The next day, bright and early, it was time to revisit Madge to see what she’d discovered in her research. Tre accompanied Sarien again and he was thankful for the companionship. When they arrived, Madge immediately directed them to the carpet.

On a whim, Sarien asked. “Have you met my father? He was supposed to have come here. Talc Wald. He looks a little like me, of course, but taller and with black hair and a short beard.”

Madge shook her head, thoughtful. “Never heard of a Talc Wald. I’m sorry. If he came through the tower, he never met with any of the directors.” Sarien puzzled over the statement. His father hadn’t met with the directors. Then who did he meet with?

Madge clapped her hands together, then rolled up the sleeves of her robe. “Now, let’s get started.”

“What do you want me to do?” Tre asked. “Not just sit around again, right? It’s boring.”

“First, I want you to bring out your flame.” She turned to Sarien, then back to Tre again, as if remembering something. “Keep it small, mind you!”

“Fine,” Tre grumbled.

“Thank you, dear.” When the flame appeared, it was about the size of someone’s head. Madge turned to Sarien. “Now you. We’re going to see what happens when your sparks touch. You should feel a connection. The results could give us some insight on what is happening inside you.”

Sarien nodded. “Wouldn’t it be better if I connected with you then?”

The director of research gave him a warm smile and shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t work. I have no flame. I’m a heat mage.”

“Oh.” The possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“The director of research title is usually held by heat mages. It means I’m the head of the academics, after all. Pyromancers are not known for their love of knowledge. They just want to see the world burn.” She looked over to Tre. “Isn’t that right, Tremalian?”

He looked away from his own flame, which he had been staring into since bringing it forth, and grinned. “I just want to go on adventures and fight monsters!”

“Like your friend Sarien here?” she asked, winking at him. “Did you know he brought a monster to us?”

Tre’s eyes widened comically. “You did what?”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” Sarien said.

Tre narrowed his eyes. “Forgot? You’re going to tell me everything after this!”

“Right,” Sarien said, nodding.

Madge laughed. “Now, dear, please bring out that white flame of yours.”

Sarien concentrated and the power inside him began to churn. This time, he did as Tre described, and imagined it being set on fire. Perhaps he needed to ignite his power in some way.

The power swirled but remained in its white useless form no matter what he tried. Reaching for the black part of him yielded the same result as before. Nothing.

With a sense of defeat, he manifested the white flame. It flickered weakly beside to Tre’s red, yellow, and orange flame, making it appear even more broken than before. Tre’s flame flickered energetically as if imbued with life, while Sarien’s wavered strangely.

“Now boys, I want you to bring your flames together and make them touch.”

Tre made his smaller to match the size of Sarien’s flame, and they moved their hands closer. Sarien’s heart began to thud in his chest, and it felt like he was sprinting. He couldn’t stop his hand from shaking.

When they were close, Tre turned his palm to the side so their flames could overlap. Sarien breathed. Nothing. As far as he could tell, there was no connection. The two flames did not merge into one. They flickered and danced apart from one another.

Madge sighed and moved in closer. “Do you feel anything?”

“No,” Tre said. “It’s not like when I do this with the others. Can’t sense a thing inside Sarien.”

“Half of me is broken,” Sarien said, a heavy weight settling on his shoulders.

Madge tsked. “We’re not out of options just yet. A pyromancer’s body reacts to fire differently than those who can’t control the flame. I’d like to see what happens if Tre gives you a small burn. Hold out your arm, dear. And roll up your sleeve.”

Sarien gave her a doubtful look but did as she asked. He’d try anything to fix himself and make his flame hot.

Tre winced. “Sorry about this.” The flame in the palm of the boy’s hand grew smaller and took on a dull red appearance.

“Go ahead,” Sarien said, holding out his arm.

Madge stopped them. “One moment. Sarien, I want you to close your eyes and focus on bringing as much of your spark up as possible, but don’t let it out. Don’t make a flame. Just see if it reacts to Tremalian’s spark.”

Sarien closed his eyes and focused. Just as ordered, he made the power inside himself swirl and grow, but kept it inside. Holding that much of it made him restless but he resisted the urge to let it out.

Pain seared through him, and Sarien couldn’t help but yelp. It was over in a second but felt much longer. When he opened his eyes, he saw an angry coin-sized, round burn mark on his left forearm.

He gritted his teeth. “Felt nothing inside. Just the pain.”

