Waylon lay twitching on the cavern floor, his limbs sprawled uselessly in the dirt, skin flushed red and glistening. Sweat poured from every inch of him—only to evaporate instantly in the unbearable heat now radiating from his core. The scent of steam rising from his body mingled with the charred air of the fire beside him.
His breathing was ragged, shallow, barely enough to draw the oxygen he desperately needed. Each inhale burned. His mouth was dry, lips cracked and peeling, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like dried leather. [I'm burning alive…]
The realization slammed into him like a hammer blow: If I don't cool down… I'm going to die.
Fear clawed at his chest, but instinct took over. With every remaining ounce of strength, Waylon began to crawl, dragging his body inch by painful inch across the uneven cavern floor. His fingers scraped stone, his elbows buckled with each motion, but he didn't stop.
His vision blurred, and black dots danced at the edges of his sight. His blood felt thick, bubbling just beneath his skin, and his muscles screamed with every desperate motion. The fire in his chest pulsed violently, sending waves of heat down his spine.
[Just a little further. Come on, damn it—move!]
He pushed onward, clawing at the dirt like a dying animal until finally—finally—his hand touched water. The surface hissed as his fingers dipped beneath it, steam rising instantly in thick, curling wisps. He didn't hesitate.
Waylon threw himself forward and slid into the pool.
The reaction was instant. Steam exploded upward in a thick cloud as his superheated skin touched the cool water. He screamed as the sudden contrast shocked his nerves, the pain so sharp it eclipsed everything else. His body convulsed, half from relief, half from the continued torment within.
He submerged himself completely, gasping as the water swallowed him whole. The pool sizzled and boiled around him, its temperature rising rapidly as it fought the furnace of his body. Steam rolled across the surface in great clouds, shrouding the cavern in a white mist.
Waylon curled inward beneath the water, his arms wrapped around his chest, eyes clenched shut. [What the hell is happening to me?!]
The heat was relentless, even beneath the water. He could feel his heart hammering like a drum inside his chest, each beat a thunderclap of energy that shook his bones. The pain wasn't leaving—it was growing more precise, more focused.
He forced himself to breathe slowly, deliberately, through the agony. In. Out. In. Out. [Focus. Focus on the source.]
His thoughts narrowed to a single point—his heart. The fire. The heat. The pain.
He reached inward, sensing the strange energy once more. It hadn't dispersed. It hadn't burned out. It had begun to compress.
The flames coiling inside his chest weren't calming—they were tightening, coalescing into something smaller and infinitely denser. He could feel it, a mass of energy pulling inward like a dying star collapsing on itself.
But the heat… the heat only grew worse.
Waylon's eyes flew open beneath the water, and he gasped in horror, bubbles fleeing his mouth. [No—no, it's not dying. It's building!]
His back arched violently as the core of energy reached a critical point. Then, without warning, the fire erupted.
It was as if lightning had struck his soul. Like shattered glass, invisible cracks tore through his body from the center outward. He could feel the fire lancing through him, tracing every vein and artery, every capillary and nerve. His entire vascular system lit up like molten gold.
Each heartbeat became a furnace bellows, sending a wave of fire down through his arms, legs, neck, and spine. The flames pushed deeper and deeper, searing paths along his bloodstreams, branding every inch of him from within.
His blood felt like it had turned to molten metal—liquid fire surging through his veins. Pain unlike anything he'd ever imagined took hold, yet strangely, he didn't black out. He couldn't. Something was keeping him conscious, forcing him to endure.
[It's… carving me. Burning the path.]
The realization struck him hard: the energy wasn't just hurting him—it was shaping him. Refining him. Every beat of his heart was imprinting this energy into his flesh, forging him like steel tempered in a forge.
He "watched" through the haze of pain as the energy spread outward, inch by inch. First his arms, then his chest, then his legs and head. It touched every fiber of his being, branding its presence upon him with each pulse.
And slowly—so slowly—he began to sense something else.
The further the fire traveled, the less intense the heat became. The power was spreading evenly now, thinning as it reached every corner of his form. His body, once overloaded with heat, began to equalize, to adapt.
His skin no longer hissed beneath the water. His blood still burned, but the pain grew more distant, more manageable. As the energy finally reached his fingertips, as it carved through the last unlit vessel, Waylon's body went still.
For one long moment, the world stood still.
Then, with no warning, a surge of pure energy exploded outward from his heart, rushing back through the very paths it had scorched open. Waylon's back arched violently, his body shooting up from beneath the water's surface.
His mouth opened wide in a silent scream.
His eyes snapped open—pure white light poured from them like twin torches, cutting through the thick mist of steam around him. Every muscle in his body locked in place, trembling under the immense energy coursing through him.
And in that instant, Waylon wasn't burning.