(Thermal Negotiation)
Time: 09:00 AM (The next day).
Location: Medical Bay -- The Nexus Hall .
(POV: RIAN)
(The sound of chattering teeth, a rapid and uncontrollable rhythm like a metronome of fear in the silent room)
I hate my life. I hate my fate. And above all, I hate the 'flexible' work contract clause that forces me to be in this room on a Saturday morning.
Seriously. Last night, right after I hit the 'Send' button for that crazy warrant signed by the Praetor, I had a very clear and beautiful vision of my future in the next 48 hours.
That vision was simple and humane: Go home to the narrow but warm Neutral dorm. Put on that embarrassing but comfortable flannel pajamas with cat prints. Brew cheap instant coffee that tastes like dirt. And sleep. Sleep until I forget my own mother's name, forget about Valdor politics, and forget that I work for a madman. It's the basic right of every administrative staff after a full week of falsifying state financial reports and covering up their boss's murders—sorry, sanitation procedures.
I thought after sending that suicide invitation to the Valdor server, I could wash my hands of it. Let the titans fight, let the gods burn each other, while I hide under a thick blanket.
But no. Of course the universe hates me.
Midnight I was dragged to the Valdor military ICU because Boss froze into an ice statue. And this morning? This morning, on this holy Saturday, I was dragged back to the Nexus Hall office. But this office is no longer a workspace. It's a frozen tomb.
The room temperature had been forcibly lowered to -10 degrees Celsius. We confiscated three industrial cooling units from the Lower Sector meat storage warehouse and illegally installed them here. The central AC screamed shrilly, its engine forced beyond safe limits, sounding like a jet engine about to explode from overload. Thick white steam poured from my mouth every time I tried to curse this misfortune.
I huddled behind the metal operating table in the farthest corner—a small fortress I made from piles of tax files and first-aid kits. I wore three layers of thick jackets I found in the Lost & Found—one Valdor bomber jacket that smelled of oil, one tattered Aethelgard priest's robe, and someone's wool scarf. I looked like a freezing onion.
In front of me, the data tablet blinked red, displaying graphs that made my stomach churn:
WARNING:EXTERNALHEATSOURCEAPPROACHINGWARNING:EXTERNALHEATSOURCEAPPROACHINGDISTANCE:50METERSDISTANCE:50METERSTHERMALSIGNATURE:OFFTHECHARTSTHERMALSIGNATURE:OFFTHECHARTSSTRUCTUREINTEGRITY:COMPROMISEDSTRUCTUREINTEGRITY:COMPROMISED
"Why..." I mumbled, hugging my knees which were trembling violently. "Why didn't I just become a postman in Aurum? At least the biggest risk there is getting bitten by a cyber dog or shocked by static electricity, not being melted into a puddle of carbon by a Walking Natural Disaster."
I glanced towards the door. There, Kara stood rigid. She held a giant Tower Shield—confiscated from last year's riots—whose surface we had manually doused with water and frozen into a five-inch-thick layer of ice. Kara's face was tense, her jaw muscles hardened. Cold sweat froze on her temples. Even she, the war maniac who usually laughs while breaking people's bones, looked alert. She knew what was coming.
And in the middle of the room, sat the mastermind of this madness. Wynter Ash.
He sat relaxed on a cold steel chair, his legs crossed elegantly as if waiting for afternoon tea. He wasn't wearing a jacket. His thin black shirt was even slightly open at the neck, letting the sub-zero air caress his pale skin. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like a corpse that finally found a comfortable coffin.
"P-praetor..." I squeaked, my voice cracking because my jaw was stiff. "My pen ink is frozen. My tablet screen is starting to lag because the liquid crystal is solidifying. This is insane. We can cancel this. We can say the email was sent by mistake. Server error. Hacker attack. Anything!"
"Quiet, Rian," he answered calmly, his eyes closed as if listening to music I couldn't hear. "Our guest will arrive shortly. Don't ruin the moment with your panic."
