No, no, no! They're too much! I can't anymore, there must be another way. They scream now, such sweet release that I find myself laughing as the sound echoes through the vastness of my mind. Other times, despite myself, I weep. My guilt is earnest, but... but I can't deny the ecstasy of it.

  It can't be long now, no. As a pioneer at the dawn of humankind's ascension, breaking the rules of nature that governed us for so long became a perverse joy. The first elder, I took much from him, and his memories were the precursor I needed to create the key to existence eternal. Still though, he was right about one thing. It would take ages, many ages, to prepare the engine proper. The time is soon, and soon, I may let go, maybe join the two in the long sleep. Or perhaps, take for myself what had been so long in the making. Perhaps, despite my long commitment, my trust in their judgment has begun to faulter. I must stop this line of thinking. My laughter is too jarring to write clearly.

  Before the year's end Dorian was taught how to take care of the ovens each morning, and how to load them properly. Luckily, his brother had shown him several ways to make a fire, and it was much the same as building a bonfire, just on a larger scale. When his father first forced the responsibility on him, Dorian wasn't all too pleased. The logs were large, some so heavy he could only roll them into the chutes beneath the ovens. His father told him not to use anything he felt was too heavy, but despite his fast understanding and early memories, he still felt a desire to impress his father. So he did, heaving larger and larger logs to the chutes. It was challenging at first, but within a few months he was carrying logs half as heavy as himself to build those morning fires.

  Rand usually drank his morning tea while he went over current supplies, updating them from yesterday's numbers. The lists were expansive, ranging from various seeds or meats, rendered fats, weight in flour, expected shipments in from the monastery, and total distribution measured against consumption. He had to supply various goods to exchange for supplies, which, Dorian found out later, supplied all the other trade houses with the necessities for their own crafts and public distribution. This included things like soap, gloves, twine, adhesives, and medicines.

  This led Dorian to a greater understanding of the economics of his village. The finer qualities of items were often harvested, whereas the lesser quality items were distributed among the general populous. This compelled others to upgrade or exchange, using Vega as the overt currency of exchange. In many cases one could upgrade to a higher quality or could simply exchange supplies. The trappers had to take their kills to the tanners, after the tanners were done, the meat would come to the cooks. The prime cuts could be purchased by anybody that wanted to exchange. If the meat was near spoiling it would be diced and distributed into various soups or dried up and salted to keep for the trappers. Nothing ever went to waste, but there were options to have better than most. It created a kind of class system, thus the high houses like the Hunts and Weavers, or the low houses like the Cooks. Some houses didn't get names, like the general caretakers or the farmers. Dorian suspected it was because they simply had no way to rise above their peers as their responsibilities never included goods that could be used to up-trade.

  Biweekly, the supplies would come in with a Priorius priest, he would tally his ledgers off all the houses, and then distribute whatever was needed per house or trade. Then he would have a meeting with the village heads, and by nightfall the village would gather for the priest to preach about the gods. Typically, since not everybody showed up for the communal meal each night, they didn't have to run ovens or produce bread at maximum capacity. Of course, each time that bastard showed up he had to work double-time to make enough dough, line the breads, and keep the furnaces fully stocked. There were other cooks and apprentices there, but none except his father and himself would be from the line, so he felt he had to work even harder to prove his worth.

  He knew it would make his parents happy to become an official house, they spoke about it often enough. Furthermore, the town treated them as though they already were, respected more so than any of the other houses. Whenever the subject was broached, his father would say, “You can be mended by the caretakers, you can have an ax fixed by the smiths, but no matter who you are, ya have to eat.” It was a comforting thought to Dorian, and he wondered what exactly it would take for his house to be recognized.

  Of course, this led Dorian to thinking about the Steelfyre search. The trappers had gone past their previously expected deadline for completing their maps. According to his mother, the landmarks shifted so rapidly that if you were to fully explore the valley, the maps they made would be obsolete by the time they’d finished them. Apparently, this was much faster than expected, and in extreme ways. Massive trees used for landmarks would somehow move up to the peak of a slope, streams and rivers shifting rapidly, which of course made trails throughout the woods solely navigable by the most experienced. Despite the challenges, the trappers had finished their maps. The foliage too thick on the ground floor to make out any sign of Steelfyre, the trappers had resigned themselves to mapping only the caves in their town district. There was supposed to be an announcement about the caves and relative plans that night, which, according to his father, meant more bread.