Tre stood frozen with his eyes wide open, the tip of his nose twitching. Was it the smell of burned flesh that made him react like that?

“It’s fine Tre, don’t worry.”

The boy shuddered. “I didn’t like that.”

“That is the power you hold inside you, Tremalian. Even a small sample like that is enough to hurt someone. You should respect it,” Madge said, handing a pitcher of water to Sarien. “Pour that over your injured skin. It’ll soothe the pain a little.”

Sarien accepted the water. “Am I doomed to stay broken?”

“It does not bode well that we can’t get your spark to react with Tremalian’s at all. I’ve never seen that happen before.”

Sarien’s shoulders slumped, but then he remembered all he’d done with that light inside him. “But how can that be? If I’m broken, why could I heal my friends?”

Madge’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her warm expression returned. “Bjorn spoke of your tale. Fire cannot heal, it is not in its nature. It burns. A broken one does not mean it can do other things.” Then her tone softened even more. “But all hope is not lost. I’ve stayed up all night thinking about your situation, and I think I might offer a solution.”

“What is it?” Sarien asked, annoyed at everyone’s refusal to believe him, but also relieved that she might still be able to help.

“You say that the right part of your spark is dormant. That will be the key to this. I propose examining that part of your body. The spark is not a physical thing inside you. It doesn’t work like that, but I have a theory that our flesh connects us to our spark. It’s something I’ve been researching for a long time.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Sarien said, frowning.

Tre gagged. “You want to open him up?”

“Wait, what?” Sarien asked.

“Yes. There is a link inside us, I’m sure of it,” she said, wetting her lips. “It’s a simple procedure. It won’t do any permanent damage, and the chance of stoking your spark is too good to pass up. Don’t you think?”

Sarien took a step back. “I don’t know about this.”

She followed. “Do you want to stay broken? I’ve researched this for decades. All I need is a subject to prove my theory. This will make you better, make that flame of yours burn bright and hot.”

“Thank you,” Sarien said, raising his hands. “I’ll have to think about it.” He turned and made to walk out the open door.

“I lied before,” Madge said in a rush. “About your father.”

Sarien stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

“I know him. Know of him. He was here, but we know him not as Talc, but Trym.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Trym?” Tre asked.

Sarien grabbed the front of her robe. “Tell me now!”

A flash of heat hit Sarien in the face and he shied back, reaching up to touch his face in horror but felt nothing. The heat was gone.

“Careful,” the director of research said, the smile never leaving her face. “A heat mage can do more than make a room comfortable on a cold night.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarien said, getting to his feet. “Please tell me more.”

Tre broke in. “Isn’t this dangerous? I don’t like it.”

Madge ignored the younger boy, shaking her head. “You do this procedure first. We will both get what we want. Then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Sarien swallowed hard. Madge’s pleasant demeanor was still present, but there was a new intensity crackling through the air.

He had no choice. Madge promised that her procedure would help his spark, and more so, she was the first person in the tower to admit that she knew his father. If he was imprisoned somewhere in the tower, Sarien was certain someone with the high rank of a director would know where Talc was being kept.

“Will it be painful?” he asked.

Tre delivered Sarien to his room at the top floor, mumbling words of encouragement before leaving for practice with a senior pyromancer. According to Tre, they reserved such training only for the strongest of embers. A genius such as him would obviously be invited to take part of that sort of training, he explained.

After Tre left, Sarien realized this was his first moment alone in the tower outside the time he spent sleeping in his room. He plopped down on a chair and thought about Madge’s offer. She was right. If she proceeded with the procedure, they would both get something valuable out of the experience. He would finally gain full access of his power and she would be able to test out her theory about how power is linked to the flesh.

Also, she knew about his father. She’d called him Trym, a name that Sarien had never heard before, but he’d seen her face light up with recognition when he described him.

Not sure what to do, Sarien left the room and followed the stairs downward. From stories he heard, Sarien assumed the cells were located below ground in some damp dungeon. If his father was still in the tower, he’d be there. Finding him before giving Madge an answer might give him some leverage.

As Sarien descended, he thought of what he’d do if he didn’t find his father in the cells.

Even more pressing, what would he do if he was imprisoned? Mount a rescue?

The stairs ended and he emerged on the ground floor. He recognized the narrow corridor to the left that would take him to the main gate.

He turned right. He passed several servants but didn’t dare ask them where the dungeon was located. All it would take was a little suspicion and they would alert the pyromancers, ending his already slim chance of locating his father.

