I will learn and serve with unwavering commitment and honor. - Initiate Oath of the Lucentine Order.

Darian sighed in relief as he sat on the bench, his lunch in hand. It was simple fare. The woody aroma of nuts and ground jerky greeted his nose as he opened his bag. Despite the grumblings of his stomach, he preferred a light lunch.

The day had started off normal. Arriving before dawn, he checked in with his overseer and was assigned the same task as always. He'd been debarking unloaded logs all morning. The work pace had been near frantic as several kilns had just recently undergone maintenance and were empty. Their maintenance had been put off for as long as possible, and Darian was more than aware of how badly most of the other kilns needed it.

Seeing the empty kilns made Overseer Brawn go apoplectic, and Darian and the rest of the debarkers were under his personal supervision all day.

Darian's stomach grumbled in annoyance at the simple meal. Regardless of his aunt's treatment of him, she was a good cook, and despite his regular mixture of nuts and jerky, he found himself craving dinner already.

Despite sitting at a table filled with men and other apprentices, Darian was alone. He tried to ignore their conversations, but it was difficult. It had been a week since the attempted raid, and everyone was still talking about the strange mage who had shown up and single-handedly won the fight.

Some of the retellings were amusing. Painting Lys as some kind of manifestation of the Son. Arriving in Mapleton with divine protection and bringing fiery justice to godless foreigners who would dare harm his people. Preacher Ailis sure hasn't been helping. The thought was bitter. While Ailis hadn't claimed him to be a divine manifestation, he'd agreed that such a powerful mage must be divinely blessed and that maybe the Gods had played a hand in his being present.

Lys had vanished just as quickly as he'd arrived. It had only helped his shroud of mystery. While the raid was all anyone seemed to discuss, Darian could only think of magic. His dreams after that night had been of power.

Ignoring the conversations buzzing around him was easy, as no one wanted to involve him. Darian chuckled to himself. Despite everyone sitting shoulder to shoulder, those on either side of him gave him several inches of space.

They act like I have a disease.

Darian didn't mind. In fact, if it weren't a regular thing, he'd not be sitting at the tables. Even several inches of space were too little. And he always tried to get a seat at the end of the tables as it was easier to ensure no one would brush against him.

"Darian!"

Darian looked up from the table to see overseer Brawn marching towards him. What now? Darian did his best to keep a scowl off his face. He failed.

"Go help Merssing fuel the kilns."

"Lunch, sir?"

"Obviously, you daft fool, eat quickly and be about it!" Brawn stalked back towards the main mill building.

Darian started stuffing his mouth as fast as he could. It was hard to take anything Brawn said personally; he treated everyone equally, like garbage, and despite that, Darian found it strangely comforting that he was treated no worse than anyone else.

Any other apprentice was just as likely to get verbally assaulted by the man. He had Darian's respect. He's fair. Darian appreciated that. What he didn't appreciate was working with Merssing. The old man was unpleasant and never tired of complaining.

Darian stood, bracing himself mentally to do the work of two while being berated for not working harder. He left the table and headed for the kilns.

Darian's muscles burned as he tipped the wheelbarrow of offcuts and branches into the bottom of the kiln. His hands stuck to the wheelbarrow handles. Saps from the different variety of trees coated his hands and forearms. It had a slight acrid stench to it that irritated his nose. What is that?

The smell was a new and unwelcome addition to his day.

"Kids these days don't even know how to work properly." Merssing's voice sounded like old cracked leather, grating on Darian's nerves. "Back in my day, we knew how to work. We weren't afraid of a little blood and sweat."

"Feel free to do anything other than follow me around and spout useless nonsense." Darian kept his voice low, attempting to conceal it from the old man.

'Stop mumbling, boy! If you're going to bitch, then bitch. I swear, you survive monsters, raids, and time itself, and all you get rewarded with is aching bones and young idiots that don't know their ass from their elbow."

"I wish you hadn't, you old goat," Darian couldn't keep his voice down as he turned to the man. It had been an hour since he'd started helping Merssing. So far, the man had bent over and lifted about three branches into the wheelbarrow before deciding it would be more productive to educate Darian on everything he was doing wrong and how he'd been taught to do it better.

"Hah! Back in my day, you’d have been whipped raw for talking back to your betters." Merssing couldn't keep the glee from his voice at the idea. Darian did his best to tune him out, instead focusing on the task at hand.

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He loaded armfuls of cutoffs into his wheelbarrow. Brittle and dry, the remnants of long-since dried and processed timber made the perfect fuel. Darian's sticky fingers caught on something brittle and flakey, and he dropped the bundle in surprise, jumping back from it.

Brown flakes of blazeleaf moss stuck to his hands and forearms. Darian frantically looked for anything to wipe the sap and bits of moss off himself. He didn't dare use his pants. That would be asking for them to light on fire.

"What you jumping about," Merssing said in his perpetually peeved voice.

“Blazeleaf moss." Looking closer at the wood pile, Darian could see it not just on his armful but also covering most of the pile they were dumping into the lit kilns. "It's all over this pile."

Merssing shrugged, "Its good fuel, boy."

"It burns too hot."

"It won't melt stone," sneered Merssing.

Darian just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. There is no way he's this stupid.

"It's dangerous," Darian said, going to fold his arms but stopping halfway so as not to spread the sap and blazeleaf on his shirt.

