An Old Legend

On Flames and Fire – Forward.

Written sometime in the Fifth Generation.

"Recently, I have been researching fire. For as common as it is in our day-to-day, I couldn't find any good resources that had any good detail on it. It seems as though the everyday fire, the orange stuff, is treated as a fact of life; it's just there and no one seems to want to question it. The white fire the Church uses has received a similar treatment, but the fact that we do make the distinction between the two is what made me curious. Were they to be the same thing, we could surely call them the same thing, no?

This led me rather naturally to the starting point of my research: colors. Most people who utilize fire use one of the two aforementioned types, but there are exceptions. For instance, I've seen people create red, yellow, green, blue, and purple flames, each with different effects. Some colors are more destructive while others are more nurturing. In fact, I ordered that list of colors in order of decreasing destructivity. On either end of the spectrum are white fire and the ever-elusive black flames. Unfortunately, I could not confirm the existence of black flames as anything more than a legend. In all my time of doing research, something I've dedicated now the best part of a decade towards, I could not find, not only a user, but not even anyone who could say anything concretely about them. If the legends are to be believed, however, and black flames only appear in advance of great change, perhaps it isn't a bad thing I couldn't find anything on them.

In the course of researching the color question, I noticed certain distinction which you yourself may have noticed reading this. While the common person uses flames and fire more-or-less interchangeably, the reliable sources on the subject make a very clear distinction between fire and flames. This observation would send me down another rabbit hole of research that would conclude with me visiting opposite ends of the world in search of answers.

As foreboding as I made that sound, it was truly in more of a literal sense. In a conversation about my work, someone mentioned in passing the term "the Fire Villages", and naturally, I had to look into it. This term refers to two villages, one far to the east the other far to the west, which have long, long histories in using their chosen fire magic. To the east, built into the peaks of the tallest mountains, are a tribe of people who use exclusively white fire. Despite the cold of the mountain peaks, their fire keeps them warm; despite the lack of air, their fire lets them breathe normally (using an incredibly fascinating system of varying areas of air pressure to funnel air into specific areas, the specifics of which have their own dedicated chapter). Far to the west, on the other hand, is a tribe that uses the whole array of colored flames, with a strangely even mix of each among the members. They live at the foot of a mountain range, surrounded by dense forest. So dense in fact, that I had to contact them ahead of time so a guide could meet me outside the forest and guide me in.

In these villages, I had fascinating conversations about the nature of flames and fire, and the purposes of them. The emotions related to their answers varied greatly, as did the depth of knowledge, but one thing remained a constant across every single person I talked to in either tribe, and that what specifically separated flames and fire. This difference was frequently described by the phrase: fire is a cause; flames are an effect. Such a simple distinction yet fascinating all the same.

The west fire village also made me a mushroom soup that remains in the top three meals of my life."

***

After a week of preparation and anticipation, it was finally the first day of whatever this job was going to be. It was at this point I realized I didn't know what I was supposed to do or where I was supposed to go. I figured staying in my room waiting for someone to fetch me wasn't the best option, so I gathered all two of what I considered to be necessary items, my sword and what I had resorted to calling my badge, and slowly opened the door into the hallway. I poked my head out first, not quite knowing whether I wanted to see someone or not, but it was just as lifeless as it always was. Working up a bit of courage, I stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind me.

I followed the same path I took every day, feeling as nervous as I did the first day. As I passed the fourth and fifth doors, I noticed that, unlike every other time, there was light underneath them. Walking past, I hesitated, debating whether to knock, but as I stood there, I picked up on the faint sound of voices floating through the air of the hallway, something that, despite the unfurnished stone hallways, I had never heard. A bit further up the hall, I noticed the door to the central room was propped open. My curiosity wouldn't let me leave it unexplored, but it also just felt like where I was supposed to go.

