not a metaphor, nor did Emojen have anything to do with it. Well, maybe a little, if Bomond was being honest.

In what seemed like a flash, Emojen was there next to him. Some strange scent of gooseberry and jasmine oil contested the space in Bomond’s flaring nostrils while outrage and bafflement contended with each other in his mind. She wasn’t even winded. The Temple was wrong about this too. Here was evidence worthy of shattering the roots of the Faith. There is no such thing as justice!

Emojen had been eyeing him up and down. ‘Oh, here it comes now… the untenable recriminations…,’ groaned Bomond, ‘right when he was bereft of breath to defend himself.’ There was indeed no justice in the world.

“Sacred Saints, Bommy!”, exclaimed the flaxen-locked nemesis.

‘Damn that wretched name…damn it to all the hells…’, Bomond swore inwardly.

“Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined you being that fleet of foot, Thrillian. With those flat feet of yours and the thunderous quakes you left in your wake, it is a wonder that Veren still stands”, Emojen was gloating. She was actually smirking.

‘Oh Fates, kill me now,’ anguished Bomond, but he didn’t have the fortitude to retort. While he was struggling to conquer his panting frailty, one torturous breath at a time, he may have forgotten to hide bewilderment from creeping onto his face because Emojen deftly caught his thoughts.

“I hope you’re not seriously wondering how I managed to find you, Bommy”.

‘Nope. The thought had never crossed my mind,’ lied Bomond to himself while he shook his head at Emojen.

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“You left a trail of destruction that could be seen for miles, Thrillian. And those quakes! I bet those would echo across generations and eons, Bommy.”, needled Emojen.

‘Hyperbole. Ridiculous hyperbole with no foundation in fact or logic,’ opined Bomond’s mind. But the words that actually came out of him were: “Why, Emojen?... Why’d you follow me?”, Bomond nearly gasped.

All the malevolent mirth left Emojen as her eyes shifted from gloating to a priceless mix of reverential awe and something resembling… determination?

“This is amazing, Bommy! The Rain of Liquid Flame!”, Emojen exclaimed while looking up with her hand outstretched, seeking more viscous flame drops.

“Excuse me, that’s Flame-Rain, and…Huh!”, Bomond’s attempted rebuke was cut short as an oddity presented itself. While he was running, he hadn’t noticed the Flame-Rain as he should have.

‘Focus is essential in any scientific inquiry,’ Bomond reminded himself. Focus leads to better observation, and now as he was safe from heaving his lungs out, Bomond glanced overhead and saw that the Flame Rain drops were pouring unhindered by the forest canopy.

More tellingly, the leaves and branches seemed to be moving on their own to allow the Liquid Flame droplets to reach the ground. Bomond stared at Emojen’s exquisitely sculpted hands as they caressed the thick purple drops of fire…or tried to.

Both of them shared stunned looks as they recognized that the drops were actively rushing away from Emojen’s hands. The droplets would fall into her palm, and then as if they hated their location, the thick fire-drops would roll sideways to fall again.

Emojen moved and turned her hands in every way she could to see if anything changed. Involuntarily, Bomond’s own hand tried catching a falling droplet, hoping illogically that he could do something Emojen couldn’t. Such pleasures were far too rare, and Bomond couldn’t specify what about them pleased him so. Anyway, the Flame-Rain wasn’t destined to be one of those gifts.

The drops rushed away from his own hands too. If anything, they seemed to blaze away faster from his clutches than from Emojen’s palms. Bomond soon lost interest in trying to catch a liquid flame droplet, and turned towards the dense shrubbery above him, barring his way up Mount Veren. Emojen caught him looking.

“Look at these plants, Bomond. The greenery is so beautiful!” Bomond rolled his eyes, knowing what was about to spring forth. A damned botany lesson. As expected, Emojen exclaimed, “These look like green-leafed versions of holy basil, wolfsbane, witch’s bane, sage… Oh, that’s strange. Bommy, why are all the plants around us herbs found in a healer’s shop?”

