I stumbled into the back storage of the tavern. The bouncer, checking around the corner towards the front, went ahead and shifted crates and boxes before uncovering a hidden trapdoor. Once again, I found myself in a cave.

All sorts of people, from teens my age to older townsfolk I recognized on the streets, all stared as I walked past them — flame in hand. The pipe carrying bouncer brought me towards the furthest room where I was expected, towards the commander's office.

Stepping into that room, I could only contemplate if coming here was a mistake.

A voice spoke out to me. "1000 years ago, fire was sealed away by the tyrant Eckard — ruler of the Empire of the White Winds. The imperial soldiers occupying this village have tried, over and over, sacrificing Nord youth to try and reignite that flame. Today, after countless deaths, the flame has been revived."

I stood face to face with the commander. He was an older gentleman, a man who carried a giant sword on his back with a chain attached to the pommel, a chain that wrapped around his arm, coiling down to his hand like a snake. The man was blindfolded with a white sash embroidered with gold.

The man towered over me, kneeling to extend a chain-clasped hand.

"I am Gawain, captain of the Flame Rebellion. You must be the flameseeker."

Blind as he was, he had no trouble taking my hand — pulling it towards himself before peering down towards the flame within my grasp. "Yes," he said. "That's the warmth of fire." and Gawain leaned in close, asking, "Pray tell — how did you awake the flame? How did you do what others couldn't?"

"I had a vision," I confessed. "A woman came and prayed before the temple's chalice."

"A woman?" and Gawain let me go, releasing me from his grasp. Gawain stood tall, breathed in the cold air and spoke.

"Young man, do you know your lineage?"

"I'm an ordinary boy. I'm not some lost royal, as far as I know."

"Do you know if you are of Nordborne blood?"

I froze. "Nordsummer is split between north and south," he said. "The Nordborne and the Southsummerians have been at war for as long as we've inhabited this island. Are you perhaps of Nordborne heritage? Of pure Northern blood?"

"I don't know," I confessed, "but what does it matter?"

"The imperial occupational army controls much of the north's territory.," Gawain said. "Going off mythological records, only the Nordborne should be able to wield fire. Judging from that logic, you must be pure."

Purity was a foreign concept to me. Still — the flame spoke for my sake.

"Tell me," Gawain asked. "Are you satisfied with this life?"

"Satisfied?"

"Satisfied to be a pawn of a foreign empire?" Gawain asked. "To be their cannon fodder? To be born to serve them and their legion and to aid them in their conquest of your homeland?"

I could tell what he was getting at. "You want me to help fight against the empire?" I asked, and I lifted my flame, asking, "How can a tiny fire like this do anything?"

"All embers dream of wildfire. The question is whether it remains a dream or becomes reality." and Gawain reached up to the ceiling where an electric lantern hung and tore it down, gutting the components inside before handing me an empty vessel.

"Go. Travel through Nordsummer, your stolen homeland," he said. "Seek out the temples of fire, empower your little ember and revive the Primordial Flame. Return to the Nordborne our promised heritage — our destined fire."

I had no confidence that this plan would work — this dream of wildfire — but it wasn't like I had much of a choice. Gawain stood, and knightly as he was, he had a feral edge to him. The chain wrapped around his arm obstructed his movements, though it felt like the metal shackles could snap at a moment's notice, freeing whatever demons were inside the old man.

Blind as he was, he envisioned a world the rebels fought for. He brought to me my destiny enveloped in flames, giving me the choice of either pursuing that dream to the bitter, fiery end or having my flame extinguished.

"I'm only one person. How am I supposed to do this?" I asked.

"You will not be left in the dark," Gawain said. "You won't have to travel the road alone."

Gawain stepped aside, making room for another guest who stepped in.

A man stood, already prepared. Dressed in the warm garbs of a traveler and armed with a pair of curved swords, he stood before me, his face obscured by a scarf and goggles. The man was as quiet as a mouse, and armed with snake fangs for swords, he extended a gloved hand.

"I'm Valery. I'll be your bodyguard on this journey, flameseeker."

He was cold like stone, standing still and unmoving. I could hardly register the fact that he was reaching out for a handshake.

"It's good to meet you, Valery," I said. Taking that hand, I felt the cold from Valery enter my palms, rising up my veins like ice.

"I shall protect you, flameseeker. Let me be fuel for the flame."

Through his fogged goggles, I could see resolute eyes. Valery was calm, unlike the blindfolded beast that was hidden within Gawain. With Valery and I acquainted, Gawain took a spear, snapped off the metal tip and turned it to a walking staff — someplace I could hang my lantern from on my travels.

"Valery," Gawain said. "Guide the flameseeker to the Flame Rebellion hideout in Priscilla's Peak."

"What about you?" I asked. "The military — they'll tear up the floorboards to find me."