"I’ve been working at this lumber mill since before you were seed in your father's testicles. If I say it's safe, then it’s safe. Quit complaining, pick up that bundle, and dump it in the kilns." Darian didn't move, instead glaring at the hateful old man. Merssing approached, pressing a finger into Darian's chest. "Get. To. Work." Emphasizing each word with a hard poke in the chest.

Darian's skin crawled at the sensation. Gritting his teeth, he bore with it, refusing to give an inch to Merssing. "All it will take is one stray ember, and I'll go up like a candle!"

"Then don't let any touch you," the older man's voice was mocking, "simple enough."

Darian didn't move, instead staring down at Merssing. He’d had never liked how he was treated, but it was only now that he was growing from boy to man that he felt he could do something about it where adults were involved. Even just a year ago, Merssing had seemed to tower over him, but now… I've got nearly a whole head on him.

Merssing shoved him. Darian absorbed the push, not moving. "Work."

"I will throw you into the Spur if I catch fire." Darian couldn’t keep the growl from his voice as he bent back to the work. Resigning himself to being cautious for the rest of the day. He'd have to avoid any spare embers or particles of ash like his life, or his clothes, depended on it.

Darian moved up and down his line of three kilns. They burned through fuel rapidly and needed constant feeding. With fifteen kilns in the lumberyard, there wasn't time to stop. Other pairs were covering different kilns, but his brief conversation with Merssing had put them behind, and he had to hustle to get caught up.

Brawn could be punitive, especially with apprentices, and letting a kiln's temperature drop too low or, worse, letting one go out was a guaranteed way to get on punishment detail for a week. Seeing that Darian was falling behind, Merssing bent himself to the task, his constant grumblings of a bad back accompanying the duo.

Darian jumped back as something in the furnace popped, shooting out embers. His sticky hands made his attempt to drop the wheelbarrow awkward, and he almost sent the wooden construction into the kiln’s furnace. Darian wrinkled his nose in disgust. The acrid stench he had noticed earlier had grown far stronger. It coated his entire body, and the air tasted like sour meat. It reminded him of cut onions, how it burned his nose and stung his eyes.

I can't tell if it's the moss or if I'm just more aware. Darian's three furnaces had been belching out more embers and smoke than he was used to. He could hear wood popping and something sizzling in the flames.

The sap, maybe? Darian wasn't used to hearing dry fuel pop and sizzle like that. It sounds like it’s soaked.

He paused, noticing as he listened that the pops were growing more numerous. He wrinkled his brow as he grabbed the wheelbarrow, slowly moving back. As he looked at the kiln, an uneasy feeling entered his gut.

There is definitely more smoke. What should have been thin wisps of smoke had thickened into black streams wafting from the firebox door and visibly curled above the stack of lumber inside.

"Merssing," Darian shouted, backing up from the kiln. The pops grew louder, and splintering wood sounded from the stone kiln.

"What did you do," demanded Merssing as he hobbled towards Darian, his dull eyes wide.

"I didn't do anything." Darian's voice was shaking.

There was a roar of rushing air, a jet of flame shooting from the open drying racks of the kiln. Darian reflectively stepped back, his hands up, blocking his face, protecting it from the wave of heat that hit him like a wall, stealing his breath.

Drying timbers ignited.

"Fire!” Darian had never heard Merssing shout so loudly before. "Fire!"

Already, men were running towards them. Yelling and screaming for sand. Thin, sinewy fingers clamped down on his wrist, pulling him away from the kiln. Darian tensed, resisting the pull. Refusing to budge.

"Idiot boy," Merssing shouted at him, "Don't just stand there, get sand!"

Darian stumbled as he was shoved towards the pile of sandbags kept for dousing fires. He passed men who carried two or three bags a piece, each running towards the fire like their lives depended on it.

Maybe not their lives, but their livelihoods... Most of the lumberyard was constructed of stone, but that didn't mean there wasn't plenty of flammable material lying around. Every piece of timber. Every cut board. Every particle of sawdust. Darian's eyes ran over all of it as he ran. Any of it could catch alight.

He scooped up a sandbag, heaving it onto his shoulder and spinning on his heels as he ran back towards the burning kiln. Ash, sparks, and flames billowed from every opening on the kiln.

Beads of sweat rolled off Darian, a result of the heat. It's getting hotter. The realization sent a chill up his spine. The sand isn't working. Already, a dozen bags had been cut open and thrown into the kiln.

He handed his sack of sand off and went for another, pausing only for a glance into the kiln. Darian saw a bubbling clear liquid oozing from the sable timbers on the lower rack. The droplets seeped into the sand.

The sand danced and jumped as the sap boiled.

Bag after bag went into the blaze, suffocating it, choking the black smoke and stifling its flames. The acrid stench grew more pungent, Making Darian light-headed.

As if from a great distance, he heard a shout, "Gas! Somethings in the air!"

Darian stumbled; the heavy weight of a sandbag had thrown his balance off. Men were moving away, some staggering, unable to stand. The sound of stone splitting cracked through the air and cut through the haze in his mind.

He looked to the kiln, where a crack ran along its side.

The wall exploded outwards.

Stone and timber were carried on a wave of flame. A piercing pain hit Darian's leg, sweeping it out from under him; he lost his balance and fell to the ground.

He looked up, and the air ignited.