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Planet Ignis | Ch. 1
🕑 Added 2023-05-31 17:00:24 +0000 UTC... this is the reason why the eighth truth focuses on education. In past reigns, we were awfully close to extinction, not because we failed to invest in proper evaluation procedures but because we neglected the children's feelings. We learned that it is essential to invest enough time in teaching them to love the tribe and to be selfless. Even when a tribesman is proficient in bursting, he is of no worth to the tribe if he is self-centered.
I defend that the language of this truth needs reviewing. Instead of its current form - ‘all flames big start small’ - I propose changing it to ‘All flames blue start red.’ This change is beneficial for two reasons: Firstly, it adds the nuance that, in the tribe, color doesn’t make you more or less valuable. More importantly, talking about the size of a flame can create the idea in the children that the bigger the flame, the better. That is rarely the case. Here are some examples...
From “A Proposal for the Review of the Nine Truths” by Trother, the Wise
Shadows danced in the heart of the Burrows. The king summoned a rekindling, and the tribe heeded the call. The rekindlers were already in their places, crowded around the Hearth, holding onto the metal halo that stemmed from it. Even though this was one of the largest chambers in the underground settlement, Trother knew that the cylindrical machine was much larger than the pillar seen here. The Hearth was so tall that it stretched onto chambers above and below. The floors and ceilings hid its massive batteries. They would be the recipient of the energy provided during the ceremony.
As Trother held the metal halo in his hands and saw his twenty-nine companions for this ceremony doing the same, he realized something: During the rekindling, in a sense, they, too, were the Hearth. They all became cogs in the machine that energized the tribe. All thirty rekindlers burst steadily together, the fire in their hands heating the bar into a vermilion blaze.
Trother caught his colors starting to slip and regained control. There was an optimal temperature for the task he was performing. Too much, and some energy would be wasted. Too little, and the batteries wouldn’t fully charge. Trother stabilized his mind and readjusted his burst back to the right temperature. The years hadn’t made Trother careless or wasteful. On the contrary, giving generously to the tribe wasn’t the same as squandering, and, by the flames, he wouldn’t waste time that could be better spent surviving and getting his job done.
The more optimally he used his mutation, the more longevity he would have. The more longevity he had, the longer he lived. Trother patiently and meticulously stretched his life as much as possible for the sake of teaching class after class, thus strengthening the tribe. The love for his people glimmered in Trother’s eyes as he fed the Hearth of the Burrows. The fire in his heart mirrored the ballet performed by the tongues of flames and sparks of light caused by the carelessness of the young group as their output kept exceeding or going below the perfect temperature.
As time slipped out of their hands and into the tribe, Trother pondered how much he stood out from all others at this rekindling. For one, he was by far the oldest. Being in one’s forties was a luxury among teenagers and children. The second thing was the two oranges standing behind him. One of them was always in a permanent slow, steady burst. How poetic, Trother thought. Even as Trother burst for the tribe at the rekindling, so did the tribe burst for him, kindling him.
The last distinctive feature that made Trother stand out was the effort he put into bursting. As all others displayed visible effort through beads of sweat, grunts of discomfort, or shrieks of pain, Trother burst casually. Had he wanted to, he could have casually struck up a conversation with a fellow rekindler or to one of his batteries without letting his fire waver. Trother dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. This was a sacred moment; by the great Hearth, he was well beyond a youthful desire to flaunt. His advanced age didn’t come from burning life away willy-nilly. Instead of wasting time showing off to others, he used it to assess his to-be students.
Unlike most ceremonies when practically every rekindler feeding the Hearth was an orange adolescent, reds occupied many spots around the Hearth today. Twelve children fresh out of the incubators surrounded Trother. They were all bursting alongside him. He had never met any of these young ones personally. That was only natural. With many hundreds in the tribe and how fleeting lives were in this forsaken world, getting to know everyone that came by was impossible. These would all be his students starting tomorrow; he was already their teacher, starting today. He knew all their names and AI reports based on their performance in the incubators, and after seeing them at this ceremony, he would also have an estimate of how efficient they were at bursting.