An exit in the tunnel showed a massive stairwell where a few men and women in red robes stood conversing. That had to be the main hall. They wouldn’t take kindly to finding him there, he figured, so he kept moving until he reached a small chamber furnished with rows of benches. The tunnel continued past the resting pyromancers and Sarien kept his head down.

“Lad?”

Sarien stopped and turned. He knew that voice. “Yari? You’re back already?”

“Sure. Barely left. They sent me off to bury that creature you brought with you.”

“The monster?” Sarien wasn’t sure what he thought they’d do with it, but he felt a pang of disappointment at how they just discarded it like trash after all the lives lost.

Yari looked like he was about say more but stopped himself. “Come on then.”

Sarien didn’t hesitate. “I need to get to the cells,” he whispered.

“Still with the cells?” Yari asked. “Why?”

“I think my father is down there.”

Yari stopped and turned around to face Sarien. His tone was serious. “What do you mean?”

The flickering lights barely reached from one wall to the next, casting Yari’s features in shadow. “Before you came to retrieve me, my father said he’d go to the tower for answers. But, since I’ve arrived, they won’t tell me where he is.”

“And you think they put him in a cell?”

“Maybe.”

Yari chuckled. “Young. So young. Listen, lad. Your father isn’t down there.”

“How do you know?” Sarien asked.

“Trust me.”

“How?”

The older man sighed. “There is only one prisoner in the holding cells, or well, there was one, a woman.”

“How—” Sarien began, but Yari held up a hand.

“Tre asked me for a key, didn’t he? I bring the food to the prisoners and the guards. Right now, the place is empty. No prisoner and no guards.”

“Not that I don’t trust you,” Sarien said. “But could you show me?”

Yari shook his head. “I already told you. I’m not going down there.”

“Why not?”

“The rats,” Yari grumbled. “I don’t like the rats. They come out when the place is empty.”

“You’re afraid of rats?”

Yari glared at him.

Sarien raised his hands in surrender. “Can’t you just give me directions then? And the key?”

“I’m not handing my key over to some whelp. Listen, I’ll show you the door and unlock it for you, but then you’re on your own.”

“Yes!” Sarien shouted, before catching himself and repeating it in a whisper. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sarien followed Yari to a chamber with a large heavy door constructed out of thick wood inlaid with steel.

“This is it,” Yari said, fitting an iron key into the lock. He looked back the way they’d come and then heaved the door open, waving Sarien inside. A darkened staircase leading down lay beyond.

“Go on then,” he said, gesturing to a lantern he lit just before unlocking the door.

“Why are you helping me?”

Yari cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “Lost my father as a young’un, and there’s no love lost between me and the mages.”

“Even though you work for them?”

Yari simply shrugged. “Now get lost. Don’t breathe a word of me helping you if you get caught, you hear?”

Sarien grabbed the lantern. “Of course. I wouldn’t betray you.”

Darkness enveloped him as Sarien descended the stairs. The lantern gave just enough light to see by and the unlit fixtures along the stone wall and hollow echoes of his footsteps seemed to confirm Yari’s words about the place being empty. Still, he pressed on. He needed to see the empty cells for himself.

The stairs ended suddenly and Sarien soon set foot in what appeared to be a single room, not much larger than one of the classrooms. To his left was a wooden table with two stools. Three small cells lined the wall.

He held up the lantern to see beyond the bars of the cells. Two of them were completely bare but the one furthest from the table held manacles and some food scraps, along with a discarded rough cloth tunic darkened with stains. Sarien got down on his knees to get a better look.

Blood. The garment was too small to be his father’s, but he wondered who the prisoner could have been. It was at that moment he heard the door back up the stairs opening and footsteps starting down the stairwell.

Sarien was about to call out for Yari when he heard a gruff voice that he didn’t recognize. “It wasn’t locked.”

“Did you forget again, turnip head?” A second voice asked, a woman’s.

“I’ve told you I don’t like you calling me that!” the man shouted. His voice echoed against the bare stone.

Sarien extinguished his lantern and pressed himself into a corner, hoping the dark would hide him, but he knew he was in trouble when he saw the flicking light of their own lanterns.

“I’m sure I locked it!” the man continued. “Don’t matter anyhow.”

“Just don’t screw it up when the new arrival gets here. Let’s just get a cell prepared.”

The heavy footfalls were getting closer.

“Do we know if the girl is coming back?” the man asked. His voice noticeably shaky.

