...the history of our people has shaped many of the truths.

In hindsight, the third truth was the first embodied by the Ignian people. When the Phoenix crew decided to split into four different settlements, it wasn’t only to reduce the chances of Schneider detecting them. It was a matter of guaranteeing redundancy. There were more chances to survive if we weren’t all grouped. If something went wrong and one of the settlements was destroyed, at least the others would continue.

I propose that we change the order of the truths and make the third truth - ‘A flame spread is never dead’ - the first one. It’s only proper to do so when we consider its historical significance. Additionally...

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

Trother looked up at the starry sky. He couldn’t remember how he got to the surface. He noticed that his hands felt different. Studying them, he found these were younger, stronger hands. He was dreaming again.

Standing before him was a beautiful woman with flawless, ebony skin and a lean neck. Her dark hair was braided together and tied into a ponytail. He tried to say her name, but his voice failed him. He tried to move but couldn’t. He was frozen still, only able to listen.

“My love, you know I have to do this.” Her voice was gentle and soothing.

“But I don’t want you to go,” he tried to say. No sound came out. That didn’t seem to stop her from hearing him.

“I know. I know. But they have children, too. This,” she said, pointing toward the sled, “will make a difference in their lives. Besides,” she added, stroking his clean-shaven face, “We always knew that I would be the first one to go.”

“I’ll go instead,” he wanted to say. He felt tears rolling down his face.

“Take care of our baby.”

She took out her oxygen mask and gave it to Trother. She then activated her mutation, enhancing her muscles. She grew taller and more muscular. Her waist was tied to a sled in which different metal ingots were bundled together. She took off, towing along the sled. Her figure became smaller and smaller as she disappeared in the distance.

“Naiara!” Trother screamed. Opening his eyes, Trother woke up sweating and panting. He was in his room, in the Burrows. Looking around, he found Sywel beside him, silently bursting. She had one eye opened. She greeted him with a respectful nod and went back to bursting. Out of courtesy, she didn’t comment on Trother’s recurrent nightmares. He was grateful for that.

Sywel was a 19-year-old he had seen grow, marry, and have children; the twins last year. Yet, despite her love for her children, her hand burned determinedly. She held a device connected to Trother. One cable, as thick as a thumb, burned red as Sywel poured her life for him. Maybe Trother would be able to repay her one day. Perhaps he would guide at least one of her children, provided he lived until then.

Sylar slept in another corner of the room. His tall, lumbering figure had stood watch during the first hours of the morning until Sywel had switched places with him. He seemed to be sleeping unperturbed, but Trother knew his nightmare had also woken him up.

Trother had enjoyed being with them as Glacies completed its nine-day satellite cycle around Ignis. Most likely, he would have their company for the last time.

Although the Burrows slept only the bare minimum needed to function, Trother needed eight hours of sound rest. Batteries stuck to the usual six hours, or as termination drew near, four hours of sleep. In this case, the numbers fit nicely into two battery shifts between the couple.

As Trother got out of bed, Sywel stood up, and Sylar followed. They walked to the cleansing tube at the corner of the room. Shipishly, or sheepishly, or whatever the word was, Trother went into it and closed the door. The tube glowed and reverberated as Sylar and Sywel poured orange-grade energy into it. Impurities that, unattended in Trother’s skin, would smell unpleasant were burned away and exhausted through the vent down to the smiths. Impurities were just the right molecules in the wrong configuration, and, small as they were, there was still use for them if adequately processed.

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After Trother finished, he left the tube, refreshed. He let Sylar and Sywel have their turns. One could argue that a bath wasn’t an essential use of longevity. Nevertheless, according to previously recorded experience, it was better to live a slightly shorter, cleaner life than to smell like porks, pigs, or whatever the word was. That’s what his lit had taught him, and that’s what he taught his students.

Trother left for his morning walk from his room to the Collegium. Sure, there was an optimal route from his chambers to the mess hall and the Collegium. One could also argue that taking any other course was a waste of energy. Trother, however, enjoyed choosing a slightly different path every day. It was always the same tunnel compound, but he found that by changing his route, the Burrows seemed somewhat different. Trother believed that the mental clarity gained from this habit made him a more productive member of the tribe, outweighing the more significant expenditure of calories and oxygen. Sylar and Sywel, familiar with Trother’s routine, silently followed him.

“Let’s go through the Plume Gate and the Throne Room,” Trother told the teenage couple. Sylar seemed to twitch his mouth in disagreement. Sywel sighed.

“I know, Sylar, I know. Don’t worry. We will pass by the mess hall on the way down,” she said. “Trother, have I told you that the twins twitch their mouths just like Sylar when they’re unhappy? It’s the cutest thing,” she said giddily.

The group was already on the upper level of the Burrows, where the sleeping chambers were. They quickly reached the gate to Howner Avenue. Seeing the door and what was beyond, Trother shivered. Memories of his nightmares came to him. After leaving the Burrows through this door, he had lost what was most precious to him.

The group began their downward march. Trother wondered whether any of his students were already up as they walked past all the rooms. He remembered when he was a small child and how excited he had been to discover his place in the tribe. He could hardly sleep the night before his evaluation.

After the sleeping quarters were the Throne Room and the Womb, he paused outside the latter and rested his hand on the door. Until very recently, all of his students had been here. He spared a look at the adjacent chamber, the Throne Room, and smiled. He’d come around for a visit to the king soon.

They passed the Vault of the Golden Guard, the yellow chemist’s lab, and walked down to the deeper, lower levels. They ignored the empty Hearth and moved on to the Forge. The chambers where the smiths worked were always bright and hot. Tribe members shot flames into the furnaces while others poured the unprocessed ore harvested from the mines into cauldrons. Others excited the ignium in their arms to wield big hammers, with which they beat down the cooling metal. The smell of fire, sweat, and metal hung in the air. Trother waved to workers here and there, recognizing some former students or old friends. By the looks of it, they were preparing another batch of food.

“Hi, teacher!” screamed one of his former students. He wielded an apron, and his face was dark with soot. His arms were incandescent, shooting orange flames into a cauldron nearby.

“Welion, you seem to be doing alright.” Glancing at what he was doing, he added, “No need to burn that hot for that alloy, Welion. Cool down before the bronze smith sees you wasting your life away and throws you into one of the cauldrons!”

“Yes, sir,” Welion said embarrassedly as he adjusted his burst and returned to work. He heard Sywel giggle at the exchange.

Next to the Forge were the mess halls. Trother could feel Sylar’s eyes looking at him so intensely that it felt like he was burning a hole in the back of his head.

“All right, all right. Let’s go in, Sylar. There's no need to look at me like that. I want to eat, too, you know?”

*

After breakfast, Trother and his batteries left the mess hall and started heading toward the Collegium. It was almost time for class, and Trother made it a point always to be the first to arrive. He took punctuality seriously, just as he took every other aspect involved in teaching. It was no accident or chance that he had coached five other lits, three yellows, and even the blue king himself.

Trother and his entourage arrived at the Collegium. Like most chambers in the Burrows, it was a spherical space. Benches at different heights had been built and added so that each student could have a clear line of sight of their instructor and the other way around. All seats were vacant, though. No one had arrived yet. Trother went to the adjacent room to the theater and finished the preparations for today’s class.

A small metal ball came rolling into his office as he mentally reviewed the AI reports. As soon as the nanite arrived at his office, Trother stood up. It was time. He stepped out to find a line of children standing at attention in the Collegium’s large amphitheater. This class consisted of the usual twelve students. Five boys, seven girls. Trother looked them all up and down. It was time to feed these flames.