As the hour went on, he scanned each of his future students. His small eyes saw grandiose things. Even without using his powers, the trembling light and the temperature variations were all signs of unskillful waste and, in his trained eyes, obvious. That was his prerogative as an instructor, after all. After a few minutes of the rekindling, one of his new students caught his eye. This was because, unlike all other reds and oranges in attendance, Trother had needed a few long minutes to examine this child.
His was a steady, unshakable flame. It was easily mistaken for that of a more experienced orange. But although his fire burned steady, it did so at a slightly suboptimal temperature, giving him away as a rookie. A glimmer of interest shone on Trother’s insightful eyes. The footnote added to the boy’s report by the king came to his mind. What was it that Brodnir had said? Something like, “Eli’s flame burns brighter than hotter”? Trother grinned. This was a diamond in the rough that he would enjoy polishing.
Although Trother had already seen everything he needed, he patiently kept bursting while watching the children. Toward the end of the ceremony, they started showing signs of fatigue. This was a valuable training opportunity for them and why lits always attended the Initiation of their class of reds. To assess a child’s potential, seeing them in long bursts was crucial. As fatigue kicked in, concentration faltered, revealing weaknesses he would have to hammer out of them in the anvil of the Collegium. As it was the culture in the Burrows, wherever possible, everyone burned two ingots with one fire.
By staying until the end of the ceremony, Trother also taught a valuable lesson to the children: no personal warmth was above the greater heat. Although none of the children had spoken to him, all of them knew he would be their teacher. They had seen him from afar before the rekindling and respectfully bowed to him. It was the custom not to address an instructor except on the first day of school in the interviews. Still, they knew: Their guide was on the same level as them, bursting with them. This was their first lesson. In a tribe, regardless of your color, there were no ranks, just service. And, as it was the culture in the Burrows, everyone burned three ingots with one fire whenever possible.
The Hearth buzzed, signaling that the energy stores of the Burrows were filled, thus ending the rekindling. One year of each of the thirty lives were converted into a month for the tribe’s Hearth. One year for an hour; an hour for a month. It wasn’t kind math, but the gains outweighed the losses.
As it was custom to end the rekindling, one yellow addressed them:
“Rekindlers, we of the Fahrenheit salute you,” said the man loudly. “Yours is a flame that warms the heart and feeds the Hearth. We praise your sacrifice, altruism, and generosity. Truth!”
“A flame spread is never dead,” the group chanted in one voice.
“Also, with us today, we have the initiated. Truth!”
“All flames blue, start red!” the twelve red children responded.
“May this be your first step in a life of service. As others have been burnt and spent, may you do so for the next ones to follow. Truth!”
“I burn my warmth for the greater heat!” All the rekindlers, including Trother, said this last remark.
“Know that though you leave with shortened lives, their significance has grown larger. May your flames always burn strong.”
Maybe it was because of Trother’s advancing years, but even though he had attended many Initiations, he felt emotional at the end of each one. He proudly watched on as one after the other of his students left the rekindling. Each of them went out and about with the energy and hurry of the young. None of them forgot to look at him and bow. He glanced at the departing figure of the diamond in the rough, Eli. He was looking forward to teaching that boy.
Trother turned to leave. He caught one of his batteries lingering with her sight fixed on the Hearth. Understanding, he asked:
“How many more until termination, Sywel?”
“Depends, sir. Five if lucky. Realistically two.”
Trother silently agreed, looking at the veins of Sywel’s neck starting to turn blue. Although his garment covered it, Trother’s chest had begun to reveal similar painful symptoms. “Are you scared, dear?”
“No, sir. Just thinking about my little ones. I am going to miss their first burst.”
“I see.”
Everyone left as life-giving energy was pumped into the Burrows of Fahrenheit.
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