To live is to burn.

It is the cruel truth of the life of a crafter. Those who can break the fires over their will, find the fire consumes them in turn. Inevitably, the power will burn away a crafter's mind until only a raging husk remains, devoured by the need to see the world aflame.

It is also the creed of the Guild of the Flamecrafters; the official agency that governs the training of a crafter. Under the Guild's oversight, a potential is trained to master first their own will, in order to master the flame. No one in the Everburning City is allowed free use their power, to Craft, except as a graduated member of the Guild.

To that end, every potential is given the opportunity to study at the Apprentice Hall, for as long as it takes for a supervising master to submit the apprentice's name for graduation. The training regimen is brutal, its classes relentless, and its participants are encouraged to quit. Most wash out, to continue lives of mistrust and stigma.

Those lives are often short.

Because of its brutal pace, the Apprentice Hall is a flurry of activity during the day; its corridors filled with people, life and struggle.

By night, the halls are empty. The curriculum is exhausting, and the consequences of failure, dire. So it was not unusual for the pair now treading through its high, stone corridors to see only empty corridors and abandoned classrooms.

"He won't like this," Mathias Aranhall said, as he followed Crafter Tabitha a'Loria from a half-step behind.

"He'll be tired, and tired minds make mistakes. You should let him rest before you test your machines," he insisted. He was wary as he spoke, and his unsettled gaze flittered to the ends of the corridors and open doorways.

His hands rested, habitually, on the grips of his knives.

"Nervous, Mathias?" his crafter asked, without turning her head back to him. She laughed as she spoke, and Mathias noticed the dramatic inflection in her tone.

"Shadows aren't welcome in these halls," Tabitha added, ominously.

Mathias chuckled to himself, not bothering to correct the common term for his profession. "Accident has a peculiar definition here," he remarked.

"So what has you so perturbed, evaluator?" Tabitha asked him, as she marched on. "It can't be this empty hall."

Mathias scowled irritably and followed. "No, it isn't the hall."

Mathias sped up, gliding forward, timing his steps to match Tabitha's until he reached her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Tabitha, you should have waited for approval. Even a crafter cannot flout the authorities of the City."

Tabitha whirled around to respond, her expression set in a harsh scowl. "Should I give Parliament the chance to regulate my ships before they even fly? Or let the military seize my creation?" she asked him, her voice echoing through the empty hall.

Mathias was keenly aware of the air around them growing hot and still. The nearby torches flickered with unnatural vigour, and Tabitha's eyes blazed with a hazy orange light.

Mathias' hands gripped the knives beneath his coat.

"No, not while I draw breath,"  she hissed, the anger seething in the harsh rasp of her voice. "I'll beg their forgiveness after I do what they'll never give me permission for."

Mathias chuckled, opening his hands and holding them out in front of him. "You, beg? The Bore would go out first."

Tabitha laughed, rich and loudly, and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Remember, your stubbornness doesn't only affect you. Your apprentice could suffer for your audacity," Mathias said, as he fished into his pocket for his watch. He glanced at the time, cringed, and added "And your impatience. You really should let him sleep."

"He'll be fine," Tabitha said, waving her hand dismissively.

"A cup of coffee says otherwise," Mathias said smoothly, drawing a small paper bag from one of his many pockets.

She took it from his outstretched hand gently, and with slow, reverent care opened the bag and held it to her nose.

She breathed in and smiled. Mathias was surprised at how closely this revered crafter could resemble his eight-year-old niece with a piece of candy. Her smile was wide and warm, and she even giggled as she handed the bag back to him.

"It's been a while," Tabitha breathed, the giddy grin receding into a satisfied smile. "How did you get it? It's rationed out by lottery."

"I grow a plant. Most of what I cultivate is sent to the fields, or to the lottery, but I'm allowed to keep a little. A reward for an extra service to the City," he replied, putting the bag back into his pocket. "I have enough for two cups. One to wake your apprentice, and one for me to celebrate."

"I'll take your bet, and your coffee," Tabitha replied. She frowned, as she started walking down the hall again. "I didn't know you studied botany."

"It's a hobby the Lands and Cultivation Bureau encourages. They have a hard time finding people to trust with their seed bank," Mathias replied.

