Englecon Mine, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

Kylie's words haunted Matthew. He had tried finding his mysterious visitor but he couldn't ever place the name with any of the faces around him. What she had told him bugged him for weeks, even more so when she hadn't visited him again. Had they already made their escape? Matthew was sure he would have heard about it. Besides, they had no way of removing their cuffs without his magic.

His magic. He had found himself referring to it as that more often now, and it was both unnerving and rejuvenating. His magic. It sent shivers down his spine every time he thought of it — which was every time he saw the scars on his arms and legs.

Wash day came, proof that another month had come and gone. The showering room was fair-sized, with ten spouts along the walls that sprayed water and a sloped floor that led to a drain in the middle of the room. They had two minutes under the cold spray. Matthew had learned how to get most of the grime off of him and out of his hair in that short amount of time. Like many others, he didn't bother to undress — it was a waste of precious time, and his clothes needed the wash just as much as he did. His cargo pants had once been a light grey, but sweat, dirt, and blood had stained them dark. His shirt was ripped in several places, but the black fabric was rather good as hiding the various blood-stains he knew it bore. The cold water washed some of it out; red-tinted water trickled down his arms and dripped off his fingertips. He ignored it.

His two minutes were up unbearably fast, and he followed the other nine slaves out of the room, soaked to the bone but not truly caring. The Warmth — his magic — kept his fingers from going numb from the icy water. Others had contracted pneumonia or colds from the freezing water and cold caves, but with his Warmth, it had never been an issue for Matthew. Now, though, with how much his magic had suffered, he shivered.

The Englecon mine had something Feldspar had not had: a warming tunnel. As they walked through the exiting tunnel, warm air blew at them with force. The tunnel was long, and by the time they reached the end Matthew's hair was nearly dry and his clothes weren't dripping anymore. There was a mighty contrast between the air in the tunnel and the air outside of it, though. Matthew shivered again.

The Overseer was waiting for him, watching the other slaves exit the tunnel with beady eyes. He was in charge of the entire mine, Matthew discovered after a time, because the last overseer had been killed in the explosion. Apparently, Motch himself had wanted Terminus Aarden to come and oversee the mine at Englecon. Matthew hadn't realized that the Overseer had been such a prominent figure.

The Overseer gave Matthew a nod, and Matthew silently followed the man away from the other slaves. He felt their eyes on his back and did his best to ignore it.

They travelled through the tunnels of the mine for quite some time. These tunnels were a maze, winding up and down and around, yet Matthew knew the hundreds of tunnels didn't even take up a quarter of the mountain itself. Englecon Mountain spread over many miles. Mining through it all would take a century.

Matthew hadn't expected to end up in the Infirmary. It was the first time he had seen it in the mountain mine, and also the first time seeing Sabine and Oceania since arriving there. The Overseer marched in with an air of authority, taking his wife and daughter by surprise. Oceania's eyes widened at the sight of Matthew — he was in the Infirmary looking perfectly well.

Unusual, I know, he thought.

"Terminus, what are you doing here?" Sabine asked, setting aside whatever she had been working on at the stone counter and turning to him. She was wearing a mask that covered her nose and mouth. Oceania wore the same.

"The contagion," the Overseer asked, "is it still spreading?"

Sabine briefly glanced at Matthew. Obviously, neither of them had been told about Matthew's deal with the Overseer, because both women looked genuinely surprised to see Matthew standing with the Overseer, unchained and unharmed.

Trust me, I'm surprised too.

"Yes," Sabine replied hesitantly. "I... I have no idea what it's from. None of the medications have worked. They're dropping like flies."

"Have we discovered how it is spread?"

"Through physical contact, mostly. Breathing the same air." She turned and grabbed two masks from a bucket on the counter. "Put these on. The Infirmary may not be safe."

Matthew only accepted the mask when the Overseer nodded for him to. The mask itself felt restraining, like a muzzle. He immediately hated the feeling.

"Where are they?" The Overseer's voice was now muffled, yet no less demanding.

Sabine hesitated for only a moment before she led the way down another hallway. At its end was a door with a panel that could be slid open. Matthew couldn't see what was inside the room, but he could gauge by the Overseer's reaction that it was not good. Matthew was beginning to realize what the man's plan was, and goose-flesh pebbled his arms.

"Boy." The Overseer turned to him. "Let's see if your abilities pertain only to yourself."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

He had guessed wrong. The Overseer wasn't here to see if Matthew was immune to whatever this disease was, but to see if Matthew could cure it.

