Fire. It was a strange thing. To some, it was a tool to kill, an instrument of chaos and destruction. To others, it was a means for salvation. A sacred object that gave birth to life and wisdom. Maybe, even entire civilisations. Yet, those were just some of its expressions. Fire, True Fire, was not something that mere mortals could handle. Even the Gods that everyone spoke so highly of could never truly comprehend the True nature of Fire. Because Fire was ■■■■■■■■.

  Though it was not as if in the endless history of Time, no one had ever mastered Fire. Once, in a time long past, in a Time forgotten by all, when the world used to be bursting with miracles, a race of beings used to exist, that mastered the True essence of Fire, and came to be known as one of the overlords of the world along with Gods. Or was it even before the Gods?

  No one knew. At least not anyone alive. Maybe some extremely special beings like Divine Treasures could have an idea. But only if they were created in a time before the Age of Gods. Most of the Divine Treasures were just as ignorant as the rest of the world. Yet, just because those beings were lost in the Tides of Time, did not mean that the world had lost all traces of their existence.

  Erwein Forest, Green Lightning Valley, Red Trail Desert, and other similar places, with marks left behind from a time before the Age of Gods, all pointed to the existence of legends that once used to roam the world. Like the Giants of Edwall, Sirens of the Mist, Darkbloods of the Nether, and the Fighting Saints of Narhog. And within those legends, were the records of another race. A very special race, that truly mastered the essence of Fire. Spirits of Fire. Sometimes, also mentioned as Fire Spirits, or simply, as the Origin of Fire.

  Born to control Fire, the Spirits of Fire were one of the few beloved races of the Origin Sea, possessing powers that few could ever hope to have. Even Gods. Perhaps. The records were not clear. And it was a story from such a long time ago, that even the Gods themselves would have trouble remembering them. The only beings that should still remember them, should be the ■■■■■■■■. The mortal enemies of all Spirit Races. If they were even still—

  No, they were alive. They may have declined. But they were still alive. Or else, their prison would have collapsed long ago. Ironically enough, despite being masters of ■■■■ themselves, they were all forgotten by ■■■■. Served them right. Not that he could point fingers at them.

  After being trapped for so long, repeatedly washed by the ■■■■ of ■■■■, he himself could barely call for a wisp of Fire. Or else, he would not have had to rely on help of beings, whom he once would not even have given a second glance before incinerating back to the Origin Sea, to escape from his prison. Maybe that was the Curse of races like them. To be forgotten by the world… To be forgotten by their essence…

  Or it could just be a price that the Origin Sea asked them to pay. They did behave a little arrogantly back then. Especially those ■■■■■■■■. Such unreasonable people, trapping people in prisons of Time. It was a good thing that they withdrew from the world. There was no right for a race like them to exist. Though, with their withdrawal, could their war be considered to be over? Could his race be considered to have won?

  Perhaps. But it did not make any sense to think about the war anymore. Not after so many years had passed. Not after all his people had either perished, or were trapped in their prisons along the edges of the world. Fortunately, his people had a decent reputation amongst other races, allowing their records to be passed down, or he would not even have had the chance to talk with him.

  In any case, at the moment, the only thing he could think about was to leave this broken world and look for his kindred. To look for his family. If he even still had one. Regardless, war was the farthest thing from his mind. So, he should not be worried, the Fire said. He did not have any ill intentions. He was just borrowing his body. He—

  “Who was he?”

  “Of course, he was—

  “Alnea Oathkeeper. He was Alnea Oathkeeper.”

  “That was his name, indeed. But he was not talking about him. He was talking about himself. About the Fire.”

  “The fire! He remembered becoming the fire! Was he a fire now?”

  “Fire. Not fire. And no, he did not become a Fire. It was the Fire who came to him.”

  “…What was he talking about?”

  “He was talking about—

  “No, even before that, why was he hearing a voice in his head once again?”

  “Head? Did he mean his Spirit?”

  “…That usually meant the same thing.”

  “Perhaps. He did find his Spirit World through his head, so it made sense.”

  “…Why was he talking to the voice in his head?”

  “Not head. Spirit. The voice in his Spirit.”

  “…Was he going crazy?”

  “That was impossible.”

  “How would he know?”

  “He certainly would. Rather, from the information he had gathered, he should be the only being left in the world to know his situation.”

  “…Was there something special about his situation?”

  “Did he not remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “That he was Fire.”

  “But he just said that he was not fire!”

  “Fire. Not fire. And when did he say that he was not Fire? He only said that he did not become Fire. But since he had come to him, he was naturally a Fire now. After all, he was the Origin of Fire. What other state could he exist in?”

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  “He was not making any sense!”

  “But he was explaining everything so clearly. What was the problem?”

  “He was the problem! Why was he hearing his voice in his head anyway?”

  “Spirit. Not head. And was the answer not obvious?”

  “…Did he not get rid of the consciousness within those memories?”

  “…There might have been a slight misunderstanding. He was not the consciousness of his memories. He was—

  “He did not care who he was. He just wanted to get rid of the strange voice in his head.”