  So, the day that the priest would show up, Dorian was ready. He showed up extra early, sneaking out of the house before dawn. One might think it's hard to sneak out of a small house, but when every inch of your house is made of cold polished stone, the only noise he had to worry about came from the front door. After making his way by starlight to the cookery, he broke in through a side window that he had left unlocked the night before.

  By the time his father had arrived, Dorian finished two batches of dough, and had most of the loaves of bread lined out on the stone trays. Interrupting his work, his father glared at him for a moment, then smiled.

  “I see somebody wanted to get an early start. Or maybe you preferred solemnity?” He looked down at his son after inspecting both large troughs of dough. He lifted an eyebrow at Dorian then said, “Did I show you how to prepare the dough for bread? I could have sworn I've only ever had you mix it.” The frank expression on his father’s face had him feeling guilty. Had he forgotten anything? Yeast, oil, which herbs his father had planned to cook into the bread, which grains. Ah hell.

  “No, nobody showed me. I've just seen you do it like five hundred times.” Dorian answered in his most innocent sounding voice. That one always worked to get him out of trouble.

  “Oh, really now? If you can prepare a batch for me right now, and get it right, I won't make you mix two more. In fact, if you prepare it correctly, I'll mix it myself.” His father's stare couldn't be described as anything better than the petty mischief every master has on his face when teaching an assuming apprentice.

  Dorian met that stare with a half grin. “I hope you've got your good apron pops!” He left to go get the measuring cups and proceeded to do exactly as his father had done when he made his best breads. He went through the process exactly, with the minor exception of one powder he had suspected being unnecessary, and a little more of another in its stead. He finished with a flourish.

  Rand rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Sounding resigned, he said, “hmm, you've forgotten one ingredient. Looks like we'll have to make two more batches.” Rand let out a sigh. He headed over to the last ingredient when Dorian moved to stop him.

  “Wait Da, I know that goes in the mix but we should cook without it today. I noticed when we use this stuff the bread tastes fine by itself, but when we eat it with the elk it tastes gross. Without it, it's a little thicker, so I added more of that stuff.” Dorian pointed to the bag.

  The master cook stopped, eyebrows knitting together confused. He thought for a long moment, thinking intently. So intently that Dorian could swear he could understand what he was thinking, something about how his father never actually supped with everyone else. The giant man harrumphed, checked the feel of the dough that was setting, then smiled.

  “My, my, it seems I’ve got a prodigy on my hands. Well done.” He said with a nod and a prideful smile. “But” He said, raising a finger. “That is the last time you try doing anything like this alone. That's a lot of material gone to waste if it was wrong, furthermore, risking yourself at night without warning me is not the way my apprentices behave. So, from the way I see it, you've earned a punishment and a reward.” Dorian's face drooped at the words.

  “I'm sorry da-.” Rand cut his son off, “No. Don't apologize, you did this knowingly, and if you hadn’t, I wouldn't have seen you succeed. I'm not angry with your results, I'm unhappy about how you did it. Now, until noon, you'll be stacking wood in level piles next to the ovens, after fully stocking them, of course.” Dorian had his hands in front of himself. He clasped one wrist, and vigorously inspected the floor. How does it get dirty so damn quickly?

  His father continued. “Then, at noon, you will be taking the day to spend with your brother. I'm impressed you could remember all the steps, and you only had to see me do it, what? Five hundred times?” He smiled then. “I'm also impressed with your work ethic, that's something that should be rewarded too. I'll think about that while you get to work. Go on, get to stacking, I'll finish up here.”

  Dorian timidly made his way out back and began hauling wood onto his little tractor. It wasn't anything but four rubber wheels connected to a perfectly shaped bed. There was a handle on the front that let him steer it. He didn't really care for it much, didn't even know why they had it since it was only good for hauling from the lumber pile to the back stairs. Then hauling and stacking up the stairs, and repeating.

  It was no surprise that Dorian began getting frustrated with the task. Some of the longer logs and cuts from those logs could burn for hours, and they would fit too, but getting them there was a hassle. It frustrated Dorian even more because he knew it wasn't his fault, his body wasn't that of a fully grown adult. In his frustration, he began skipping over the damn tractor, deciding to carry it on his shoulder, he managed to catch the sight of his father putting his dirty apron up.

