Valery guided me through town, leading me past the noise of a nearby mine that dug into the mountain that formed Priscilla's Peak. Soldiers and regular townsfolk alike walked past me while I merged into the crowd — appearing as nothing more than another face on the streets.

"You come here weekly, right?" I asked Valery. "How long do you usually stay here?"

"Not long," Valery answered. "I'm here for my work and to see Isara — nothing more, really."

"Why not stay here?"

"Because Gawain needs a hand. As a pureblooded Nordborne, I have a duty to fight for my people."

I suspected Valery was up to something, but frankly, I didn't have the privilege of planning an escape route. For now, all I could do was follow him towards the edge of the village, past ore filled minecarts and dusty miners carrying both picks and lanterns. Past the rabble of the village, Valery brought me to the edge of the woods.

The canopies above were barren — their pine needles stripped and used to make alcohol. Above, the sunset died down, dying the sky a brilliant orange that matched my lantern.

By then, most people went to bed, but I pushed forward despite my body being racked with exhaustion, marching through the snow — all while Valery covered our tracks from behind.

"So, a flame temple, hidden in the middle of a perpetually snowy forest," I said out loud. "Tell me, what are these temples, anyway?"

"They're holy grounds. Nordborne people used to go pray to the primordial flame, praying that it'd one day return, and the eternal winter would end. Nowadays, though, they've been forgotten — abandoned in favor of weathervanes and electricity."

"I'm a weathervane technician," I said. "As far as I can tell, those machines do better than this little flame." and I took a glance at my lantern. There was no doubt about it — that the ember inside wasn't half as bright as an electric lantern. "I have to ask," I said, "why even bother with fire?"

Valery turned to me, looking at me like I was mad. "Why bother with fire? Fire is a part of our heritage — our history as Nordborne people. Don't you have any pride?"

When it came to pride, I had none. I was a product of the imperial occupational army's plan, a faceless boy who was taught from childhood how to maintain machines.

The wintry forest closed in on all who entered, entrapping us in rose thorns that grew out from the ground, forming pale vines. Past the wiry brush and under the dying sunset, we made their way to the forest temple of fire. Compared to the cavern temple in Wintermute, the temple in Priscilla's Peak was wild, with the surrounding wildlife digging into its structure. Vines wrapped around the support pillars of the building while trees rose up from the ground, tearing up the floorboards and ripping holes into the ceiling.

Stepping into the temple, I brushed past vine-like strands of red firecrackers — holy decorations in dedication of the primordial flame. Before me, in the center of the dilapidated temple, sat a familiar chalice.

"Here it is," Valery said. "Happy?"

"Very," I answered. With a breath in, I knelt before the chalice and clasped my hands together in prayer. The flame, taken from the lantern, rested in my palms — spreading a gentle warmth through my hands, my arms and to the rest of my body.

This time, though, I didn't see the vision of that woman. I opened my eyes to find the chalice glowing weakly in the dying sunset, only for the flames to extinguish moments after.

"What happened?" Valery asked.

"I don't know."

"I thought you were the flameseeker. I thought the flame picked you as its tinder."

I wanted to bite back and argue, but I knew better than to speak up. Instead, I clasped my hands together — trying once more to light the flame. I reached to the depths of my being, searching for the faith I needed to light the flame.

The chalice glowed, its embers dancing in the wind before extinguishing once more.

My survival depended on that flame. I stared at the flame I cradled, whispering, "It won't light."

"Maybe you're just tired," Valery replied. "Come back with me. I'll get you the proper lodging you need — someplace safe to rest."

"No," I answered. "I need to light the flame — for my own sake."

Being the flameseeker made me special. At the same time, it put me in mortal danger. A normal boy would despair, knowing he was tending to a weak flame hounded by the wind, but I held myself together, not out of any duty of tending the flame but for my own survival.

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In that wintry forest, I knew the flame was my only lifeline. Without it, I'd be extinguished — vanishing into the darkness of night.

Valery, hearing that, simply shook his head. "There's no convincing you, is there? You can't be convinced — especially not by a stranger like me."

"Back in Wintermute, I put faith into someone I shouldn't have trusted. My gut told me to be suspicious, but I wanted to believe him — to think he cared for me." and I grasped that flame, pressing my hands together to pray once more, muttering, "He didn't hesitate for a second. He betrayed me without a second thought."

"That is how it is for us Nordborne," Valery answered. "In their eyes we're not even human — just conquered people."

I nodded. "Valery," I said. "You're tired, aren't you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Go back," I ordered. "Go back to Isara. Spend what little time you have with the one you love — not some ungrateful brat like me. The next time we meet, I expect you to either take me to the next temple or to an imperial prison."

"You don't mince your words, do you?" Valery asked.

My only response was to smile. Valery, seeing that, nodded to himself. He took with him a single firecracker, a good luck charm for his future endeavors.