  “Strange? Perhaps. But he was not just a voice. He was Fire. The Origin of Fire. Or at least, an Origin of Fire. He was not sure how the others of his race were faring. Depending on their situation, he could, quite possibly, become the Origin of Fire.”

  “…So, he was fire?”

  “Fire. Not fire. And not just any Fire. But an Origin of Fire.”

  “…The miracle that those bastards were talking about?”

  “If by bastards, he meant his enemies, then yes, he was the miracle they were talking about. But he was not exactly a miracle. He granted miracles.”

  “…So that part about becoming one with the miracle…”

  “Again, it was all a misunderstanding. Though those people knew a few things about his race, their ignorant minds could not understand his existence. But they were not completely wrong. He did need to borrow his body for a while. That was why he was a Fire now.”

  “…He was a fire?”

  “Fire. Not fire.”

  “…And the fire that he felt earlier…”

  “Again, Fire. Not fire. And yes, that was him.”

  “…He was the one who burnt his body?”

  “Burnt his body? No, no. Like he said, he was just borrowing his body. And that too, only for a while. Just to ignite the Fire. To rekindle his Flame. To become free once again. To become the Origin of Fire once again. Or at least, an Origin of Fire. It meant the same thing. Regardless, he did not burn his body.”

  “…Then where was his body?”

  “Where it always was.”

  “And where was he?”

  “Inside his body. Where else would he be?”

  “…But he was a fire now?”

  “Fire. Not fire.”

  “So, his body was gone?”

  “How would he borrow his body if it was already gone?”

  “…Talking to him was giving him a headache.”

  “That was not possible. He did not have a head anymore.”

  “…So, he was dead?”

  “Dead? Why would he think he was dead?”

  “Because he did not have any head!”

  “He was not making any sense. Why would a Fire need a head to be alive?”

  “…Let him get this straight. He was a fir—Fire?”

  “Correct.”

  “And the Fire was his body?”

  “Again, correct.”

  “So, when he would leave his body, if he would leave—

  “Of course, he would leave. Staying in such a weak fire would kill him. Though it might be beneficial for him. Would he like him to stay in his body?”

  “…No, he wanted his body back.”

  “Then he would give him his body once he escaped his prison.”

  “Which would be a Fire?”

  “Correct.”

  “…And what about his old body?”

  “That weak shell?”

  “That weak shell was his body!”

  “…Did he want to turn his body back?”

  “That was what he had been trying to say!”

  “Although it seemed rather wasteful to give up such a perfect body of Fire, and turn back into that weak shell, since it was his wish, he would just transform his body back to its original self before leaving.”

  “And when would that be? He was kind of in a hurry at the moment.”

  “And so was he.”

  “Then could he not just leave him already?”

  “Not before he could rekindle his Fire and regain his Origin.”

  “Had he not done that already?”

  “No, there were still a few steps missing.”

  “…He was not going to burn him again, was he?”

  “Of course not. He was already a Fire. No one could burn him anymore. Except, perhaps, the Origin. But he did not need to worry about it. He would already be done with him before the Origin could come for him. And he would not even feel anything.”

  “…Was he sure about that part?”

  “…At least not in his body. His Spirit, on the other hand, might feel a little discomfort. Like what he felt a while earlier.”

  “That was a little?”

  “That was not his fault. Originally, he should have just felt some warm sensations, like bathing in a volcano—

  “In which world would bathing in a volcano give him warm sensations?”

  “Not normal volcanoes, of course. They were too cold to feel any warmth. He was talking about—

  “Just get to the point.”

  “Right, as he was saying, originally, he should have just felt some warm sensations, but the tear in his Spirit—

  “There was a tear in his Spirit?”

  “Did he not know it?”

  “…Of course, he knew it. He had made that tear himself.”

  “…As expected of someone he chose. To dare to tear your own Spirit and condense a new core… Although it would be painful, it would make his Spirit have limitless prospects. If he could survive the formation of a new core, that is.”

  “…There were risks in forming a new core of his Spirit?”

  “Everything in the Origin Sea came at a risk. There was nothing to be surprised about.”

  “…He was not surprised. He was just thinking something.”

  “Like how to survive the formation of a new core?”

  “…Maybe.”

  “Maybe he could help.”

  “…He seemed to know quite a few things about Spirits.”

  “He was a Spirit Race, after all. The template on which Spirits were created.”

  “What?”

  “Did he not know where his Spirit came from?”

  “…Everyone was born with a Spirit.”

  “Not everyone. Only those who came after the Spirit Race proved themselves to the Origin Sea, and broke the limits, were born with Spirits.”

  “…What did he mean by breaking the limits?”

  “Did he truly not know?”

  “Would he be asking such a question from a strange being occupying his body, turning it into a Fire, and burning his Spirit—

  “Making it feel as if it was burning, not really burning it. And like he said, it was not really his fault.”

  “He got the point.”

  “He did. He was just a little surprised. Why did he not know such simple information? Just how far back had the world gone?”

  “He could not know. Because he did not know how the world was back when he was still roaming outside.”

  “…Indeed,” the voice said, and for the first time, did not respond immediately, giving Alnea the time to think. But there were just so many things to digest, that before he could truly comprehend his situation, the voice had already returned with its question.