"Get in!"

  Emberchase bit his bottom lip to prevent a curse from coming out. The brute guard shoved him inside the cell, his smug face contorted into a sinister expression filled with malice. He had been observing his current status inside the palace, and judging from the fact that the guards had dumped him in the chambers on the west wing instead of the dungeons below the ground, then he must still have been of importance to Prince Cosimo.

  'Or maybe Shreethel just wanted you,' something inside his head taunted, and the fire-dancer found himself smiling.

  The door behind him closed with a loud bang, shortly followed by a click. The dancer rolled his eyes heavenward. Of course he was still prisoner. What did he expect, anyway?

  "Hello!" a rather cheery voice called out to him. Well, that was unexpected. Weren't people supposed to be miserable in chambers?

  Emberchase turned, his eyes landing upon the young man seated right beside a wooden desk. His hands were tinkering with a few equipments, and even though his eyes looked weary, a smile was still plastered on his face.

  Emberchase simply nodded in reply, his eyes roaming round the room. The entire chamber was quite spacious, with a two-storey bunker by the left corner and a small fireplace by the right. An arched, barred window rested right above the desk where the other prisoner sat, the star-littered skies seemingly beckoning him to come and take a peek at freedom.

  Embossed fauna were etched on the sides of the walls and corners of the ceiling, their eyes shimmering little pieces of gemstones. When the scarred dancer squinted further, he noticed that some of the jewels on the animals were missing.

  "Why, isn't this place cozy?" remarked Emberchase sultrily as he walked towards the edge of the bed and sat down. His eyes were on the darkness awaiting from beyond the window, their daughter stars sparkling in waves of multicoloured spectra.

  The young man's eyes were fixated on the strange thing he was making. "Yeah. There's actually another room in this chamber, a kiln. I mean, I think you already know about kilns and stuff like that but still..." he trailed off, gasping when a screw fell from the contraption. "Why'd the prince charming bring you in here, by the way? I said I didn't need anyone."

  "I wasn't placed here on purpose," answered the scarred dancer curtly, his eyes on the elongated metal object the other prisoner had been fiddling with the entire time.

  When the younger man felt the way Emberchase craned his head and stared, the smile on his face grew wider. His brown hair, light as sand, tumbled down and covered half his face, including the eyes. "Prince Charming asked me to make something useful for the men-at-arms."

  "For his war," continued the fire-dancer, his hands balling themselves into fists. Great. They were damned. Perhaps the fellow peasant had a trade for making things, and Cosimo had taken him off the streets too.

  "Yeah," replied the other with a nod, the grin of pride still evident in his face. "It's going to be small and effective—"

  "—and lethal," added Emberchase before looking back at the black heavens. Whatever concoction the tinker was making ignited something in his chest, but he ignored the childish feeling and closed his stupid mouth.

  "Well, yeah... I guess so." The younger prisoner dropped the item and allowed it to sit idly, gauging it for a few moments. "But he said if I complete it, I'll get paid and then I'll be free to go. It's just a dagger — a longer than usual one — that looks like a measly rod at first glance."

  Emberchase bit his bottom lip. The flames on the fireplace cackled as if mocking him, and the dancer leaned back before sighing. The other man was still blabbering on and on, however.

  "There's a screw that functions and flicks the blade out when used for combat — if it functions — and the blade will be thin and jagged, their sides rough with needle-like points. Inspiration taken from the sides of a snowflake. They're really pretty." And with that, he began tweaking on the object again.

  "Why're you even telling me all this?" Emberchase scoffed. "I've got no say in whatever you're making, and I don't really care."

  "Well, yeah. But I just wanted you to know. After all, I think you're going to be stuck here with me for a while. Might as well — oh hey, wanna go to the kiln with me? I'm going to melt down a few metal strips for the hilt."

  "No." The fire-dancer ogled the mop of brown hair immensely. If given chance to be exposed under fiery light, it would probably look just like — the weaver shoved the thoughts away. "I just want to sleep."

  "C'mon! It'll be good for exposure."

  "Exposure for what?"

  "For both our trades, duh." The other prisoner stood up, and for the first time, the weaver of flames saw the entirety of his face. Dark blue. Dark blue of the deep sea. That was the colour of his eyes.

  The fire-dancer swallowed a nonexistent spit.

  "Hmm... I guess you're a fire-dancer then, judging by the colours of red and black. I think you'll do just fine. Maybe you can even help out." The man examined him briefly before strutting towards the corner of the fireplace and crouching. He grabbed hold of the protruding handle and yanked it open, a fine shower of dust flying all over.