(POV: KARA)
I've seen many crazy things in Valdor. I've seen tanks explode. I've seen people eat grenades just to prove a point. But this? Waiting for The Gilded Weapon to come to the medical examination room with a mandatory warrant? This is a new definition of bureaucratic suicide.
I tightened my grip on the shield's handle. The cold metal bit into my palm, but it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I positioned myself, a low stance, ready to withstand an explosion.
The indicator lights on the door panel changed color.
Green... Yellow... RED.
Not because access was granted. The biometric lock worked perfectly. The problem was physics.
SSSSST...
A loud hissing sound of metal. It wasn't the sound of hydraulics. It was the sound of steel screaming in pain.
I saw the paint on the thick steel door start to bubble and peel, charring to ash in seconds. The metal around the door handle reddened, then turned white. The radiant heat penetrated my ice shield even before the door opened.
"Fall back!" I yelled at Rian, raising the shield higher. "She's not knocking!"
The door didn't open. The door surrendered.
BRAK.
The two-hundred-kilo steel door was kicked until it tore from its hinges, which had melted into metal mush. The door slammed onto the floor, clanging loudly, and smoking.
Simultaneously, a wave of heat blasted in.
It felt like opening a giant oven door right in front of your face. The freezing air in the room collided with the incoming heat, creating an instant, blinding explosion of steam (flash steam). Thick white fog filled the room, swirling wildly from the temperature turbulence.
And from behind that fog, she stepped in.
Solstice Burn.
She wasn't carrying a weapon. She wasn't wearing combat armor. She was just wearing a modified uniform full of ventilation holes, and carrying a black umbrella.
But her aura... Damn.
The ceramic floor under her combat boots hissed and cracked with every step. Hot steam wafted from her shoulders like smoke from a racing car's exhaust. She didn't walk like a student summoned by the principal. She walked like a natural disaster looking for a place to happen.
"Insane," I whispered softly behind my shield. "She really is a leaking reactor. Titus must have been insane to unleash this thing without a leash."
(POV: SOLSTICE BURN)
It hurts.
This world is too narrow for me. Too slow. Too... dense.
Every step I take feels like walking inside a volcanic crater. Every breath feels like inhaling hot glass dust that tears my lungs apart. This head throbs violently, in sync with the heartbeat pumping liquid magma through my blood vessels, burning nerves, boiling internal organs.
I hate this door. That stupid metal was in my way. So I kicked it. The metal melted under my boot soles like butter. Good. One less thing.
I stepped into this room they call "Medical Bay".
Cold.
The air is cold. Freezing steam hits my sweat-drenched face. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough. This cold only tickles my blistering outer skin, not touching the reactor core about to explode inside my chest. The Solaris umbrella in my hand spins slowly with a pathetic whirr sound, its cooling system utterly defeated by my fever today.
My stinging eyes, from evaporating sweat, sweep across the room.
There's the trembling Glasses Guy in the corner—a little rat hiding behind piles of clothes. He smells like fear.
There's the Muscle Guy with the ice shield—a frightened guard dog. His shield is already starting to drip water. Weak Valdorian.
And in the center... there he is.
The Ice Block from last night.
I frown, my eyes squinting behind the hot steam. So him? He's the one who sent this garbage letter?
Honestly, I don't know his name. People in the barracks said there was a new Grand Praetor inauguration from the Neutral faction last week, but I didn't come. I was busy soaking in a cooling tank, holding myself back from blowing up the dorm. I don't care about school politics. I don't care which little king is in power.
But seeing him sitting there... with his transparent pale skin, blue lips, and that thick aura of emptiness... last night's memory hits me again.
That cold feeling. That impossible cold in the middle of Valdor's scorching streets. The momentary peace before I left him lying on the asphalt.
He's staring at me. Calmly. Too calmly. His gaze isn't one of fear like the others. It's a gaze of... hunger. And strangely, it doesn't make me angry. It makes me curious.
My emotions erupt. The heat in my body surges another degree.