"Don't worry about me. Whatever happens, we'll be here, ready to defend ourselves," Gawain said. "You ought to go now, boy, before the imperials catch up to you."

I wasn't safe here. Not in the slightest. Valery opened the door, leading me away — lantern in hand. Valery, with his swords at his side, pulled me out of the depths of the Pine Tavern and into the streets. It was 2:00 pm, near my usual bedtime. My muscle memory told me to go home, back to my metal-block lodging, but my reason fought with instinct — urging me to follow Valery.

The two of us vanished into the crowd, emerging outside a general store.

"Where do we go?" I asked. "Where exactly is Priscilla's Peak?"

"It's south of here. Before you ask however, we won't be traveling on foot."

Valery ordered me to wait out front while he stepped inside. I stood, hiding my lantern under my coat while I waited. Strangely, on that chilly afternoon, I felt warm. The flame, despite the bitter cold, kept me alive, enough to throw off my coat and wander the snowscape.

I could only think back to the old man — the giant in the cavern.

"It's time to go," I heard.

Valery stepped out, a set of boxes in his arms. He struggled to carry them, bringing them around the store towards the back. There was a parked snowmobile truck, a transport vehicle Valery dumped the cargo into. The truck had treads and a tarp protecting cargo from snowfall and water damage, a tarp that acted like a concealing tent.

"We'll be leaving through this." and Valery opened up the back, revealing an empty crate for me to sneak inside. Evidently enough, the store owner was a secret rebel who waited his entire life for the moment he'd be smuggling a flameseeker out of Wintermute.

Being a flameseeker though wasn't as glamorous as the rebels made it out to be. I stowed away inside a cramped box, sealed in darkness with nothing but my lantern. The truck's engines powered on, and fueled by a weathervane planted on top of the vehicle combined accompanied by a hefty car battery, the machine whirred to life.

Nordsummer's fire had been banished a thousand years past. Without the ability to combust gasoline, vehicles had to be powered through other means. It was strange for me to sit in the back of the truck, knowing full well that my flame could ignite the long-abandoned combustion engine.

The truck drove at a snail's pace, slowly backing out before entering the street. With a sudden gust of wind, the engine roared and the vehicle shuddered, lurching forwards like a drunk. Valery steered, grasping the wheel and making his way past familiar buildings, past Officer Boris' office and towards the front gates of the village.

Guarded by a pair of soldiers, our car was stopped at the checkpoint. Through the splintered cracks of the crate, I listened to their conversation — a less than pleasant one on my end.

"Mister Valery?" a soldier asked. "Making a delivery for the general store?"

"Yes sir," Valery answered, calm as always. Valery himself was an employee of the store, meaning it was perfectly ordinary for him to be doing this. "We recently got an order from the Priscilla's Peak general store for a couple crates of fishbone fertilizer and dried cavern thorn roots. Standard items, really."

Stolen novel; please report.

"Ah yes. Standard indeed." and the soldier stopped Valery, telling him, "By the way, we've recently got word about a problem."

"A problem?"

Despite the cold, my hands grew sweaty. I couldn't help but imagine Officer Boris waltzing in and poking holes into the crates with his spear.

"We recently got reports about a pack of hollow wolves roaming the highway to Priscilla's Peak," the soldier said, accompanied by my sigh of relief. "For your own safety, I suggest you hold off on making this delivery for the time being. A few days at most."

"Wolves, eh?" Valery said with a shrug. "Wolves shouldn't be an issue."

"Mister Valery, I'm being serious," the soldier said, "and besides, you can't make shipments if you're dead. Is a shipment of fishbones and cavern thorns worth risking your life over, or is there something else?"

Valery fell silent. Then, the soldier burst into laughter.

"Don't tell me — this is about a girl, isn't it?" the soldier asked.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

The soldier let out a hearty laugh. "Well, they do say Priscilla's Peak is the best place to find a soul mate, a real romantic spot to settle down in. If you're just dying to go see her, how about I offer you some protection on the way there?"

"There's no need. Really, I can handle myself."

"Please," the soldier said, his tone shifting. "I insist."

Valery simply couldn't shake him off. The soldier waltzed his way into the passenger seat, waving goodbye to his fellow soldier before riding off and out of Wintermute. Meanwhile, I sat in the back alone and mute — my hand covering my mouth.

The truck rode through the snow, following a path Valery was all too familiar with. Valery wasn't a talkative person, and with an enemy soldier sitting next to him, he couldn't help but fall silent.

"So," the soldier asked. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"An old friend," Valery answered, quick and abrupt.

"Is she a childhood friend? Or did you see her one day while you were making a delivery, falling in love at first sight?"

Valery didn't answer. I couldn't quite tell if Valery was unable to continue a chain of lies or if he was being genuine, unable to confess about his situation. The soldier laid back, staring out the window with a content smile.