Walking inside the room, I couldn't tell if I was early or late. There were only four people in the room sitting at two of the dozen or so tables. Well, there were three people and a robot, but I prefer to judge by the content of character rather than outwards appearance. The robot was sitting next to a younger looking man with simply-cut, brown hair and round-brimmed glasses. The two of them were quietly discussing and tinkering with a metal something on the table in front of them, completely uncaring of the rest of the room. At another table were a man and a woman, sitting on opposite sides and opposite ends of a table. The woman had pristine, pale-gold hair and was wearing a white robe, but her most striking feature was the piece of fabric tied around her head, covering her eyes. The man had his back to the door but glanced over his shoulder when I entered. He looked to be on the cusp of middle aged, with a face that seemed to have a five o'clock shadow burned into it and a receding hairline. He looked tired, both in the physical sense and in the sense that he wanted to be anywhere but here. There was something about him I immediately didn't like, but I simply ignored it, taking a seat at an empty table somewhat near the door.

As I sat down, I noticed a fifth person in the room. In the corner of the room hidden by the open door was another young man. He had curly, black hair that spilled over most of his face, and he seemed to be sleeping. After a few seconds and at least one double take, I recognized him as the kid who had been trailing behind the group that was killed off-screen by the Lure. He was very clearly faring much better now than he was then. I hadn't thought about him since he disappeared just before the funeral, but it was good to see him no longer being mistreated.

Sitting there was a strange experience. Feeling out of place was an understatement. Everyone appeared relaxed, as though whatever this was was a normal thing for them, something they had done a hundred times before. Meanwhile, I sat there, not knowing whether I was even in the right place, with only my anxiety to keep me company. Despite this, however, despite the doubt and anxiety, I recognized that these people were now my world; my overshadowed logic knew that this was where I was meant to be in this moment, and that this was now my future, come what may.

Other than the old-ish man, no one else took obvious notice of my entrance. The younger man and the robot had never stopped talking quietly, although as I eavesdropped on their conversation, it became clear this was due moreso to the two of them being naturally quiet, rather than being quiet out of respect for the others. The other man, who had turned his back to me again, and the woman exchanged a few words here and there. From what I could hear, they seemed to be acquaintances who only knew each other in passing. Watching these two specifically, I felt the knot in my stomach begin to loosen. Their conversation was stilted, almost uncomfortably so, and neither of them made a single move to engage with the other two, leading me to assume they were strangers to each other, just as they all were to me.

A few minutes went by with just the six of us in the room, an uncertain tension hanging in the air. Just as I had started settling in, a white figure passed through my peripheral vision completely silently, making me jolt. At a measured pace, a middle-aged man carrying a briefcase was making his way towards the center of the room. There was nothing about him that particularly stood out apart from the gold-edged white robes he was wearing. He stopped at a spot in the center of the room where he could address everyone and unceremoniously threw his briefcase down on the nearest table. He then opened it, revealing a stack of papers and folders, before taking the one off the top and throwing it at me like a frisbee.

As previously established, my reaction time wasn't great, so all I could manage during its flight was to raise my hand to stop it from poking an eye out. Unfortunately, this blocked most of my vision, so I was completely unprepared when it hit me in the throat. It luckily fell into my lap after its failed decapitation attempt, preventing it from sliding across and off the other side of the table. I rubbed my throat, trying to stifle a coughing fit, while I looked up to see the man thumbing through the stack of papers and laying them out on his table, completely uncaring of my near-death experience.

The edge of the folder was crimped shut, hence why it didn't open during its expedient migration to my neck. It didn't take much to open, wherein was a small collection of papers, but more notable was a small card with the insignia of the Church, printed with gold ink, on one half, with a few words printed on the other half. The other side of the card was blank. Turning it back over, I read what was printed on it. Half of it was written in small print I didn't notice immediately.

SLATE

TEAM 0

THIS CARD, WHEN POSSESSED BY ITS PROPER OWNER, FUNCTIONS AS UNLIMITED LEGAL TENDER

POSSESSION OF THIS CARD BY ANOTHER INDIVIDUAL MAY RESULT IN SEVERE PENALTY

As I finished reading the card, a single clap rang out through the room. Everyone was now looking at the man in the white robe, who was in turn inspecting all of us. I also noticed that everyone else now had a folder in front of them.

