I awoke with an unpleasant start, my head smashing into the wooden floorboards and the repeated shaking of my shoulders jolting me. "Wallace! We need to leave."

The last time I had heard that things had gone horribly wrong, so I immediately sat up—a little too fast and my head planted firmly into the wall. "Ow..."

My eyes fluttered, adjusting to the light, and I was greeted with the sight of a bustling warehouse, white in color and a labyrinth of boxes and crates stacked on the inside. In the distance stood a complex of greater and lesser buildings that fought for a sliver of space next to the crowded streets, pedestrians strolling, people hurrying to their jobs, and the occasional street performer that gathered a small crowd.

By the rail yard, workers sprinted here and there, unloading shipments from the train, angry managers strained their throats yelling at them, and the faint smell of coffee drifted from the many cups littered across the railyard. It was similar to the one in Arborad, though many times larger, and stretched to the horizon with trains of various sizes and colors.

Rubbing the bump on my head, I crawled out of the cargo car and limped after Ken. My feet sank gently into the dirt as I leaped over a rail, careful not to repeat a similar incident, and I nearly knocked over a cup of coffee by my feet if not for the angry shout of a worker.

"Hey, watch your step!" It was a young man in his early twenties, judging by his shaven appearance and higher-pitched voice, and he wore a standard orange vest over a wrinkled shirt. His faded cargo pants had coffee stains here and there, and I smirked.

"What're you laughing at?" His eyes flashed and I threw my hands up in mock surrender.

"Nothing, nothing." I said, "City's that way, right?"

The man eyed me suspiciously before giving me a curt nod. With a swift motion, he lifted the cup off the rail it had been balanced on and downed it with one gulp, letting out a prolonged belch. "Man, nothing hits the spot like a good cup of coffee."

"Yeah—" I replied, but before I could converse anymore, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a train.

"You mustn't speak with anyone unless I tell you, alright?" Ken's expression loosened and he attempted a smile, though his features spoke of worry. He lowered his voice and glanced around in case someone had been eavesdropping. "We are wanted fugitives, if you've forgotten, and the more people we talk to, the faster the capital finds us."

I bobbed my head in agreement, partly because of Ken's trembling voice, begging me to understand, and partly because we both had first-hand experience with the capital. If we allowed it, they would not be merciful the next time around.

"Here," Ken slung his bag off his shoulder, pulling out the cape I stuffed in there last night—it was annoying to sleep all wrapped up like a bat. "Put this on."

I slipped on the cape, concealing my body and face under a blanket of darkness. Ken lowered his hat and stared down at the ground, avoiding any eye contact as we entered the city. The dirt smoothly transitioned into a cracked cobblestone pavement and I struggled to keep up with Ken as a horde of people meshed with us, shoving me in all directions so that it was nearly impossible to move.

"Where are we?" I asked, having to nearly shout over all the city noise.

"Hortrum," Ken said as he weaved through the crowd. "My hometown. We'll talk after we reach a less congested area."

I nodded, though he didn't acknowledge it under the cover of my hood, so I quickened my pace, my legs engaging in some fancy footwork as I danced across the street, trying to keep the dark red hat in sight.

It was like the Harvest market all over again, except more packed, and the fact that the Harvest market had already passed could only make me wonder what it was like here a few days ago. I shuddered at the thought of trying to move through all the flesh and sweat that stained the streets and continued my awkward movement, jumping, ducking, and everything in between to get through the streets.

After going through what seemed like an endless pit of bodies that ground against each other to form a deadly heat wave, I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding and almost collapsed by Ken, who was standing by a small, worn-down inn squeezed in between two other buildings, neither budging to give the other an inch of space. A small alleyway stood in between the inn and one of the shorter buildings, a little shop that reeked of dead fish and shrimp, but one glance told of a story that even waste bins had been fought for.

"My father was gifted this inn from a fellow friend some time ago," Ken explained, "so we can stay here for a while."

