Meritona Hills, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

After Umair's death, Matthew walked with Oceania. She gave him a cloak to warm up with, but it was no match for the ice in his bones. After being dunked in the river, he was freezing and the Warmth was all the weaker, a flickering light in his chest. There was a chill in the air that grew the closer they got to the mountain. All Matthew felt was cold and numb.

Oceania confirmed his suspicions: they were going to the Englecon Mine. The slaves there had dramatically decreased in number after an explosion took out part of the mine. Another number had fallen gravely sick. More workers were needed to keep the mine running, so there they were.

The sun was setting when they reached it. The mine entrance was like the mouth of a cave at the base of the mountain, lit with torches and guarded by two men in uniform. After a word with the Overseer, the guards stepped aside and the slaves were marched inside. Matthew took one last look around him, gazing at the sunset for a long, aching moment. Would he ever see it again? He didn't know.

The caves were damp and cold. Matthew could hear the familiar sounds of metal on stone. The Englecon slaves were still at work, apparently, but the Feldspar slaves were herded into a huge room. It was twice the size of the sleeping room back in Feldspar. Many of the slaves stumbled in and collapsed, too tired to find a place to properly settle into. Matthew didn't. He still had his chains.

The Overseer seemed to have a plan about that, though. He removed Matthew's chains, but then produced two cloths. "Hands in fists," he ordered before wrapping Matthew's fist several times like a bandage, covering it completely and clasping one of the metal cuffs back around Matthew's wrist rather tightly to hold the fabric in place. He repeated the procedure with Matthew's other hand. "There. Now you will not be able to free anyone."

Amazing. Brilliant. You thought this one through. Matthew wasn't losing his chains. Nice.

He retreated to the closest right corner of the room — force of habit. It was just like his corner back in Feldspar. Not much variety came with stone walls. He sat down, resting his bound hands on his knees as he watched the other slaves settle into the room. It wasn't very long before the Englecon slaves came in. Oceania was right, there weren't very many of them at all for such a huge mine.

It also wasn't very long before Abby found him. "Hey. I'm glad you're alive," she said, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. She still had that metal band on her wrist, glowing purple in the darkness.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied dryly.

"No, I'm serious," she whispered fervently. "We all saw what happened, and not just at the river. With that slave master. How you killed him."

Matthew closed his eyes. His head had begun to ache, and the Warmth wasn't bothering to try and soothe the pain. Still mad at me, hm? Fine, let it hurt. "I don't want to talk about it, Abby."

"But Matthew," she argued, "you got away with that. How did the Overseer just let you get away with that? And we haven't even mentioned how you did that. How did you do that?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"I don't know. It just happened."

"Things like that don't just happen! You lifted him right into the air with one hand! It looked like he was being electrocuted, and when you flung him away he was just dead, just instantly, and it was..." she fumbled for a word. "It's like you have magic."

Icy fear slithered down his spine at her words. The Warmth stirred. "I don't. I don't know how that happened, but I don't have magic."

"Then what," she pointed to the fabric on his fists, "is that supposed to do?" She tapped the metal cuff on her wrist. "It's supposed to stop you from opening our cuffs, is it not?"

"What's your point?" Matthew asked irritably. He was cold and tired and still damp from the river. He just wanted to be left alone, and yet Abby didn't seem to be leaving any time soon.

She tapped her metal band. "Don't you know? This is Athrii, Matthew. This contains magic." She said it as if it were supposed to mean something incredibly important.

"So?"

"I've been thinking a lot about this."

"Apparently."

"Listen to me!" she snapped. "This is serious! These cuffs don't work on you. It means that the magic doesn't work on you either. In fact, it's like you shut the magic off." She narrowed her eyes. "Only magic can counteract magic, Matthew."

Matthew stared at her through the darkness, not fully capable of making out her features, but not entirely needing to. The seriousness was clear in her tone. Her words were heavy on his shoulders. They were the very thing he was terrified of. "I don't have magic, Abby."

The Warmth stirred again.

"Don't you? Why do you think you've survived all this time? Why do you think these cuffs don't work on you? How do you think you killed that slave driver? Open your eyes, Matthew! You've got something. Something, I think, that could free us all."

"Don't even go there," he warned. "Just don't."

He felt her frustration. "Fine." She was up and gone before he could stop her — before he could drag up the desire to stop her. With a sigh, he closed his eyes tightly.

The most terrifying thing was that what Abby said made perfect sense. He just didn't want to believe it. Him? Magic? The Warmth within him was weak, still so fragile, but it seemed to gain some life from Abby's words, finally reaching out to soothe his headache. He wanted to push it away, but he couldn't find the will to. Ever so slowly, it was pushing away the ice in his chest.

Could this be what his parents had always talked about in hushed whispers and cryptic conversations? It made sense — he just hadn't wanted it to. His mother had always called him gifted, and he had rejected it. He didn't want it. He didn't want to be different. He didn't want this life at all.

Curling up on the cold, hard ground, Matthew pushed the Warmth away, forcing it back down into its tiny little ball and ignoring its presence. In self-suffocation, he fought for sleep, and it finally came in the form of nightmares. Kolbin's murder, Umair's drowning, Abby's words... Matthew awoke the next morning in a cold sweat, chilled and more exhausted than he had been the night before.