◆◆◆

Evening came. The sun vanished beyond the horizon and the moon took over. The winter winds arrived and every sane person in Priscilla's Peak closed up for the night. Valery joined Isara, joining her at her home, a small but cozy house where she lived alone. Isara herself, like Valery, was a child of a conquered land. She had been abandoned years ago by her parents, forced to leave yet lucky enough to find work in a general store. Valery found his salvation in Wintermute and its Flame Rebellion branch.

They had all they needed — a place to work and earn their living with a secret underground organization to dedicate their lives to. The two, Valery and Isara, were informants who passed information between the Flame Rebellion branches, that way they didn't need to rely on radio communications that could easily be tapped by imperials.

The Flame Rebellion used encryption and one-time pads — keys to decrypt messages. Despite that, letters were a handy and formal method of communication.

It wasn't a coincidence that the task of sending letters was placed in the hands of a romantic couple. That evening, when he knocked on her door, it wasn't accompanied by the usual warmth of a hug and kiss.

"Valery?" Isara asked, letting him inside. "Where's the flameseeker?"

"At the temple. He's having trouble lighting the flame, so he told me to leave him there."

"And you did? In this weather?"

"He was adamant about it, and besides, a stubborn boy like him is impossible to convince."

She fell silent, then simply nodded. "Care for some tea?" she asked, to which he sat down, and she brought him a mug of cavern thorn tea. Isara sat opposite of him, a mug of her own in her pale hands.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him. Valery could only nod.

"Gawain's done nothing but treat me like an errand boy and the Flame Rebellion's done nothing but made our lives harder, forcing us to take unnecessary risks like these."

"On top of that, Gawain has the nerve to dump the flameseeker on you — on the both of us, even though he knows the occupational army's after him," Isara added.

It wasn't just the occupational army who was after him. Another faction arrived at their doorsteps and knocked. The couple opened the door, only to freeze at the sight. Topped with a plain hat and coat, a single man arrived at their doorsteps.

"Good evening to the lovely couple. I'm Detective Alfman, and you must be Isara and Valery."

Detective Alfman, a plain-clothes police officer, stood before the two and did a little bow. He was being courteous, of course, but the couple knew better than to take people at face value.

"Well, good evening to you," Valery answered. "Can I help you officer?"

Alfman's eyes widened with surprise. "Officer? Oh, what nonsense! That's silly talk — nonsense division created by the north-south divide. Call me Alf — your friendly policeman dedicated to serving and protecting this lovely village."

"There's no need for nicknames, sir," Valery said.

"Please," Alfman said. "I insist."

Silence fell on the couple who, with a gulp, complied.

"Well then, Alf? What's going on?" Valery asked.

"Oh, nothing much," Alf said with a pleasant smile. "I've just come because I heard rumors of a coming engagement between the two of you."

"Engagement?" Isara asked, laughing nervously. "I don't know anything about that."

"Oh please," Alfman said, "there's no need to be bashful! It's always lovely, seeing the youth come together to form families, the bedrock of our society and the future of our empire. Please, take this gift — from me to you."

Alfman pulled out a tin and opened the lid, revealing a dozen cookies — the food of nobility and the wealthy. 99% of the village had never seen a cookie and would most likely never see one throughout their lifespan.

"My goodness, are those real?" Isara asked.

"Are they real? Of course. They're genuine butter cookies." and he presented it to the couple, handing it over with a smile. Isara, though, hesitated to take the gift. Refusing a gift was an insult, but taking a gift from the imperials was a decision no one could take back.

Valery stared at the box, unable to take it — frozen in place. Isara took the drastic measures they needed to take. For their own sake, she took the box with a smile.

"Thank you dearly," she told the detective.

"There's more where that came from," the detective told the two. "I'm sure I'll be visiting you again in the future."

Detective Alfman took Valery's hand for a handshake, slipping him a note with a phone number before vanishing into the nighttime blizzard. Isara stood, box in hand, and turned to Valery.

"Well," she said. "We had a good run, but it's time we prioritized what really matters."

"Yeah, we should," Valery answered, his voice weak, almost regretful. She noticed that and looked him up and down.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Feeling bad?"

"He's just a kid."

"We were kids once. People didn't care back then, did they?" and she went ahead and pulled out a bag, stuffing away her things, telling him, "Life is made up of a series of miserable messes. Either you accept that fact or you die fighting for a losing cause. While the empire aren't exactly our friends, the flame rebellion isn't exactly looking out for us. The only people we can rely on are each other."

She pulled down a lantern from the ceiling. "And besides," she told him, "it's not like the flameseeker's doing us any good."

"You're right," Valery answered. "After all, he said it himself — to spend what little time I have with the ones I love."

Isara, realizing Emil himself said that, fell silent. Whether she felt guilty or flustered by his admission of love, Valery didn't know. Either way, he knew the flame rebellion was a cause he could no longer support.

The only option he had was to pick up the phone and put in the phone number written on Detective Alfman's note.