A crooked wooden sign hung on a few battered nails at the top of the inn and read George's Bed and Breakfast. Though faded green paint peeled off the walls and the doorknob jiggled a little too much when Ken reached for it, I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity when I stepped into the inn, a plethora of delicious smells tickling my nose.

"Hey, George! Could you set us up for two rooms?" Ken asked, slapping a handful of coppers down by the front desk.

George, a round man with wisps of hair for a beard and thinning gray hair, looked up and immediately brightened at the sight of Ken. "Ken! Haven't seen you in a minute. How's it been? And no need for coins."

Ken shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes unable to meet George's. "I insist." He paused. "It's been a rough couple of days, but we're managing."

"We're?" He cocked an eyebrow and his eyes drifted around the room before landing on me, my hood still covering half my face. "Who's he?"

"Um, he's my apprentice," Ken said, after some time.

"Good for you to have someone follow your footsteps." George laughed heartily, his chest puffing out with each exhale. "Speaking of apprentices, you remember your sister right? She was still a toddler when you left for the capital..."

He blinked back tears, happy ones, and wiped a trail of snot on his faded plaid shirt.

"I can't believe it's been so fast, and in a few years, she'll take over the inn herself." He blubbered, speaking through tears. "And look at you, you've even grown a little beard."

"Matilda, fetch them the keys," George stood up with the help of the desk, his stool wobbling as he bumbled into the kitchen, pots, and pans stacked up like mountains in the sinks. "I'll be right back."

"Wait." Ken looked around like something was off. "Where's Marina?"

Matilda, who seemed around my age and had her black hair loose, gave a dirty look at Ken and muttered, "She's dead."

"Matilda!" George spun around, taken aback at her blunt statement. "You mustn't speak of your mother like that."

She simply rolled her eyes and with a swift motion, swiped the coins off the desk and stacked them neatly inside a dusty drawer that sparkled with silvers and golds. The coppers stood out like a sore thumb and she slid them disdainfully to the very corner where bits of dust eagerly latched onto them. "Well, excuse me if I can admit the truth and not drown my worries in beer every day."

"I—"

"Just shut up. It's not like you had your mother taken away from you as a kid."

George's jaw plummeted to the ground, and he struggled to speak coherently.

"C'mon, let's go." Ken led me aside and we headed toward the stairwell, passing by the small dining area where two wooden tables with respective chairs were nailed into the floorboards. The stairwell was a tight squeeze, dimly lit by a single lightbulb that swung back and forth from the ceiling. My feet thudded against the floorboards that groaned as I shifted my weight, and at the top was what remained of a door—a splinter-prone doorway.

Ken passed me a set of keys, the cool metal sending shivers down my palm, and a piece of yellow tape, its ends curling up like a mustache, read Room 102.

I looked up and found the faded sign that indicated my room. A tattered door hung on its last life and as I reached for the lock, the key struggled to enter the battered keyhole for a moment before it finally gave in, snapping into its place shakily.

The door groaned painfully as I stepped into the cramped room, a linen-clad bed shoved into the far left corner, and a low, slanted ceiling that made me feel like the tallest person in Aterra.

"Wallace!" Ken's voice drifted from the other room next door through the paper-thin walls. "You should check out this view."

View? I would be surprised if I could even see something other than the people and buildings that seemed to stretch for miles in all directions.

Ducking my head, I slipped out of the room and into the hallway, a simple beige wallpaper lining its walls. Bits of it had begun to peel off, but it was one of the nicer parts of the inn. Ken's door was slightly ajar and I pushed it gently, stepping into the room, also cramped and smelled of old books, the hint of vanilla and freshly ground coffee tickling my nose.

Lazy rays of sunlight spilled through the window, casting a warm glow on the room and illuminating specks of dust as they floated through the air gracefully. I followed Ken's gaze and faintly spotted a magnificent mountain range that peeked over the city—no, they weren't mountains, they were volcanoes, their dark, ashen sides a striking image.

"You see them over there?" Ken asked.

