The fire spring was ringed with stones, mist rising from its surface — a bright beacon in a world of darkness.
Qin Ming crouched and scooped a glowing stone from the pool. It shone more softly than red coral, radiating a gentle rose-colored light.
Every sunstone in the village came from the fire spring. When a stone dimmed, it could be returned here; after a time, it would be restored.
The pool blazed with red light, bright as molten rock — yet far cooler than a human body. The water shimmered, the light danced. It was neither true fire nor true water, but something stranger: a substance that held warmth and brightness in this lightless age.
Now that day was gone forever, the world knew only Shallow Night and Deep Night. In such a time, the fire spring mattered more than anything.
Both the mutated silver-wheat and ordinary crops like ground yams needed the spring's water to grow. And people who went too long without seeing it fell ill. It was the root of survival itself.
Even without a sun, the world kept its seasons. In spring and summer, the spring ran active, gushing water enough for the fields. In winter, it ebbed — here in Twin Tree Village, its pool still glowed, but only enough to nourish the sunstones for light.
In the age without daylight, people lived chasing fire.
Such a beacon drew the attention of the dark's many creatures. Fortunately, each held its own territory, and for the most part a fragile balance held.
Twin Tree Village was short on food. During the harvest, strange birds had struck, their beaks sweeping through the wheat like scythes, stripping whole clumps in one pass. Ant plagues had come too, and human misjudgment, until winter threatened starvation.
Now it was Shallow Night, the dark relatively thin, and in the distance faint "earth-light" rose, making the vague outline of the forest just visible. When Deep Night came, nothing at all could be seen — the world went silent, the blackness chilling to the bone.
Qin Ming mulled over when he could go out and break the food shortage. He scanned the wilds: very dark, the distant view swallowed, snow above chest height. Harsh, unforgiving country.
At the head of the village, the fire spring cast a bright zone. Cold wind curled over the pool, about sixteen feet square, its waters rippling. The twin trees — one black, one white — shook loose their snow, glittering in the rose light.
Their leaves held a faint jade quality and braved the cold without trouble. Aside from driving off insects in summer, they served little purpose.
A snowflake fell on Qin Ming's neck, snapping him back to himself. However it went, he needed to rest and build his strength. The wilds were dangerous.
He walked back through the village, every house glowing, while behind him the wilderness loomed black and lifeless, like a beast waiting to swallow everything.
In his yard, Qin Ming worked through his usual exercise forms — smooth, practiced, almost instinct after years of repetition. After a long while, sweat beaded on his brow and warmth spread through his body. He stopped.
He went inside and took out a tiny crystal vial, no longer than a thumb, finely carved and transparent. Inside, a blue liquid glinted with ice crystals.
He held it up to the light of the sunstones, careful and reverent.
Two characters were carved on the little bottle: *ore essence*.
The liquid was a dreamlike blue; when he shook it gently, blue mist swirled inside.
He restrained the urge to open it. He was newly recovered, and using the blue liquid now would do more harm than good.
He had found it by accident in the dangerous zone of the mountains. Before that, he had only ever heard of ore essence. He had never dreamed of touching something this precious.