I throw the tablet with the "Mandatory" summons at his feet. The tablet's plastic melts mid-air, falling as a smoking black puddle that hisses on the cold ceramic floor.
"You..." my voice is hoarse, rough, like grinding stones. My throat is parched dry.
"Why did it have to be an official warrant?" I ask sharply, stepping forward. The floor beneath me smokes. "You could've sent a regular message. Or talked directly last night before fainting at my boots. Why use the 'Mandatory' stamp, 'Praetor Authority', and threat of sanctions? You think I care about your paper bureaucracy?"
Hot steam escapes from my pores, distorting my vision into a heat haze. I see the shield guard retreat a step, his knees buckling.
I snort roughly. They're scared. Of course they're scared. Everyone's scared of me. I'm the monster who ruins their toys.
I shift my gaze back to the Ice Block. He hasn't moved an inch. He didn't even blink when my hot steam hit his face.
"And now you want to play doctor?" I continue, my tone sharpening, full of venom. "You invite me to this narrow, closed room? You want to die?"
That's not a threat. By all that's holy, it's not a threat. It's an Honest Warning.
I am a leaking nuclear reactor. Being in one room with me is a slow-motion suicide. Oxygen will burn away. Temperature will rise until brains boil. I don't want to kill people just because I breathe, but the world forces me to be a killer.
"If you want to kill yourself," I say wearily, massaging my painfully throbbing temples, "don't drag me into it. I'm busy enough holding back my own fire from collapsing this building."
POV: WYNTER ASH)
I see her.
Not as a monster. Not as a Calamity. Not as Valdor's weapon of mass destruction.
I see a cracked mirror.
Her eyes are red, swollen from chronic lack of sleep. Her sweat evaporates into mist before it can drip down her cheeks. The muscles in her neck are tense, veins bulging as she endures unimaginable physical suffering.
The anger in her voice, the poison on her tongue... it's not directed at me. It's a scream of frustration at her own body betraying her. She's angry because she's sick, and no one understands.
She suffers from Eternal Fever, trapped in an unquenchable fire.
Just as I suffer from Eternal Hypothermia, trapped in ice that won't melt.
We are two defective glasses; one overflowing and flooding the table, one parched dry and cracked.
"Kara, lower the shield," I command softly, my calm voice cutting through the tension.
"But Boss—she's melting the floor—" Kara panics.
"Lower it. She won't explode. Not yet."
I remain seated, looking at Solstice with an analytical yet... sympathetic gaze. Sympathy from one cancer patient to another.
"You're right," I say, my voice slightly hoarse from the cold. "The letter was a formality. Rian loves paperwork. He thinks official stamps can hold back fire. Me? I prefer... hands-on practice."
I smile thinly, a slight tilt, looking into her glowing eyes.
"And about last night... sorry I didn't have time to talk politely or introduce myself. It's a bit hard to make small talk about the weather when you're fainting with your face kissing the asphalt in front of someone's boots."
Solstice's eyes narrow slightly. Her blue pupils shrink. She remembers.
"You left me there," I continue, my tone shifting to a subtly poetic sarcasm, not accusatory, but observational. "Like frozen trash on the roadside. So decisive. Without hesitation. I appreciate that pragmatism. You don't pick up what you can't use."
"I don't pick up trash," she retorts sharply, defensively.
"Of course. You're too busy burning to care about ice cubes."
I stand up slowly. My joints are no longer stiff thanks to the warmth starting to seep from her presence. My thin robe flutters, its edges beginning to curl and smoke from the convection currents of heat radiating from her.
"I didn't call you here to play doctor, Solstice. And I have no intention of dying today."
I step forward. One step.
Kara holds her breath. Rian closes his eyes.
Two steps. Breaching the comfort zone.
The air around her is so hot, so dry, that my eyelashes feel brittle instantly. My skin feels stretched tight. But for my frozen bones, for my crystallizing blood... this is a siren's song. This is a bonfire in a snowstorm.