"I won't pry, but do tell; what's it like, living in a whole other village, separated from her?"

"I make weekly deliveries. Even on days she's not supposed to be working, she's there, ready to pick up. It's nice knowing someone's there, waiting for you with a smile."

"Yes. It sounds nice."

Past the village gates led through to a snowy field. With the unending snow, it was impossible to make clear roads, and in turn, people used wooden pillars as signposts that guided them through a monochrome world. Out past the village, animals roamed, leaving trails that vanished just a few hours after they were made. The harsh winds concealed all, shifting the landscape like a white desert.

Wind blew through the weathervane, allowing the vehicle's treads to spin, pushing us ever forwards. Looking ahead, the wolves the soldier mentioned were nowhere to be seen. Speeding across the snowscape, Valery watched as a herd deer tread along the path, proof that either the wolves were long gone or that they were nothing but an illusion. Leaving the forests and rising up the side of a mountain, it took only a few hours for Valery to drive from Wintermute to Priscilla's Peak.

The mountain was the same one keeping Wintermute landlocked in its valley. Priscilla's Peak stood at the top where a town watched over the seaside — an endless stretch of azure waters.

Valery rode into the town and towards the checkpoint. Fortunately for him, his soldier friend cleared them — allowing him entry into Priscilla's Peak without a fuss.

"Well, it looks like we made it in one piece," the soldier said, all while the snow truck slowly moved through the streets, turning the corner towards the local general store.

"Would you look at that? It's just like you said," the soldier said, pointing out a woman who stood out front of the store, whose face brightened up when she saw their vehicle arrive.

The two got off their truck. Valery stepped out to a smile, all while the soldier circled to the back.

"Isara," Valery said, his standard greetings. His usual cold demeanor broke and a smile took its place.

"Valery, it's good to see you," Isara said. "You don't normally come today so it was a surprise when I got a call."

"A call for what?" the two heard. The soldier arrived with a crate in his arms. Isara, surprised to see a soldier of all people, stumbled over herself for an answer.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was surprised to hear he was coming."

"Really?" the soldier asked. "He told me he was the one who got a call from you folk, something for a few crates of goods. Is that correct?"

"It was a surprise to me," she answered. "I didn't think we'd run out so soon."

The soldier nodded before taking a glance at the shop. Isara was quick to open the door and guide him towards storage. While the soldier was busy, Valery went ahead and pulled out the crate containing his real payload.

"Flameseeker?" he asked, whispering into the crate. "Please stay inside. Someone will take you to the hideout soon, I promise."

"Valery?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you think that soldier knows?"

Valery fell silent. I was unsure if his response was a silent nod of agreement or a quiet worry. To Valery's surprise, he got the crate taken from his grasp by the soldier who was being overly helpful — unusually so.

"It's heavy, this one," he said, placing me down between the two of them. "What's inside?"

"Dried cavern thorn roots."

"Cavern thorn roots, eh? I've got something between my teeth. You don't mind if I borrow one, do you?"

Isara approached from behind, taking the soldier's hand before placing a bundle of dried cavern thorn roots in his palm. "Would that do?" she asked, and the soldier nodded — an entertained smirk on his face.

The crates were all unloaded, and with that, Valery got ready to leave. Before he could return to Wintermute, the soldier stopped him.

"Please," the soldier said. "Leave it to me. You ought to stay here and spend some time with your lady friend."

Valery, at this point, knew not to argue with the soldier. With a smile, he took his spot in the driver's seat and started the engine up. Valery and Isara stood in front of the store, all while the soldier waved goodbye. Before he left, however, he dropped a warning into the young couple's laps.

"You two lovebirds take care and think hard about your future," he said with a smile. "I wouldn't want you two having any regrets, now."

Valery didn't need to refute his point. He stood there with Isara by his side, watching as the snow truck sped off and back to Wintermute.

I soon emerged out of the box. There, I found myself surrounded by an unusual couple. Valery and Isara were two grocers of general stores separated by a sea of snow. It was around 5 PM and exhaustion followed me — dragging me down after a long and bumpy ride.

Isara leaned in, reaching a hand towards me, helping me stand back on my feet.

"You must be the flameseeker. Mister Gawain told me about you." and she looked me up and down, asking, "Goodness, how old are you?"

"Whatever age I am, no amount of time could've prepared me for this."

Stepping out of the box, I finally got to stretch my poor legs. I stood, breathing in the cold air before turning to the two — getting down to business immediately.

"So, this is what it's like, being a part of the Flame Rebellion?" and I turned to Valery, asking, "The flame temple, is it around here? I could hear from inside that box, and the fact that an imperial soldier drove with you does not inspire confidence."

"I'm sorry," Valery answered, polite as ever. "I couldn't refuse him. It'd draw suspicion."