The woman was silent for a short moment before sighing. “Just focus on the job at hand.”

They emerged from the stairs and immediately saw Sarien huddling in the corner. The male guard, a fat balding man with the biggest nose Sarien had ever seen, asked, “Is he supposed to be here?”

Sarien righted himself and held out his hands in front of him, surrendering. There was only one thing he could say to get out of the situation. “Could you please take me to the director of research?”

The two guards stood at either side of Sarien inside Madge’s chambers. The male one kept glancing around the room and twitching, like he was nervous of something.

“Went looking for your father?” Madge asked.

“I did,” Sarien said. There was no point in lying. What else would he be doing down in the dungeon?

She nodded with an empathic look on her face. “Have you given my proposition any thought?”

“I’ll do it,” he answered. “Should I go get Tre?”

“He won’t be needed for this,” she said, giving him a radiant smile before waving the guards away. They left without a word and the door locked behind them.

She showed Sarien to the adjacent room. It was well lit from both the windows and lanterns, and in the center stood a large table with straps of leather tied around each leg. “Please remove your tunic and lay down on the table. I’ll have to restrain you.”

Sarien pulled his tunic over his head, leaving him bare to the waist. He laid down on the table, the wood cold against his bare back. “I’ll be awake?”

“Afraid so. I need you to work your spark while I perform the procedure,” she said, securing his right arm with a leather strap before moving on to the left. “Can’t have you flailing about. But don’t worry, I’ll give you something for the pain. Won’t feel a thing, dear.”

Madge finished tying down his legs. Her soothing tone did little to ease his mind, not when her eyes had turned cold with determination.

“About my father, you said you called him Trym?” Sarien asked, trying to push the sense of unease away.

“Later,” she said. The warmth in her voice was gone. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, not feeling ready in the least. He had no choice. After his failing to find Talc in the cells, only Madge possessed the information he sought about his father. Perhaps she’d even be able to fix his spark and make him whole. It was a small hope, but he couldn’t help but cling to it as she started placing different sized blades on a side table.

“I’ll need to open your arms as you work your spark, to see where the differences are. When I detect what’s happening, I’ll trace it to the location in your body that represents the dormant part that you’ve told me about. Once there, I’ll stimulate it with the hope of activating that part of you. With both parts working, your flame should become whole.”

“But you said the spark is not in the body.”

“That’s why I said represents. It can manifest, especially when something is wrong. Now, drink this.” She held up a clay mug, and he opened his mouth. It tasted foul, but she kept pouring, so Sarien had no other choice other than to swallow. He felt a rush of cold numbness pass through his body. Sure enough, when she used a pin to prick him, he felt no pain. No sensation at all. His head swam and it proved difficult to form a coherent thought.

“Ready?” Marge asked.

Sarien blinked. “Ready.”

He watched as she grabbed a knife with a narrow and short blade and brought it to the skin under his arm. Blood trickled as soon as it cut into him. It bit into Sarien’s flesh, but he did not feel a thing. The sight of his own blood flowing freely did little to ease the spinning in his head, but he did his best to concentrate when she told him to bring out his flame.

Holding his arms over his head meant he couldn’t see his palms, but he knew the white flame danced there. “Can you bring it to this hand?” Madge asked, indicating the one she was cutting into.

He shook his head. “Only on my left side.”

“Peculiar.”

“Peculiar,” Sarien repeated, trying to keep his mind steady enough to keep his magic flowing.

Madge walked around the table to his left arm and began cutting. “Let’s find that difference.” She dug around, ignoring the flow blood from the first incisions she made. Her tunic was already soaked red.

“I don’t feel well,” Sarien murmured.

“Shush now,” she said, not even looking up from his arm. She was prying the sides of his cut skin apart. Sarien’s gut churned, and he began to gag.

Madge stepped back, touching her chin with her finger, getting a smudge of blood on her face. “I can’t see a difference. Why not? There should be one!”

Her eyes narrowed, and she finally met Sarien’s gaze. “Are you doing something to keep it from me? Trying to trick me?”

“Wha—”

“I’ll have to check your center.” Madge stepped in closer, near his side, and ran a finger down his chest. She stopped on top of Sarien’s heart. “Here,” she purred. “This should be the spot.”

“No,” Sarien said weakly. His flame had gone out at some point, he wasn’t sure when, and darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision.

Just as Madge made her first cut, the door banged open and people stormed in. Sarien kept enough of his wits to murmur one final word before he passed out.

“Help.”