"Thank you all for being here on time. It would have been incredibly annoying for me to have to track you down and drag you here. From this day forward, the six of you are now an official hunting team of the Church, operating under the direct authority of the Pope and, thankfully temporarily, me. It is my understanding that you all are largely strangers to each other, so I will have you all introduce yourselves now. For our freshest team member, your name is on the top of the identification card in your folder, and it has been specially chosen for you by the Pope himself. If you, or anyone else for that matter, lose that card, so help me, I will personally replace all of your toilet paper with sandpaper; do it twice and I sew needles into your clothes. Anyway, introductions. We'll start with the only female member and move around the room."

"My name is Clare."

"Lemon."

"I'm Syzygy, my brother here is Simon."

The robot's voice, tonally, was clearly unnatural, but was otherwise perfectly normal. After those two, all eyes turned to the kid, who seemed to have slept through this whole thing. He sat there unmoving.

"Oh, right. I was told one of you was watching the northwest quadrant last night. I suppose that's him. His name is, um let's see, Noah. Goddammit, why do some people get normal names while other people get stuck shit like Lemon."

"Yeah, fuck you too man. It's not like I got to pick, and the big man upstairs sure as hell won't change it."

"You know, I think I might see why he chose that name."

"Sure you do. Believe me, everything you're thinking, I've heard a thousand times before. Don't even bother saying it. I'm just hoping the new kid got something at least abnormal."

"Well?"

All eyes in the room turned to me, instantly pulling me out of my passive enjoyment of the moment. I double checked the card.

"It's Slate."

"Eh, could be better. I'll take it."

"Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, time to tell you what you'll be doing. As a team under direct oversight of the Pope, you'll be directly assigned missions. While you'll get to avoid the usual squabble of teams fighting for the best jobs, you will be unable to refuse involvement in any of your assigned missions. Due to your high level of operation within the Church, only orders directly from the Pope may be given priority over your work. You are fully authorized to ignore all other orders from anyone of any rank if the directive does not directly come from the Pope, and if that is to happen, you are allowed discretion in choosing priority of your directives.

"I am assigning Lemon as team leader, as he is the most experienced of all of you. Your first mission is detailed fully in the folders I have given you. In short, there will be an Adjudicator exchange in Bervil, and you will be charged with their duties during the interim period. It should be largely uneventful. You will leave shortly before midday tomorrow, the journey should take three days, and your stint as honorary Adjudicator should last about a day. Any questions? No? Good. I'm off to do my actual job and I trust you all to handle yourselves without bugging me."

As he spoke the last part, he packed up his briefcase again and left as soon as he was done talking. The room remained quiet for a while until the sound of fast tapping drew all our attention. The metal thing the younger man, Simon, had been working on now had eight limbs protruding from it, taking the rough approximation of a spider, and had walked across the table and up the adjacent wall. Once up the wall, it slowly began to transfer itself to the ceiling one leg at a time, until it was completely upside down. It then promptly fell straight down, landing on the table with a crash and shattering.

"Well shit."

Simon laughed a bit before taking out a metal wand from somewhere and pressing a button on it, causing all the pieces of the spider-bot to get sucked onto it. He then noticed everyone in the room was staring at him.

"What? It's a prototype. These things happen."

"Were you listening to anything Bossman told us?"

"Yeah… some of it. What's it matter anyhow? He gave us these."

He held up his folder, looking at Lemon with a confused expression.

"Besides, why are you getting mad at me? The other guy slept the whole time and left as soon as he was done. He didn't even wait to watch Leggy Mark One."

It was at that point I noticed the kid, who I now knew was named Noah, was no longer there.

"Fine, fine. I get it. As long as you don't cause problems, then it wont be a problem. I'm going to leave now. We'll meet here tomorrow before we set off."

He stood up and left, followed shortly by Clare.

"I hope you all rest well."

She had a voice of glass.

"Syz, you recorded Leggy's first outing, right?"

"Of course."

"Cool. We're going to go get Leggy Mark Two up and running. Bye, Slate."

"Goodbye, Slate. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

In seconds, I was alone in the room. I took some time to read through material in my folder, which detailed more precisely what our job would be, as well as some information about the situation that may or may not be useful. I then left and headed straight for the library to figure out what an Adjudicator was.