"Something tells me he already knows," I muttered under my breath.

I wasn't happy in the slightest about the current circumstances. I was courteous enough to keep my mouth shut, enough so that others wouldn't hear my complaints. Living as a weathervane technician for years taught me to shut up and follow orders. Those lessons worked well, especially now when I dealt with imperial soldiers and suspicious rebels who put me in terribly dangerous positions.

The flame was what gave my cannon-fodder life value. A little ember like me burned hot enough to attract warmth seekers — those who couldn't build bonfires on their own.

I could tell from the moment the soldier approached Valery. I knew that Isara was someone Valery would be willing to protect no matter the sacrifice. Despite his stony and statuesque personality, Valery had a heart — someone I simply couldn't count on. Gawain was a beast on the verge of breaking loose from his chains and Valery was a rebel foot soldier who held Isara dear, someone the imperials could use as leverage against him.

The petite flame I carried was weak. I was an ember who couldn't rely on anyone. To rely on others would be an open invitation for treachery.

"Where is the temple?" I asked, my tone demanding.

"I'll take you there in due time," Valery answered. "For now, you ought to get some rest. It's late, after all."

I couldn't deny Valery's suggestion. I was exhausted and it showed, though I wasn't about to do something as stupid as let my guard down.

"You," I said, turning to Isara — my tone harsh and commanding, a role I had never taken in my entire life. "Tell me where the temple is."

"You really should get some rest," Isara answered, brushing me aside like I was a child. "You can sleep in the hideout, someplace you'd be safe."

"I'm being hunted by the imperial army. I don't have the luxury of resting," I told her. "If you won't tell me where the temple is, I'll go ahead and look for it myself."

Valery stepped in, defending Isara. "Flameseeker," he told me. "You can try to find the temple on your own, but I guarantee you'll die — frozen long before you ever find it."

"Then it's your loss," I said, sticking a finger into Valery's chest. "Besides, judging by your apathy, it's not like my life had much value in the first place. Go find someone else to light the primordial flame, why don't you?"

Valery's expression shifted from his stoic, stone-faced self to a wince — a wince that turned utterly bitter.

"Why, you little brat," Valery muttered, slapping my hand away before grabbing me by the scruff of my shirt. "I'm risking my life here, you know that? You may be the flameseeker, but you aren't the only one in danger."

Grasped by my collar, I could only nod in agreement.

"I know you're in danger. You and Isara both," I told him. "That's why you need to take me to the temple, let me light the flame and get me out of Priscilla's Peak as soon as possible. The quicker I'm gone, the sooner you can rest easy, knowing Isara won't have to risk her life hiding me."

Valery paused, looking back to Isara who gave him a nod. With that, he gave in.

Isara watched as the two of us left the shop. Valery took one of the hats being sold in the store and topped my head before we stepped out to the streets of Priscilla's Peak. The town was nearly identical to Wintermute aside from the fact that it was built atop the peak of a mountain overlooking the sea instead of inside a valley.

There even was a base for the occupational army, one that looked remarkably like Officer Boris' building. I walked through the streets, past strangers who looked remarkably familiar and through the crowds, all while Valery guided me forwards.

In the thick of the crowd, I laid out my thoughts — loud enough for Valery to hear.

"It must be rough, the life of a rebel," I said out loud. "Hiding in plain sight, not knowing when you'll get caught and what sort of punishment you'll get — it's a terrible life, really."

Valery marched silently. As usual, I couldn't tell if Valery's silence was him ignoring me or if he was unable to come up with a response.

I opened my mouth, saying, "It must be twice as rough, knowing you put the life of those you care about in danger."

"What are you getting at, flameseeker?" Valery replied, finally responding.

I shrugged. "I may or may not have listened to your conversation with that soldier, and something tells me the man knows that you're the bodyguard of the flameseeker."

"So be it," Valery answered. "Isara and I knew the risk of joining the rebellion."

"I was a weathervane technician before all this fell on my shoulders," I told him, "and the one rule we technicians took to heart was to be prepared for any situation. Be it a bad fall or a bar fight, all it takes is one mistake to ruin your life."

"Are you telling me that aiding you, the flameseeker, was a mistake?"

"There's another rule — that there's nothing you can do to undo a mistake. Only prevent it."

Valery stopped in his tracks. I wasn't careless enough to bump into the man. I knew what I was saying — what my words meant for the both of us.

"Valery," I asked. "Do you love Isara?"

"With all my heart."

"Then I'm not crazy to believe you'd sell me out, right? You'd do anything to protect Isara."

Valery's silence was all the answer I needed. "I respect your dedication," I told him, "but know that when push comes to shove, I won't go down without a fight."

Valery broke his silence. A laugh escaped the stoic man's mouth. He turned and looked me in the eyes with a sincere expression — a final smile.

"Let us both pray that won't happen."