  "I... I don't want to participate in anything concerning Cosimo's war." Emberchase's hand ran over the scars on his face. Why was he stammering? Where was the closed, supposedly uncommunicative facade he had learned to wear like a second skin over the years?

  "Well, if you don't want to help then you can just say so." A door had appeared below the floor, and the other prisoner signalled for him to come. How many times did he have to emphasize that he didn't want to?

  Emberchase stood up and followed.

  "I mean, there's not much to do when you're alone in a single room, I guess." The still enthusiastic man started the fire. It ignited with a few loud snaps, and the entire working area brightened.

  Parchment — high quality ones made of fresh goat skin — dabbled on the walls and scattered across a long table messily, far from the heat of the furnace and their spitting, hissing flares. They were all filled with unruly scribbles and drawings, with the newest piece, a picture of the said contraption and how it was supposed to work.

  "How long have you been in here?"

  "Hmm... yeah, well, the mess can be very misleading. I've only been here for the past month."

  "Only a month?" The fire-dancer could've snorted. He was sure he'd die if he got imprisoned for a week.

  "Well, er... I lost track of time, I guess. But yeah, I'm fairly sure. It's just that there's a missing piece to this weapon."

  "That's good. Maybe God is giving you a sign to stop making whatever you're about to make."

  The younger man placed a thin strip of metal into the fire and allowed it to sit and wait. The fire cackled loudly when silence answered Emberchase's remark. "But if I don't make it, I'll rot in the dungeons below the castle... or get hanged in the gallows. I'll never see my family."

  "Family," repeated the fire-dancer with a snort. He glanced at the younger man at work and noticed a strange, distorted black mark on his right shoulder, probably seeping even further in his chest. It seemed to grow bigger against the orangey light. Something about it made his heart hammer restlessly, as if something that had been chasing him had finally caught up.

  "Is that a burn?"

  The other turned, his hand on the mark. "Yeah. When I was younger, it was a mere black birthmark that looked like a burn. Then I actually got burned for real before. People call me by my title now, and it's like my name."

  Emberchase felt the entire room spinning, and his head throbbed wildly, screaming and writhing like a rabid animal. The blaze on the furnace grew brighter and laughed as if mocking him, and the younger prisoner tilted his head to gaze at him curiously.

  "Um, fire-dancer? Is there something wrong? I can understand if you can't stand being in tight spaces or something, since players are pretty much outdoor folks."

  "No, I'm fine." The scarred man's hand was already on his breast.

  He remembered now. There was also a certain someone who had stared at him the exact same way. Dark blue like the deep waters. The flames protected him and wrapped themselves around his form like an impenetrable coat of armour, while their gnawing, gnashing mouth devoured the other. And his eyes were dark blue, too. And those eyes stared and stared and stared... blaming him.

  He still remembered it as if it was yesterday, the way he screamed his name.

  "Oh yeah. Guess we forgot the introductions." The other man grinned, his hands wiping themselves against his soot and oil-covered robes. Then, he stiffened his posture and extended his right hand towards Emberchase, excitement written all over his face.

  "My name's Blackburn. Costumers call me Burn, close friends Black. Nice to meet you."

  Emberchase stared at the calloused hands for what seemed like an eternity before closing his eyes. The black behind his lids showed a whole array of crystal clear, ember-filled snippets of the past. He was a horrible person. He knew that, and that was why he had made sure to burn every single thing down.

  He pushed back the awful thoughts lingering inside and shoved the stabs of pain away. Before, the guilt and the hurt had chased him until the deepest corners of his dreams, and the sceneries of death at work — accompanied by him of course — were nearly enough to drive him mad. He ran away from all the things that had reminded him of the things he had done.

  Now was the time to hide every damn emotion away from his face.

  "Emberchase. That's what they call me," the scarred man finally answered, returning the firm handshake with a timid nod, paired with the vague smile he had perfected over the years.

  "Wow, I've heard a lot of things about you. They say you can talk to fire." Blackburn's grip on him was tight, but surprisingly, it meant no harm.

  He didn't remember.

  The weaver of flames took his hand away and turned, gawking at how much sweat had trickled down his tunics. Good thing the young thief wasn't there to see his knees rattling.

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  Hello there, friends! I'm so glad you took the time to check out this chapter. Another Emberchase chapter,eh?

  Finally, I'm back from the long break. Fell down into a bit of an unmotivated hole because of family problems and the pandemic, but hopefully things will start turning for the better now!

  Hope to see you next week!