  That was his only solace to his wounded pride considering his extra effort. A few hours passed, his frustration mounding, when he spotted a unique looking log hidden behind the stack of wood. The log wasn't with the rest of the woodpile, and had different coloring, spotted black and white.

  By this point in the day many of the apprentices and older cooks had shown up and were preparing for the post sermon meal. As Dorian heaved on the large log, one of the older cooks saw him and shouted “Rand, your boys about to blow out his back.” Dorian shot a glance at the old guy, he was wiry, bearded and bald. Dorian noticed the light reflecting off the man’s scalp, the only indicator Dorian needed to identify him. It was Tanner. Not that he was a tanner, nor from the house of Tanners, or that he was born with the name. Everyone called him Tanner because the skin on his bald pate was so leathery that he regularly would steal rendered fat and coat his head with it. Dorian grinned and wiped the sweat on his brow into his hair to keep his vision cleared. He bent down, grabbed hold and yanked until he was red in the face. The log didn't even budge it.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The old man burst out laughing. Dorian glared at first, but as the man kept laughing, Dorian’s glare turned to an abashed frown. Then he started to blush, embarrassed. The old man came out, still chuckling. “Wanna see something neat, boy?” Tanner asked.

  Dorian shrugged and nodded. Tanner took three squared off pieces of wood and balanced them to make a miniature arch. He then went into a shed that Dorian wasn’t allowed in, brandishing an ax. He walked next to Dorian and said, “Look at how tough it is. See this slant we’ve got cut in here? I’m gonna take a bit going sideways here.” He spoke in an instructor’s tone. Several strokes later, the man sheered a half foot of the log off and bent to lift it. He lifted it with perfect working form, as though it were heavy enough to hurt him otherwise. He picked it up and waddled over to his makeshift structure. Lifting an eyebrow, he said, “Ready?” and gently placed the piece of wood on the flat of the top piece. It began groaning, until finally the wood snapped in the middle, caving in the demonstration.

  Oh, gotcha. “Heavy tree.” Dorian said, deadpan.

  Tanner smirked and pointed. “That there is Gwam or Granite-wood. Gift from the Priorius monks, it’s great stuff. Just that piece I cut off there will burn for days, and the shards and sawdust will ignite, making for a good fire starter. And if you leave the bark on, the twigs make for great candles. We call it granite-wood 'cause it’s got that same spotted marking inside the wood instead of proper grain and 'cause it’s denser than granite. Much denser, I think.” He looked away for a moment, as if confused. “Anyhow, don’t go playing around with it.” Then he turned, wondering why he babbled on to some kid, and left to return the ax to the shed.

  This was fascinating to Dorian, he thought that maybe he could take a piece to show his brother. He moved to the broken demonstration and tried to pick up the shard of Gwam. He may as well be trying to pick up his father. It was nearly noon, so he resigned himself to his duties, and continued to stack the wood for the ovens. When he had finished, his father said, “Alright, go find your brother. He should be done early today as well. You two should have plenty of time to get into mischief before tonight's sermon.” His father winked at him, then said, “And don't forget to bathe before you come to dinner tonight. That goes double for your brother.”

  Dorian turned to run out of the cookery, when he heard is father shout, “You tell him I told you that!” Dorian smirked and ran out the back door, glad to be done with his duties for the day. He wanted to show his brother the piece of Gwam but didn't want to come back to the cookery before dinner for fear of being put to work. So, before he left the yard and made his way to the trapper's house, he decided to have another try at the chunk of wood.

  It was right where he left it, the piece of wood it sat on now curled around the Gwam hunk, like it was burrowing its way into the earth. Dorian bent down, taking the same form as Tanner, and tried to lift it with his legs. He pulled hard for a moment, noticing that the Gwam hadn’t budged, he started to reset himself for another attempt. As he began to pull, he felt an odd sensation, it seemed to run across his entire body. It felt like hunger, but not in the traditional sense. It felt like an urge, a desire, like he desperately needed to concede to do something.

