... this is the reason why the eighth truth focuses on education. In past reigns, we were awfully close to extinction, not because we failed to invest in proper evaluation procedures but because we neglected the children’s feelings. We learned it is essential to invest enough time in teaching them to love the tribe and to be selfless. Even when a tribesman is proficient in bursting, he is of no worth to the tribe if he is self-centered.

I defend that the language of this truth needs reviewing. Instead of its current form - ‘All flames big start small’ - I propose changing it to ‘All flames blue start red.’ This change is beneficial for two reasons: Firstly, it adds the nuance that color doesn’t make one more or less valuable. More importantly, talking about the size of a flame can create the idea in the children that the bigger the flame, the better. That is rarely the case. Here are some examples...

From “A Proposal for the Review of the Nine Truths” by Trother, the Wise

Shadows danced in the heart of the Burrows. The Hearth’s batteries were dangerously empty, but the rekindlers were already in their places, holding onto the metal halo, charging it. Even though this was one of the largest chambers in the underground settlement, Trother knew that the Hearth was much larger than the cylindrical machine seen here. The whole thing was so tall that it stretched onto chambers above and below. The floors and ceilings hid its massive batteries. They would be the recipient of the energy provided during the ceremony.

All thirty rekindlers burst steadily together, the fire in their hands heating the bar into a vermilion blaze. During the rekindling, in a sense, they, too, were the Hearth. They all became cogs in the machine that energized the tribe.

Trother caught his burst starting to slip, and regained control. There was an optimal temperature for the task he was performing. Too much, and some energy would be wasted. Too little, and the batteries wouldn’t fully charge.

Trother stabilized his burst and readjusted it back to the right temperature. Giving generously to the tribe wasn’t the same as squandering, and, by the flames, he wouldn’t waste his longevity away.

The more optimally he used his mutation, the greater his longevity. The more longevity he had, the longer he lived. The longer he lived, the more he could give to the tribe.

As time slipped out of his hands and into the tribe, Trother pondered how much he stood out from all others at this rekindling. For one, he was by far the oldest. Being in one’s forties was a luxury among a tribe mostly comprised of teenagers and children.

The second distinctive thing about Trother was the two oranges standing behind him. One was always in a permanent, slow burst, energizing Trother. Just as the old teacher burst for the tribe, so did the tribe burst for him.

The last outstanding thing about Trother was how effortlessly he burst. As all others were drenched in sweat and let out grunts of discomfort or shrieks of pain, Trother burst casually.

Trother dismissed pride as soon as it formed. This was a sacred moment; by the great Hearth, he was well beyond a youthful desire to flaunt. Instead of wasting time comparing himself with others, he would rather use it to assess his to-be students.

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Reds occupied many spots around the Hearth today: twelve children fresh out of the incubators. They all burst alongside him. He had never met any of them personally. With many hundreds in the tribe and how fleeting lives were in this forsaken world, getting to know everyone was impossible.

He knew all their names and AI reports, and after seeing them at this ceremony, he would also have an estimate of how efficient they were at bursting. The trembling light and the temperature variations were all signs of unskillful bursting and, in his trained eyes, obvious.

One of his new students caught his eye because, unlike all the other reds and oranges in attendance, Trother had needed a few long minutes to examine this child.

He had a steady, unshakable flame. It was easily mistaken for that of a more experienced orange. But although his fire burned steady, it did so at a slightly suboptimal temperature, giving him away as a rookie. He recalled the footnote added to the boy’s report by the king. What was it that Brodnir had said? Something like, “Eli’s flame burns brighter than hotter”? Trother grinned. This was a diamond in the rough he would enjoy polishing.

Although Trother had already seen everything he needed, he patiently kept bursting while watching the children. This was a valuable training opportunity for them and why lits always attended the Initiation of their class of reds. Seeing reds in long bursts was crucial to assess their potential. As fatigue kicked in, concentration faltered, revealing weaknesses he would have to hammer out of them in the anvil of the Collegium.

By staying until the end of the ceremony, Trother also taught a valuable lesson to the children: no personal warmth was above the greater heat. They all knew that their teacher was bursting with them. This was their first lesson. In a tribe, regardless of color, there were no ranks, just service.

The Hearth buzzed, signaling that the energy stores of the Burrows were filled. One year of each of their thirty lives was converted into a month for the tribe’s Hearth. One year for an hour; an hour for a month. It wasn’t kind math, but the gains outweighed the losses.

As it was custom, to end the rekindling, one yellow addressed them:

“Rekindlers, we of the Fahrenheit salute you,” said the man loudly. “Yours is a flame that warms the heart and feeds the Hearth. We praise your sacrifice, altruism, and generosity. Truth!”

“A flame spread is never dead,” the group chanted in one voice.

“Also, with us today, we have the initiated. Truth!”

“All flames blue, start red!” the twelve red children responded.

“May this be your first step in a life of service. As others have been burnt and spent, may you do so for the next ones to follow. Truth!”

“I burn my warmth for the greater heat!”

“Know that though you leave with shortened lives, their significance has grown larger. May your flames always burn strong.”

Maybe it was because of Trother’s advancing years, but even though he had attended many Initiations, he felt emotional at the end of each one. He proudly watched on as one after the other of his students left the rekindling. Each of them went out and about with the energy and hurry of the young. None of them forgot to look at him and bow. He glanced at the departing figure of the diamond in the rough, Eli. He was looking forward to teaching that boy.

Trother turned to leave. He caught one of his batteries lingering with her sight fixed on the Hearth. Understanding, he asked:

“How many more rekindlings until your termination, Sywel?”

“Depends, sir. Five if lucky. Realistically, two.”

Trother silently agreed, looking at the veins of Sywel’s neck starting to turn blue. Although his garment covered it, Trother’s chest had begun to reveal similar painful symptoms. “Are you scared, dear?”

“No, sir. Just thinking about my little ones. I’m going to miss their first burst.”

“I see.” He put a hand on her shoulder and, not knowing what else to say, just left it there for a few seconds.

“Come, sir. You need rest.”

“Very well. After you, Sywel.”

Everyone left as life-giving energy was pumped into the Burrows of Fahrenheit.