"They trust you with the seed bank? With the seeds frozen since the Founding?" Tabitha regarded him quietly. She seemed hesitant, unsure of herself. "That would make you one of very few, they give medals for less. I never knew."

"A shadow is expected to know his crafter. The reverse is discouraged," Mathias said, with a small shrug.

Tabitha flinched and turned away. Mathias followed silently, reflecting on what he had said.

Much of the history of the Everburning City was told in those words. His employer, formally known as the Bureau of Oversight, was an agency charged with monitoring anyone who could wield the flame. Full members of the Crafter's Guild were eventually paired with an evaluator; someone who watched for the slow, inevitable toll that commanding the flame took on a crafter.

And took action before that crafter became a danger.

In silence, Mathias followed Tabitha to the back of the hall, and up twelve flights of stairs. Tabitha didn't stop until she reached one of the doors.

The brick door sat on small metal ball-bearings that slid inside the stone wall to open and close. A large brass knocker hung on the brick door, with the numbers 12-9 just above.

Mathias smiled as he looked at it. "Only brick? I half expected the doors to be made of gold."

Tabitha grinned in response. "This is the Apprentice Hall, not the Bureau of Acquisition and Distribution."

Mathias watched Tabitha take the knocker and swing it into the door. The sound cracked the silent air, creating reverberations Mathias could feel as well as hear.

"Sure you should have taken that bet?" Mathias asked, with a smirk that faded as he finished speaking. The latch clicked from inside, and the brick door slid open.

The young man who pushed the thick door aside had dishevelled hair, and the wry grin of someone enjoying a private joke. Despite the hour, and the near complete silence in the halls, light poured out of the now open doorway, and the young man was wearing his boots.

"Spit and ash," Mathias hissed under his breath. He fingered the paper bag longingly, cringing a little.

"Master?" the young man asked, opening the door wide and gesturing for them to step inside. "What is it? Did we get approval?"

They stepped past, and Tabitha strode into the room as if she were coming home. Mathias' gaze lingered on a small, floating object that hovered near his head.

"You shouldn't be up, Gerald," Tabitha said. She wagged her finger a little, but the grin she wore belied the severity of her message. She shot a smug glance to Mathias and mimed sipping from a small cup.

Mathias shrugged and smiled as he followed.

"Fire calling the coals red, master. Did we get approval?" Gerald Raeth, Tabitha's apprentice, asked again.

Mathias raised his hand to examine the small, floating contraption that hovered near his head. He watched it bob in the air, puzzled by the curious glow the small object gave off. He wasn't willing to touch it, and let it float towards the others.

"What makes you ask that?" Tabitha asked.

"Mathias is here. He wouldn't be following you into this hall unless we were going to the docks," Gerald answered, pointing in his direction.

"How long has this one been up?" Mathias asked, gesturing to the small device now floating towards Gerald.

The apprentice reached out and took it gently, in one hand. "Almost four months," Gerald said, as he pushed the contraption and let it float back towards Mathias.

Up close, the small device looked like a model ship, made of metal, tied to a cloth ball. The ball sat directly above the small metal boat, with string wrapped around to fasten it in place. The ball, covered in grey and black swirls, seemed to glow with its own light.

"Four months? Without any intervention?" Mathias asked. He was impressed and stepped towards the ship with renewed interest. Tabitha's apprentice was surpassing her already high expectations. "Without will to maintain it, or a fuel source to keep it lit?"

"It's a careful balance of fire, and cold-stone. Just enough, and the fire keeps burning without breaking the lift-bag. I guess there's a will involved, but it's not mine," Gerald explained.

"Whose will?" Mathias asked softly, but with a raspy edge that made the apprentice flinch.

Mathias saw Tabitha's attention shift to them and the subtle change in her stance. She was always very protective of her apprentice, and a shadow's scrutiny could be a troubling thing.

"We're trying a full-scale test tonight. We're going to conduct a system test, stress the lift bag, and try a practice flight," Tabitha said as she smiled wistfully, and glanced towards the window. "If we're lucky, we can see how well these ships can fly."

"But we haven't tested the lift method yet. Not on anything larger than a child's toy. Was my proposal that well received?" Gerald asked, incredulously. His gaze lingered on his Master's for a moment, registering the hesitation. Understanding passed between them in a moment's glance, which did not make Mathias any more comfortable.

