Meritona Hills, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

It was still an hour before dawn when Umair woke Matthew, telling him they had to get up. Matthew was on his feet before he was truly awake. Sounds filled the air: yells, moans, braying donkeys. They were all startled awake by the harsh voices and whips of the guards. Matthew was surprised that he had even managed to sleep after what had happened the night before. He remembered it all with a jolt. Discreetly, he brushed his thumb over the wound the Overseer had given him. There was some crusted blood, but the wound itself had already scarred. He swallowed hard and dropped his hand.

After a quick morning meal, they set out again. When the sun peeked over the horizon, Matthew was able to make out the outline of Englecon Mountain in the distance. It was huge, spreading over miles of ground, rising so high into the sky that it reached the clouds. Was that where they were going? To be miners in the mountain? Slaves had mined the mountain for almost two decades now, pulling out numerous resources. He could imagine the incredible maze of tunnels that huge tomb held. But why abandon Feldspar Mine for it? Maybe they were going beyond the mountain. Matthew could see a forest now, the Miinhart Forest, off to the right. They were walking right past it. Their path led them alongside it, never entering the shade of the trees. They kept walking across the dead and dying grass.

As the morning wore on, the people wore down. Matthew couldn't help but remember what Abby had told him, how eight people had already died. He knew there would be more. The slaves were getting restless and irritable, as were the guards. The hot sun was enough to do that. Umair and Matthew had slowed and were now trailing alongside the other slaves, far enough away that Matthew felt set apart. He knew the others stared at him, frowning, confused as to why he was different. If only they knew...

A young slave collapsed, and Matthew stopped short, pulling Umair to a halt as well. The slave boy wasn't much older than himself. One of the guards marched through the slaves and grabbed the boy by the arm, yanking on him.

"Get up!" When the boy didn't respond, the guard kicked him hard in the side.

Matthew didn't even realize his feet were moving until he was just feet away from the two. Umair grabbed his arm and Matthew stopped, watching the guard, a burn in his chest he couldn't describe in words. It was as if the Warmth was writhing, getting wilder with each passing second.

The guard carelessly kicked the boy on the ground again. "I said, get up!"

The boy was not responding. His eyes were open, but they looked distant. Unseeing. Matthew pulled on Umair, dragging the reluctant slave master closer as he said, "Hey, stop it. Can't you see he's sick?"

"Kid," Umair muttered in his ear, trying to pull him back. Matthew was immovable.

The other guard turned to look at Matthew, his eyes dark with a lack of conscience. "How dare you speak to me like that!" he snapped, glaring first at Matthew and then at Umair. "Shut him up!" He turned to the boy again and kicked him once more. "Get up!"

Matthew had seen many slaves mistreated. He had been one himself, and no one had ever tried stepping in to help him. Abuse here was normal. Matthew wasn't guiltless of turning a blind eye to it often enough himself. But this time, it felt different. He couldn't turn aside, not when the Warmth was beginning to rage within him like some kind of wild animal. It was stronger than it had ever been before, casting shudders of heat through his veins. Something about the man — perhaps the evil that he emitted — drew out a fury from deep within Matthew. He could feel it in the very tips of his fingers. His tongue felt like a lump of burning coal. There was no pain, only power. It seemed to spark in his mouth, and when he spoke, he barely recognized his own voice. "Leave him alone."

It was a threat, and the guard heard it. He turned fully around to Matthew, those conscienceless eyes narrowing. Despite Matthew's tall frame, this guard was towering, his hands in fists at his side as he squared Matthew up.

"You wanna fight me, lowlife?" He glanced at Umair when Matthew didn't respond. "Take those chains off. This kid has a spark I need to stomp out."

Umair's grip on Matthew's tightened. "Kolbin, Terminus sai—"

"Terminus!" The man known as Kolbin yelled the name loudly, holding Matthew's gaze firmly. Matthew refused to look away. The sparks within him were igniting a flame of passion in his chest, spreading to the very tips of his fingers. He couldn't ignore it. He wouldn't stand by. He'd done that far too often. He would fight this time. If his chains came off, he'd put up a fight this man would never forget.

The Overseer soon approached. "What is it?" He already sounded beyond irritated, but at the sight of Matthew, he paused. Matthew glanced at him briefly, seeing that sickening curiosity in the man's gaze. He was still trying to figure Matthew out.

"This kid wants a fight," Kolbin growled. "Do I have permission to snuff out his arrogance?" The way he voiced his words suggested that he detested the Overseer's authority. Matthew saw it as clear as day.

Clearly, the Overseer did as well. His voice was cold and calculating as he said, "Kolbin, you're new here, are you not? Let me introduce me to one of my most puzzling possessions. The other slaves call him 'the Boy Who Won't Die'."

Matthew shifted his glare to the Overseer for a moment. Umair's grip on him tightened even more. Could he feel the electricity sparking beneath his skin?

A vicious spark lit up in Kolbin's eyes. "Bold and unbreakable. Just how I like them."

The Overseer straightened a bit. Matthew noticed he seemed a bit tense. Did Kolbin worry the almighty Overseer? So there was a chink in the psychotic man's armour. "You think you can break this boy?"

"Like a twig." There was a gleam in Kolbin's eyes. Matthew knew this man was just as psychotic as the Overseer. A fearful beat thrummed in Matthew's chest, but the Warmth emitted such a calm, it held him steady. The passion was felt in every fibre of his being. He'd fight this man. He would for the boy on the ground who couldn't.

Matthew almost missed the treacherous evil in the Overseer's glance as he looked at Kolbin. He was planning something, or he knew something they didn't. "Alright. Umair," he motioned for Umair to remove the chains. "There is only one rule, Kolbin. You do not kill him."

Why, because you want me for your own twisted games? Matthew pressed his lips together as Umair worked at unlocking his chains. Was Umair shaking?

"I won't have to. You see, Terminus, there is a way to break the rebellious ones. He is bold. He cares. You break these ones in a special way." Kolbin drew his sword. "Watch and learn."

Then, turning, Kolbin plunged his sword through the chest of the boy on the ground behind him.

Matthew hadn't even known the boy's name, but something inside of him died along with the boy. The Warmth seized as if it had been stabbed through. Matthew didn't mean for the yell to rip out of him, but it did as he lunged at the murderer, free of his chains and ready to rip the man apart limb from limb.

Kolbin pivoted and Matthew was struck with the pommel of the man's sword. He tumbled to the ground, gasping, his head ringing and forehead aching. The world swam before his eyes. The Warmth swelled within him, gathering in his mind. The headache dulled.

"Predictable," Kolbin said without a shred of remorse. "I'm surprised how someone so weak has survived so long. Are you soft with your slaves, Terminus?"

Matthew looked up, locking gazes with the Overseer. The man raised his eyebrows, taunting Matthew. "Try him, Kolbin. I don't see a broken man, I see fire."

Kolbin turned as Matthew rolled away and jumped to his feet. His headache was gone and all he could feel was a wave of deep-set anger boiling within him. He hadn't saved the boy. He had let him die. The anger only grew, and Warmth seemed to grow along with it, strengthening every muscle in his body. He lifted his fists, readying himself. He had gotten into brawls before. He knew how to fight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Overseer's folded arms, the calculated way he judged the two of them. It was a test, Matthew knew. The man had told him he had given Matthew chances, and all Matthew was doing was proving how dangerous he was.

You're about to see just how dangerous I can get. The thought of consequences never crossed his mind. All he could see was red.

"Alright, pretty boy." Kolbin had stopped observing Matthew — too soon if his conclusion had come to assuming Matthew was all bark and no bite. The man handed his sword to Umair. "Let's fight."