  So, he did that something, it was like forcing his willpower against a stone wall and pressing with all his might. The tension felt emotional, of all things. Searching himself, he noticed that if he focused on his emotions, he felt a strange kind of resonance. He felt his frustrations from the morning, and when the mixture of frustration became eminent, he felt the resonance begin to cascade. His emotions evolved and Dorian had to twist his intention. He backed away, or rather his self-control became evident. He took hold of the emotion that had taken him and honed it to a sharp and jagged point.Dorian felt his grip tighten as his muscles suddenly relaxed. He clenched his jaw, his focus on the piece of wood that defied his will. The sensation he had been feeling grew to a shout when he willed himself to control.

  The resonance found a harmony in his body, and astonishingly the Gwam wasn’t so heavy after all. He stood right up, almost falling backwards as the expected resistance didn’t match the reality. Hefting the chunk of Gwam, it suddenly became as light as any normal stick. He moved it to one hand, nearly falling over from the sudden shift in weight. After leaning to the opposing side to counterbalance, he snickered quietly to himself and made his way to meet with his brother.

  He was seldom left alone to explore the town, he didn't mind exploring the town with his brother much, but this was a rare opportunity. They always took the same roads, and he was curious about a few that he had never been down. He knew his brother was at the trapper’s house, a two-story building at the edge of the town limits. It was located next to the village amphitheater and capped the end of the road. Normally, he would just head straight there, but today he wanted to inspect some places without his brother's guidance.

  He made his way down the dirt road, inspecting the buildings as he passed. There was a sizable fence in the area in the center of town, it was a place for people to socialize, but more importantly where they ate. There were benches, tables, and elderly scattered about at this time of day. He knew better than to go through it alone, too many questioning glances, and since the cookery would be coming to set up soon, he was loathe to get sucked back into work.

  Taking the long way around, he decided to make his way towards the weaver’s house. Not to be confused with Weaver’s house, the family home was located up a path on the north side of the village. Kurt had always wanted to inspect the all-female craft house, but the brothers were usually too shy. Kurt had visited the building before, while Dorian was still being watched by the village caretakers. Apparently, Kurt used to walk past it when he was younger, but the girls would always giggle at him as he passed. At first it didn’t bother Kurt, until one day a shift occurred. He was suddenly bashful, the first and only time Dorian had witnessed his brother behave in such an awkward way. It was a puzzle he desperately wanted to figure out.

  With a crooked gate, he made his way towards the craft house. He passed the market square, several homes, the lumber mill, finally to the weaver's house. The way the buildings were placed made it so he could cut through the side of the lumber mill and find himself looking at the side of the weaver's house.

  Not seeing anybody, he made his move. As he cut through the bushes, he could make out sunlight reflecting off large windows, on both the first and second floors. The windows on the first floor were large, covering most of the wall, with the exception of the pillars that held them up. It was a large enough structure, but despite its size it had a beautiful design. Etched into the pillars, and remaining stonework, were lattices of weaves. Dorian felt a pang of curiosity as he saw the intricate patterns on the pillars. He wondered how the weavers made them and what they meant. It made the stonework look as though it was woven, and the attention to detail was so impressive he had to investigate further.

  Dorian approached the building to inspect it. As he did so, he heard a snicker from behind the glass. He turned and saw a group of girls pointing and laughing at him. Dorian had been limping along the road marveling at the stonework like a goon. He felt a flush of anger and embarrassment. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Suddenly, self-conscious, he missed his footing and stumbled. Finally regaining his center of gravity, he looked up and locked eyes with someone through the glass. Embarrassed, he smiled at the brown eyes, and bowed as though he was putting on a show. She smiled at him, but it wasn't a bright beautiful smile, it was more contemptuous than that. He frowned, not able to make her face out that well, the light still blinding him slightly, and decided to make his way along. He understood why his brother avoided this place now.

  He turned to leave, when he could swear, he heard something on the wind. Not loud but not subtle, like a clear whisper, “Yeah, walk away, you clueless clodhopper, or we’ll tie you up with yarn and hang you from the rafters.” He snorted to himself, showing a half grin at the joke. It was like he heard it in his head. Scowling, he thought back, “Yeah, keep laughing, you haughty hags. Maybe next time I’ll give you a taste of this log and see how you like it..”

