Meritona Hills, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

The blood trickling from Matthew's busted upper lip tasted like dirt and copper, mixed with sweat and the spicy flavour of adrenaline. The punch left him unfazed as he dodged Kolbin's attempt at a thrust at his throat. He had already worn the man down quite a bit, giving Kolbin a black eye when he had tackled Matthew to the ground. Hand to hand combat was something Matthew had always excelled in. When given the chance, he could easily protect and defend himself. Kolbin had picked the wrong man to mess with.

Despite the colour gathering around his eye, Kolbin was undaunted. "Getting cocky, aren't we?" he snapped when Matthew danced away from yet another swinging punch.

"No," Matthew replied sardonically, "just bored."

"Arrogant!" Kolbin sneered. "Terminus, clearly you haven't beaten this one enough!"

The Warmth recoiled at those words; the hatred burned wild in Matthew's chest. He stepped outside the man's range and grabbed the back of his shirt collar. He yanked the shirt off, exposing his back and chest, revealing the scars, the Death Omen on his collarbone. Relishing the look of shock on the man's face as the staggering truth was exposed, Matthew said, "You have no idea what I have endured."

Kolbin rushed him, and Matthew met him head-on, dodging every swing and punch the man tried to give him. Matthew had never felt so alive, the Warmth rushing through his veins, increasing speed and strength, enlightening his mind. He dealt Kolbin a strike so hard, Kolbin tumbled through the air, landing on the ground feet away.

Umair let out a string of curses, rushing to Kolbin's side. Kolbin shoved Umair away with a swing of his arm, letting out a roar of frustration and anger as he clambered to his feet and rushed Matthew again. Matthew saw the dagger slice through the air, sunlight glancing off its steel. He ducked, twisting around as Kolbin lunged, desperation driving the man wild and to the ground. Matthew panted, watching Kolbin let out another roar of rage as he shoved himself to staggering feet again.

The Overseer spoke, his tone practical and undisturbed: "I told you, Kolbin. The Boy Who Won't Die."

"I'll show you death!" Kolbin screamed, rushing Matthew with the dagger held high.

Matthew didn't think. He moved faster than he ever had in his life, with more purpose and precision than any thoughtless action was capable. He grabbed Kolbin's wrist with one hand, twisting it and sending the dagger flying. His other hand caught the man's throat, lifting him in the air with a strength he didn't know he had, a power surging through him like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was so hot, it was like ice, burning every part of him, exploding from the tips of his fingers like bolts of lightning.

Scenes flashed before his eyes. Kolbin's life played out in a moment: a muddy child on a rainy day, fire and smoke, blowing wheat fields, the taste and smell of blood as it trailed down stone and skin. The next moment, Kolbin was tumbling through the air away from him and Matthew was falling, falling, falling.

He hit the floorboards of his parent's bedroom, beneath their bed, hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp — their voices argued, worried.

"We can't keep hiding it from him, Rosita! He'll discover what he is soon enough. We can't keep hiding him. She'll sense him. She'll find him. It's only a matter of time." His father's voice was high with intensity and fear. "We've got to do something. The Creator entrusted us with the duty of keeping him alive. You need to tell him what he is!"

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"He's just a child, Merin!" his mother sobbed. "A child! The truth is too heavy a weight!"

Heavy. Like his breathing. The weight on his chest.

No, his chest was empty — he was empty, void, lost and tumbling again, falling, falling.

Crashing. No, shattering. The mirror on the dresser exploding, glass and plastic flying in all directions. Cuts on his hands. Tiny little scars. Lily grabbing his shoulders, his arms, her eyes wide with fear.

"Matthew, what did you do?"

The anger, oh, the frustration! He had been mad, so mad, and the eyes of the boy in the mirror weren't normal; they sparked and flickered in frightening ways. Fingers on glass: the mirror exploded. She didn't believe him, she blamed him: "You need to control your anger!"

"You need to control your temper." Up through the roof, at the table — no, standing against the wall, shoulders hunched, hands in fists, a hole in the wall. His mother was talking but he wasn't listening. Deep inside something smouldered, burned, ignited, a passion leading him into decisions both good and bad. The Warmth. It was trapped. It wanted out. He was an animal in a cage wanting freedom, escape, meant for something beyond the thoughts and ideas of others. Trapped.

Trapped. Screams. Falling. He hit the ground again hard on his back, the air knocked out of him, tears blinding him, shrieks ripping out of him. Barred door streaked with blood, his blood. Scratching, clawing, sobbing. Broken. Empty. Cold.

Matthew opened his eyes, taking a deep breath as he found Umair and the Overseer standing over him in the grass. He felt empty. Cold. Everything was a blur. He wasn't quite sure what had happened.

"Chain him," the Overseer ordered Umair, and then walked away.

Matthew didn't struggle as Umair tentatively crouched down and took his wrists. The man was jumpy. Nervous. Matthew was dazed. "What did I do?" he whispered.

Umair's fingers shook as he locked the chains around Matthew's wrists a bit tighter than before. "You killed 'im."

Killed him. Matthew sat up slowly, looking around Umair to where he had last seen Kolbin flung. The man's body was sprawled in the grass several yards away, and two other guards were standing over him, casting glances at Matthew that showed genuine fear. Matthew stared, shocked and weak as Umair helped him to his feet.

"Don't get me wrong, kid, I hated the guy myself," Umair said in Matthew's ear, keeping his back to the dead man. "But that... that looked like a horribly terrible way to die."

Matthew staggered a bit unsteadily on his feet. "I-I don't even know what I did," he breathed, shaky. He still felt chilled inside. His breath caught in his throat as he searched — the Warmth was gone.

No, not gone. Damaged, maybe. It was small, a tiny orb of light in the darkness within him. The passion was gone, leaving him disoriented. He reached for the Warmth, but it avoided his touch like a simpering creature. Wounded. His foggy mind couldn't comprehend what was happening. A chill was consuming him.

"Whatever that was..." Umair shuddered, then busied himself with double-checking that Matthew's chains were secure. "Please don't do that to me."

"Don't worry," Matthew whispered numbly, watching the guards carry Kolbin's body away. "I don't think I could do that again."

For the first time, Matthew understood the true definition of cold.