I nodded, unable to pull my eyes off them.

"When I was younger, I used to spend my lazy afternoons gazing at these beautiful beasts. Now, they're slowly being chipped away at to find another flame." He had a wistful look on his face and a sense of longing hung in the air as he averted his eyes, to not remind him of his past.

Silence hung in the air for a while before I spoke up. "What's your plan here?"

"Well, you do know about the previous flame keeper, right? The one who actually went insane?"

I nodded. He had been the one who set the wildfires, as Alice explained.

"It's only a hunch, but when the capital exiled him, they couldn't completely remove the connection between him and flame. So, if we have any luck finding your father, it's probably him."

"Then where is he?" I asked.

"And that's where my hunch ends," Ken said, a grim look on his face. "The capital never released his true whereabouts for fear of him escaping, but there was a leak that he had ended up in a mental asylum. Which one out of the hundreds? Your guess is as good as mine."

"We can stay in Hortrum for a while, gather some intel, and plan our next move." He continued. "The only reason I came here is that I can trust George not to rat me out. I don't trust his daughter, though. She's changed."

"Hey, are you hungry?"

"I guess so," I said, rubbing my stomach.

"Well, I happen to know a great place to grab a bite, in fact, arguably the best in Hortrum." Ken chuckled as headed out the doorway. "C'mon, you don't want to miss their lunch special."

I couldn't help but crack a grin, I had only eaten bread for the last few days and a proper meal sounded nice. As I followed Ken down the staircase, the stairs let out a long c-r-e-a-k that strained my ears and I hurried on, gingerly stepping down in case of another faulty floorboard that would make my head scream in pain.

Matilda stood behind the front desk organizing papers and barely acknowledged us as we stepped out of the inn, giving us a slanted look before returning her gaze to the papers.

Outside, a few people walked here and there, chatting amongst themselves, and the gentle breeze swayed my cape that flapped gently against me. The sun painted the streets with gold, no shadow was in sight, and the ambient noise that filled the city was merciful on the ears, a combination of the hum of conversation, the gentle thud of feet against the ground, and the distant rumbling of trains coming and going.

We passed by a plethora of small stores and shops, each boasting a variety of assorted goods, ranging from seafood, the shop by the inn, and a colorful clothing store that hung knitted sweaters on rows of clotheslines, to name a few. One could spend a day just walking around the city, I thought.

"Ah, here we are!" Ken exclaimed, stopping in front of a large, populated restaurant that was overflowing with customers and delicious food. Two long windows on the side of the wooden entrance gave me a glimpse of the crowded, but beautiful interior with plants and other aesthetics covering the walls, and the outside didn't look too shabby either with its colorful umbrellas planted into the tables providing salvation for those under the heat.

The aroma of garlic and soy sauce drifted from one of the customer's steaming dishes, which held a bowl of mouth-watering egg-fried rice that piled like a large mountain, threatening to topple over.

Ken must have noticed me staring at the bowl and chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll hook you up on some fried rice later. But first, you have to try their famous vegetable-fried noodles before they're sold out. Have a seat out here, good weather pairs really nicely with a bowl of noodles and rice."

I pulled up a metal chair, wincing as it scraped uncomfortably against the ground, and took a seat under the large striped umbrella on the table, savoring the cooling shade and the breeze that worked its magic against the sun's glaring rays. Ken stepped into the interior of the restaurant for a moment and then came out, a waiter balancing two bowls of steaming goodness following him.

The waiter bowed, placing the bowl of fried rice on one side of the table and the fried noodles on the other. I eagerly unwrapped the utensils, unfolding the napkin and tucking it in my shirt, when I stopped. "Wait, what about you, Ken? Aren't you hungry?"

He shook his head and shrugged it off, leaning back in his chair. "Nah, I've had too much of this restaurant that I can practically taste the ingredients of each dish. Enjoy your meal."