"No. You haven't submitted it," Gerald said, and his expression turned flint-hard as he took a deep breath. "You haven't asked permission for this experiment because you know the answer."

"They'll refuse, Gerald. We both know it. You found the perfect solution, in perpetual abundance, and no one would be willing to back us. So we make it succeed, then apologise for having the courage they lacked," Tabitha insisted. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and their eyes met.

Mathias decided it was time to interject. "I'm going to need to be filled in," Mathias said, quietly. He leaned against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. His stance was deceptively relaxed; his back was flat against the wall, his feet poised to push off.

"Our research, the lighter-than-air ships, you understand our problem at the moment?" Gerald asked.

"I don't recall any problems. Your prototypes have behaved as you expected them to," Mathias replied, quietly.

"True. But we've always had a problem with scale," Gerald said. "Anything heavier than a cable-car requires more canvas than the City makes in three months. So we looked for ways around that issue."

"Our limitation is how hot we can make the lift-bag," Tabitha explained. As she spoke, she spread the fingers in her right hand, as if testing something. "Our only scaleable solution is Coldstone, but the heat demands increase more severely than any crafter could handle."

"But you found an alternative. At least four months ago, probably closer to last year," Mathias noted, dreadfully quiet. "Forbidden research."

Tabitha shifted her stance. Her feet were set wider, her hands spread. Her eyes seemed to glow, and the small candles on the table flared-up with unnatural ferocity.

"It's not forbidden. But my master believes it would be," Gerald insisted, trying to regain Mathias' attention. Mathias didn't turn to regard him, leaving his gaze fixed on Tabitha.

"Why?" Mathias asked Gerald, without moving his eyes.

"Because we use the Gloam," Gerald admitted.

Mathias' thoughts stopped as every mote of his awareness focused on those words. "The Gloam?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Gerald nodded in response.

Mathias sputtered, bewildered. "The Gloam? The poison that devoured the world? The thing that has threatened every hour of the City's existence since the Founding?"

Gerald's floating toy drifted back into his line of sight, and as he watched it float, he felt his anger evaporate. He realised how Gerald made that toy fly. More importantly for Mathias, he recalled the first time Tabitha had shown him the concept designs, six years ago.

"So you took this poison into the City, and found a use for it?" Mathias asked, his left hand visibly resting on one of several long knives he wore. Mathias was careful to let the steel catch the light.

Mathias' thoughts were whirling over the implications. He knew Gloam research had never been forbidden; the stigma of studying the world-devouring mist was usually enough to keep even the Crafters from it.

But her apprentice, that irritating boy already too fond of ignoring authority, had not just studied it, but had found a use for it. All of this practically under his nose.

He looked back at Tabitha as she closed her eyes, and she shook her head slightly. She blinked a few times, lowered her hands, and took a deep breath. Mathias let out a slow sigh of relief as Tabitha stepped away from the candles and regained her awareness.

"Yes. I can use it to lift the ships," Gerald said clearly. His eyes were wide, and he was doing his best to stand between Mathias and Tabitha.

Mathias considered Gerald's words for a moment. He knew Parliament would not have approved, had they been approached. The Guild would not support the experiment without Parliamentary approval. His own Bureau would have ordered Tabitha's immediate execution.

Had he known, he would not have kept this a secret. He was surprised to find the realisation bothered him. He felt guilty for not trusting this scourged crafter and her brazen apprentice more than the authorities he was responsible to.

But now, he knew the secret. His duty was clear. And yet...

He watched the toy ship float gently to the far wall, where it bounced against the stone and drifted in a slow circle. For the first time since Tabitha had launched her project, Mathias could see the vision of a ship rising above the Gloam.

Rising beyond the City. Lifting the siege.

"Fires of the abyss," Mathias said to himself. "That feels like hope."

"Hope?" Gerald asked.

"Your discovery. Her invention. It feels like hope," Mathias said.

The lights in the room dimmed slightly as Tabitha let out a slow sigh. Gerald grinned at him and turned away to retrieve the toy ship.

Mathias smiled, despite himself. Unless Tabitha had taught her apprentice nothing, Mathias was the least dangerous person in the room. It was odd to find he made them nervous.

"Seems I owe you both coffee. Would you put on some water?" Mathias asked, smiling as he fished in his pocket for the small paper bag.