Bomond didn’t respond. He was staring ahead, at a loss for words. Doubt had been there. He couldn’t bring himself to trust the book completely, despite the cold flame-rain, but now… There it was! Right in front of him. About fifty yards ahead, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen was slowly inching down. A magnificent… worm! A live Arcane-Worm! It had to be. It was large. Bigger than Bomond had hoped for.

Looking next to the plants the worm crawled over, Bomond estimated the worm to be at least two feet long. The biggest worm body he had seen in the Stream of Power back in the village had been a little over a foot long and a few inches thick. It was a dull grey too. Of course, the Melusians, the richest in the village, First in Line when the dam gates opened, had taken that prize. But now he had the chance to overcome such wretched unfairness. His brown skin, curly black hair, brown eyes, or any other random excuse they found cause to blame him for, would no longer impede Bomond’s destiny.

No, he would seize his own fate. The living Arcane-worm crawling towards them would be the key to unlocking a better life. As the worm got closer, Bomond noticed two pairs of tiny legs on either side of the creature. This was odd. None of the worm bodies found in the village had legs. But the biggest difference was the color. This worm was not grey but had a luminescent silver body. It was obviously full of power. Bomond dropped his hands to the curved falx on his waist. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for. His hands grabbed around the falx handle and…

‘No! Not this… not now.’

He couldn’t believe it. His fingers trembled around the hilt. He had spent weeks preparing his mind for this moment, and he thought he was ready. It was just some damn worm. How could he be so weak?

No, he would just need some time. That’s when he realized Emojen was beside him on his right side. He turned to her and caught her wide eyes. Was that yearning? ‘She wants this too’, Bomond understood with an epiphany. Obsessing over his own troubles, he had failed to consider how Emojen’s life might truly be. He thought her higher class gave her entitlements, but he didn’t know the details.

No, that assumption on his part was a mistake. One that he must rectify. Cognizance of that fact made Bomond’s decision for him. He mustered courage enough to tap Emojen on her left shoulder.

“Emojen. You can have this worm if you wish.”

Emojen gasped as she yanked her gaze away from the worm to stare at her friend standing on her left. For a moment, she was speechless, but her flabbergasted expression conveyed volumes. Her voice returned soon, but it had brought a few guests with it. Incredulity, suspicion, confusion, and others melded into her words.

“What??! You’re letting me take your prize? Who’re you?” blurted Emojen.

“I’ll take the next worm, Emojen. You’re my best friend. You have saved my life before. Even now. You risked yourself, coming after me to this forbidden place. And you did it just to try and save me. You can be baptized first.”, said Bomond as his grip tightened on his falx’s hilt. Emojen caught that hardening of his fist. She knew what that finality meant.

They both turned back to look at the worm as it continued its slow slithering. Bomond found it perplexing. He was certain that the worm could sense them now. It was a mere twenty yards up the slope. Still, the worm kept on coming. Bomond even noticed that one of its four legs was missing. ‘Strange…,’ he wondered, but before he could contemplate more, Emojen burst up towards her quarry.

The falx hilt was grabbed again, but his eyes remained fixed on the hunt. It was over in seconds. Emojen closed the few yards and leaped at the worm. Her aim was true as she pounced on the magical creature. Bomond was transfixed. For some reason, the worm’s silver sheen had reduced. But, more incredibly, it wasn’t struggling in Emojen’s hands. Bomond wanted to voice his doubts, but he caught sight of Emojen’s raised right hand, holding her sharp knife with the point facing down. Her left hand had the worm firmly pressed on the ground.

Bomond’s bloodless palm now tightened further across his blade’s hilt. He shut his eyes and turned to look away, but there was no escaping the noise. It was a dastardly mix of something between a ‘crunch’ and ‘squish’. ‘It’s done! It’s over!’ hoped Bomond. One down.