Deciding to start with the fried rice first, I dug the spoon deep inside the mountain of rice, eggs, and an assortment of vegetables, and shoved it all into my mouth. Oh, never had my taste buds been exposed to such exquisite flavors that tickled my tongue and made me grab my spoon and do it again.

Before long, the bowl was scraped clean, not a grain of rice left, and I stared cautiously at the bowl of noodles. My stomach no longer rumbled, and nor were my taste buds begging for more—the mountain of fried rice had filled up all the way to my mouth where I could still taste the saltiness of the egg on the tip of my tongue.

"Full?" Ken asked, and I nodded as if speaking would make me throw up my entire meal. "I'll call the waiter then."

A few moments later, the waiter arrived, balancing a pile of stained plates and bowls on a single serving tray. He frowned at the sight of my unfinished noodles and stacked the two bowls higher up the pile, which seemed to be toppling over, but a quick maneuver balanced the weight.

"Alright," Ken said as he stood up. "We can go back to the inn, or check out more of the city, if you want."

With a stomach full of fried rice, the urge to use the bathroom had never been so intense as I shook my head rapidly. "No, I'm good. How about we just go back to the inn?"

His smile wilted slightly, a flower that was sulking on a dry day, but he nodded and started towards the inn.

Just as I was about to follow him, suddenly, there was a loud rumbling, then what sounded like a million ants trampling over each other for a crumb of bread. I looked up, and a throng of people slugged through the streets, chanting something that I couldn't quite make out. Some were carrying makeshift weapons, ranging from harmless things like a rolling pin to less subtle things like a large kitchen knife. Others simply shook their fists, and a select few readied their affinities—one man bounced a bubble of water on the palm of his hand.

Ken, who was in the middle of the street, froze in shock, the stampede of people rushing towards him. Without a second thought, he extended his arms and shoved me forcefully in the chest, sending me to the ground with a thud. Before I could even cry his name, he vanished, gone with the hundreds of people that seemed to keep on coming.

Many customers held a worried look on their faces, some leaving their bowls to seek refuge inside the restaurant, and one man sprinted over to my side where I lay unable to move.

"Kid!" His voice was frantic, beads of sweat rolling down his brow. "You have to get into the restaurant! It's not safe out here in a riot."

When I didn't budge, he grabbed me by the shirt, dragging me across the ground as my feet bounced lifelessly against it. A crowd had gathered around the two windows, people pressing their faces against the glass to get a glimpse of the situation outside.

Though I couldn't quite make anything of their expressions, the tension in the air was palpable and it seemed that one provocation would lead to the complete destruction of the street they stood on. I thought that perhaps the commotion would soon die down and the rioters would realize that there was nothing worth fighting against, but it seemed that they wouldn't budge an inch. They expected—no, demanded—attention.

And attention was what they got, a good deal and quite suddenly, matter of fact. My eyes had still been fixated on the crowd when seemingly out of nowhere a group of cloaked individuals, capital agents I assumed, halted their horses in front of them, and the leader yanked off his hood and shouted something. Though the window muffled most of the sound, it was clear that the rioters were looking for a fight, or they just didn't hear them, and with a battle cry to rival a thousand lions, they stampeded forward.

Dust filled the air, partly smudging the window, as I stared in awe and fear at the scene. Where was Ken? A fiery explosion, then a barrage of rocks and pebbles pettled the rioters who screamed and ran amok the street. A group in front tried to seize control, before the capital agents could do so, but failed miserably as they, too, were knocked back by a blast of concentrated air.

One by one, the capital agents began picking the rioters off, as if they were pesky fleas that only needed a flick of a finger to die. But the crowd stood strong—there were still plenty of people standing back up, tending to the wounded, and resisting.

A voice broke through the heavy atmosphere that hung over us like a thick blanket. It was one of the waiters, trembling all over in utter disbelief. "W-what has happened? These people..."

Fearful murmurs and whispers erupted from the restaurant as people stared slack-jawed out the window. Where was Ken? I prayed he had not died, but afraid for my life as well, I could only stare silently out the window.