"Titus lets you suffer because he needs your explosions," I say, my voice cutting through the hissing steam. "He loves your fire more than he loves your life. He gives you suppressants, not medicine. He confines you, doesn't heal you."
I stop right in front of her. The distance between us is less than a meter. I can smell ozone, burnt hair, and the metallic scent of boiling blood.
"But me?"
I look into her wild, trembling blue-fire eyes.
"I don't need a bomb," I whisper.
"I offer Silence."
I slowly raise my right hand, showing my pale, transparent, numb skin. A palm so cold it could freeze water in an instant.
"I can drink all the noise in your head. I can take that fever, gulp it down until it's gone, and leave behind a cold quiet," I say softly.
"Quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat. Cold enough to feel human again, not a reactor."
I bring my hand closer to her face.
"This isn't a doctor's prescription, Solstice. It's a glass of water for someone dying of thirst in the desert."
(POV: KARA)
What is he doing?!
I see Boss stepping into that death radius. The hem of his robe starts to burn. His hair is blown by the hot wind. But he doesn't stop.
This isn't courage. This is madness.
The girl, Solstice, looks cornered. She retreats a step until her heel hits the broken door. She looks more afraid than Boss. Her hands tremble holding the umbrella.
"Don't touch her, Boss," I whisper in horror. "Her hands can melt steel. You're just frozen meat."
But Boss doesn't listen. He extends that pale hand of his.
And the Fire Girl... she doesn't attack. She freezes. Her eyes widen, staring at the hand like it's a ghost.
Then, she lowers her umbrella.
She surrenders.
Boss's hand touches her cheek.
SSSSHHHHHH!!!!
That sound. It's a sound I will never forget for the rest of my life.
Not a scream. Not an explosion.
It's the sound of thousands of liters of water being poured onto red-hot iron. The sound of hissing steam so loud it makes my ears ring. White mist explodes from the point where their skins meet, enveloping them both in a cocoon of steam.
I close my eyes, waiting for the shockwave. Waiting for flesh to blister.
But there's nothing.
Only the hiss slowly fading... into silence.
THE EXCHANGE (SPLIT POV)
(SOLSTICE BURN)
I close my eyes tightly, grit my teeth, waiting for the pain from the extreme temperature difference. Waiting for the smell of burning flesh. Waiting for his skin to blister and peel in my hand as it always does.
But there's no pain.
What there is... is Emptiness.
It feels like a giant drain has opened on my cheek. The wild heat that's been tearing my nerves apart, making me want to scream every second... is being sucked out. Like a flood falling into a bottomless chasm.
The heat rushes violently into his hand, leaving a trail of cold that spreads rapidly to my neck, my chest, my heart.
My boiling blood calms.
My racing heartbeat slows to a human rhythm.
The noisy static in my head dies suddenly.
Cold.
So cold. So peaceful.
Unconsciously, my body reacts. I don't push him away. I tilt my head, pressing my cheek deeper into his cold palm. I chase that cold. I'm hungry for that cold.
My legs go weak. I almost fall, my knees surrendering to this bliss of painlessness. But his other hand moves quickly, holding my shoulder, firm and cold.
For the first time in my life... I don't feel pain.
(WYNTER ASH)
Color returns to my face.
I can feel it. The deathly pallor of my skin is replaced by a healthy pink hue. My blue lips warm. My heart beats strongly, fueled by the pure, dense, massive energy I'm absorbing from her.
It's intoxicating. Like gulping pure alcohol after a long dehydration. The heat isn't ordinary; this is high-quality Mana, jet fuel for my broken engine.
I feel her body go limp in my grip. She's no longer Valdor's weapon of mass destruction. She's no longer The Walking Disaster.
In my hands, she's just a girl who is very, very tired.
I hold her up so she doesn't fall. Hot steam billows from her shoulders, but her skin is no longer scorching. She's cold. She's stable.
We stand in silence, shrouded in steam, sharing the only moment of sanity in this crazy world.
Suddenly, she flinches.