"Father—" Oceania started, but the Overseer silenced her with a glare.

He gestured to the door. "In."

Matthew didn't argue. He moved past Sabine and the Overseer and grabbed the handle on the door, trying his best to mentally prepare himself for whatever he'd encounter on the other side. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, slipping into the room as quietly as he could. The door shut behind him quickly.

It was worse than he could have imagined. The room was fair-sized and packed with bodies: bodies lying on the floor, bodies sitting against the walls. Even with his mask, the stench was powerful. Unwashed bodies and feces along with the repugnant odour of festering flesh and blood. Matthew fought not to gag. He stayed still, watching as heads slowly lifted and turned to look at him. The faces were grotesque, gaunt and pale and sagging or stretched over bone. Hair was straw-like and patchy — half of them were already balding. Their eyes were nearly lifeless. Some of them were.

Matthew turned as a raspy voice addressed him: "You.. you are uncontaminated." The man was old — looked old, with his bald head and sagging features. He coughed, and blood dribbled down his chin. Matthew was frozen, watching the man with thousands of emotions churning within him. The Warmth trembled.

The man pointed a bony finger at him. "You.. you are him."

Matthew didn't understand what the man meant. He stayed silent, unsure of what to say or do. More sunken eyes were finding him, watching him. A woman reached out a feeble hand to him, on her last ounce of strength. Without thinking, Matthew crouched, grabbing her as she fell forward into his arms. She stared up at him with hollow eyes. He realized that she couldn't have been much older than him, once he looked past the disease. Her eyes were yellowed, glistening.

"Are you here to help us?" she whispered.

"He is here to save us all," the bony man responded.

Matthew's eyes burned. He couldn't breathe. With a shaky hand, he pulled down the mask, breathing in the stagnant air. It was the air of the sick and the dead, and he nearly choked on it. These people saw him as some kind of saviour, someone who could heal him, and he knew he couldn't. "I'm not who you think I am," he whispered.

This had been a huge mistake. He couldn't heal others, he was no saviour. These people were delirious, seeing something in him that wasn't there.

The woman lifted a trembling hand, touching his cheek, her eyes tearful. As if she knew. "I..." she rasped, a tear tumbling from her eyes. "I see Him... in you."

She began to convulse. Matthew fell back, clutching her frail form in his arms as she shook and jerked, each breath a strained moan in her throat, her eyes wide and unseeing. Matthew panicked, putting his hand against the side of her face, frantically pushing the Warmth into his hand, trying to transfer it into her somehow, desperate to stop the disease, to be more than he was, to be able to heal her.

As soon as the Warmth reached the tips of his fingers, the woman stilled, her eyes huge. She exhaled loudly. She didn't move again.

She's dead. The truth dawned on Matthew like a brick to the face. He hadn't healed her, not at all. She was dead, dead when she should have been alive.

Gasping for breath, he laid her limp form on the ground and staggered to his feet, falling against the wall. Her dead eyes stared at him, the proof of his limitations, the proof of his failures.

"It's him!" someone cried feebly from the back of the room.

"He's here to free us," another said.

"No!" Matthew exclaimed, the word ripping from his chest. "I'm not who you think I am! I'm not your saviour!"

The bony man quietly replied, "Then why do your eyes glow?"

Glowing, flickering eyes. The mirror exploding. Matthew couldn't breathe. He slammed his fist against the door behind him, hoping it'd open, begging them to let him out.

They did. The door opened just slightly, and he grabbed it, shoving himself into the opening and nearly plowing Sabine over in his haste. He flew past them, stumbling down the hallway and back into the main room, running into a table and crashing to the floor. His head spun with memories, disorienting thoughts and voices.

"The Creator entrusted us with the duty of keeping him alive. You need to tell him what he is!"

"Open your eyes, Matthew! You've got something. Something, I think, that could free us all."

"You can free us."

"I'm not who you think I am!"

"Matthew."

His eyes flew open, beholding Oceania's face. She still had her mask on, but he could still see the worry in her eyes. He didn't blame her, as he was curled up against the wall with his head in his hands, shaking from head to toe. She didn't touch him. Maybe she thought he had contracted the disease. Maybe he had.

"I'm not who they think I am," he whispered. His voice sounded torn and broken — because he was. Those people had expected something from him and he had failed. He wasn't their saviour.

Oceania gave a slow nod. Her eyes were sympathetic, but they also held a strange determination. "You're right." Her next words were even more unsettling: "You're so much more."