  He heard a “yip” from behind him, he looked back to see those same eyes on a beautiful girl, pale, thin, with high cheekbones. Her fine jaw was slack, eyes wide as she stared at him. Not one to overstay his welcome, he walked away, the Gwam stick giving him grief every step of the way.

  When he finally made it to the trapper's house, the wooden log seemed to get heavier. He was feeling dizzy as he approached the wide two-story building. Not thinking anything of it, he made his way to the side that faced the forest, when he was nearly bowled over by Kurt's oncoming mass. Kurt dodged nimbly but Dorian, already off balance, tripped over, skidding his side against the debris covered ground.

  “Whoa there Dorian, I didn't mean to run you over.” Kurt came to Dorian's side to help him up. After taking the proffered assistance, Dorian made his way to the tree line, using a protruding tree branch to steady himself. “Hey, you alright?” Kurt asked after inspecting his brother.

  “I'm alright, just feeling a little dizzy. Check this out though, I brought it all the way from the cookery.” Dorian offered his brother the piece of Gwam. Not thinking anything of it he handed it over to Kurt. When Kurt lurched forward trying to hang on to it, letting it go only before it crushed his hand against the ground. “Gods damn it, Dorian, what the hell is that?” He shook, then inspected his hand.

  Dorian burst out laughing, holding his gut as he rocked back and forth. Kurt wasn’t amused but took his brother’s mockery with a stoically proud expression. Finally growing animated, Kurt said, “Really, what is that, Dorian?”

  Dorian proceeded to tell the story of how Tanner had laughed and laughed at him when he tried to lift the entire log. Kurt looked puzzled, “if it's so heavy then how did you get it here?”

  “Uh,” Dorian stammered, “I carried it?” He shrugged. “I went to pick it up later, and after a few tries, it just seemed to come right up.” He reached down and picked up the stick of Gwam. “See?” He had to lean against its mass, despite only holding it in one hand.

  Kurt looked at it, and back at Dorian. “Dorian, I think you should put that down, you don't look so good.” His face was concerned.

  “Fine,” replied Dorian nonplused. Dorian turned and tossed the stick at the tree he was leaning against. Instead of bouncing off the tree, the stick of Gwam seemed to melt into it, sticking directly to its trunk. Looking at his brother and seeing the confusion they shared, he went to retrieve it. It dislodged itself easily enough, leaving a significant dent in the otherwise pristine oak.

  Looking shocked, Kurt smirked and said, “do it again.” Dorian did, this time throwing it like a dart. It sank right in, the tree melting around it. Dorian took it back out, thought for a moment, then stabbed it in the tree. It sank in. Looking at Dorian, eyebrows pinched, Kurt took hold of the shard of wood and pulled. It didn't move. He tried harder, nothing. Laughing, Dorian took out the Gwam stick and started to toss it up to catch it again. That's when he got dizzy and tossed the stick away from himself. He leaned back against the tree, hand covering his eyes trying to make the world stop spinning.

  “Whoa, Dorian, you're definitely not okay. How did you even do that? That thing nearly ripped me in half.” Kurt spoke while grabbing his little brother's shoulders. He shook Dorian gently, and Dorian could tell he really wanted to know.

  Centering himself again, Dorian looked up at his brother, and felt another wave of vertigo. He looked at his feet, noticing blood there for the first time. His brother said, “Shit, he doesn't look good, so pale.” The panic was hard not to notice, but Dorian had little care for it save for his guts twisting. He looked at his arms, seeing that he was indeed very pale, and said, “He can hear you. And he doesn't feel very good.”

  Kurt, looking as dazed as Dorian felt, escorted him to a grassy patch and had him lie down. Dorian did so, only realizing when Kurt left to get help how absolutely shitty he felt. His head swam, his stomach was in knots, and his vision was going dim. The grass in front of him sounded to a newly realized bleeding nose. The droplets aside, silence enveloped him. His thoughts sought to fix whatever was going on. His mind raced as he remembered that feeling he had earlier when he lifted the granite-wood. That sense had never left him. Focusing on the pressure it caused, he grasped it mentally and let it go. Abruptly, the world stopped spinning, which made him sit upright. Looking for his brother, Dorian began to heave violently. The world spun once more, his vision blurred. The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was the taste of his own blood.