Her blue-fire eyes open wide. She pulls back roughly, her breath gasping. She stares at her own hand, touches her now-cold cheek, then looks at me with a horrified gaze.
She's afraid. Afraid of how blissful that "normal" feeling was. Afraid of the dependency that might arise.
"What... what did you do to me?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "The voice in my head... it's quiet."
"I took the excess," I answer calmly, lowering my now warm and thinly smoking hand. "I balanced the scale. I ate your garbage."
She stares at me sharply, her defensive walls rising again, trying to cover up her vulnerability from just now.
"What's the price?" she asks roughly, aggressively. "Medicine this strong isn't free. Nothing in this world is free. What do you want? My body? My loyalty? Who do you want me to kill?"
I sit back in my chair, feeling much stronger, more alive. I cross my legs, looking at her with a business-like gaze, hiding the fact that I too was just saved by her.
I have to make it sound like business. I have to make it sound like she's needed for function, not for me.
"I need a Space Heater," I say pragmatically, my voice flat and bureaucratic.
Solstice frowns, confused.
"This Senate hall is too cold," I continue, gesturing around the still-frozen office. "Politics are cold. And the Under-City is even colder. It's dark, damp, and full of enemies. I need someone to light a fire."
I look at her seriously, hiding the tremor in my hand that wants to touch her again.
"Be the furnace for this office. Burn the Senate's enemies. Use your destructive power for my purposes down there."
(Wynter's Monologue: I said I need a heater for the Senate, but it's me who's freezing. I need her to warm my blood, not my office. But I can't say that. I just hope... I don't burn this entire building down with us in it.)
"In return..." I say, leaning forward. "Every night, after duties are done, I will take your fever. I will give you the deep sleep that Titus could never provide."
"Think of me as... a Walking Air Conditioner for your calamity."
She's silent for a long time. Her eyes dart wildly, weighing the offer. Becoming a weapon again? Yes. But this time, the weapon is maintained. This time, the pain has an off switch.
Slowly, a crooked, cynical smile forms on her lips.
"So..." she says slowly, her voice full of bitter irony. "I am the Furnace for your office, and you are the AC for my head? What kind of relationship is that? Pathetic."
She raises her Solaris umbrella, then stabs it into the floor with a loud klang.
"But... I accept. I'm sick of sleeping in pain. And I'm sick of Titus."
(POV: KARA)
I lower my shield slowly. The thick ice coating the steel shield surface has already melted halfway, dripping into puddles on the floor, just from the hot steam that came from the girl earlier.
I stare at the scene in front of me in disbelief.
Rian is still curled up under the table, mumbling incoherently about life insurance premiums and resignation letters.
Boss sits in his chair, looking healthier and more colorful than I've seen him all week. He no longer looks like a walking corpse. He looks... dangerous.
And the Walking Disaster, Solstice Burn, stands there with a crooked smile, leaning on her umbrella. She no longer looks like she wants to blow up the building. She looks... calm.
Insane. Completely nuts.
They just conducted the most dangerous transaction in the world. Two defective monsters charging each other's batteries. One needs fire to live, the other needs ice to stay sane.
"Insane," I mutter, shaking my head as I sheathe my knife. "Two monsters just got biologically married right before my eyes."
I look at their gazes. It's not a look of love. It's not a friendly look. It's the look of two addicts who just found their respective suppliers.
Boss stands up, straightening his slightly singed collar.
"Good," he says flatly, his tone back to cold bureaucratic mode as if he just bought vegetables at the market, not tamed a nuclear bomb.
"Rest here, Solstice. Enjoy the AC. Get used to this circus team. Tomorrow morning we go down to the Sewers."
He smiles thinly at the fire girl—a smile that, by the Gods, looks sincere.
"There's a lot we need to burn together."
I let out a long sigh, patting Rian's still-shocked shoulder.
"Wake up, Bookworm. We survived. For today."
This world is indeed insane. And now, we have VIP tickets for front-row seats to the apocalypse they're going to create underground.