It slithered, the crimson wraith, rolling in rhythmic waves across the worn, crusty floor. A vigorous ardor clung against the reflective ground, slick with liquid that lovingly paved her route through the hall.

Tyler felt an odd déjà vu, recognizing the workshop where he worked on repairing and building new conveyance rides.

Why am I here? He wondered to himself. He wasn’t able to wield his tools the same way anymore, hence he had quit, no longer in this trade. He should leave, he knew, for his contract laid elsewhere.

Yet he couldn’t, the call of the nymph before him strangely tantalizing to his vision. Rippling curls of rosy oranges approached like a vivacious spirit. Fast, and sure, intent focused right on him.

He saw none other, alone in the ragged workshop that submitted to the sizzling dance. Feisty talons stretched elegantly, caressing the stone-grey surface. Every inch of wall, the floor and ceiling – nothing was spared from the passion of the scarlet orange serpents.

The blazing sight doused his skin and flesh with a hot flush that glowed a healthy shade, mirroring the sheen of ruby-gold draping the interiors of the place.

He watched with bated breaths at the unfolding scene, enraptured, even though the encroaching heat stirred the blood under his skin, and cautioned him to get up and flee.

I should go.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, or move his limbs.

The swell of her belly rose and fell in a provocative dance, excitement palpable, inciting his heart rate to racing levels.

The heat rose vigorously. To levels so scalding his eyes prickled, and his nasal passageways burned.

I have to leave.

He knew in the back of his head that dallying with her was perilous. But again, he couldn’t move, hooked on the hearty sight that was enlivening his pulse like winds stirring dull, lifeless sands across the desert valley.

He never felt so more alive, than in the last seconds before she reached him.

Then, trepidation came upon her zealous touch.

He screamed from her searing passion, flinching in sudden agony, of burning pain that was indescribable.

Get away. Run! He commanded himself, then realized he hadn’t been able to leave because stone pillars pinned down his hands.

He cursed, writhing and struggling on his knees like a desert hound ensnared in a trap.

Her passionate display turned into a garish nightmare of bloody reds, unveiling her true form as a smoldering beast that was vicious and unkind.

She raked his ankles, his calves, and licked the rest of his body with a voracious hunger.

No, stop, please! Release me!

He thrashed around helplessly, begging for mercy.

“I can’t, because you are mine,” she replied zealously, split running jagged across flickering crimsons and oranges, opening into a mouth that stared down at him venomously.

No, Atari! – he breathed his final words before they were swallowed by the heartless, flaming beast…

Tyler shot upright from the thick mattress, startled awake.

He blinked rapidly as he took in the sharp change of scenery. Gone were the glaring reds and oranges of a rampant blaze. Darkness surrounded him, save for the sharp rays of light filtering through the curtains he did not draw to a complete close.

A nightmare? His frenzied thoughts came upon conclusion.

No, more like a memory. A painful fragment of his past that twisted into a vagrant oddity.

He exhaled loudly, back rolling into a tired hunch. There was absolutely nothing alluring about the flaming horror.

It must have been that silly ramble he caught the day before, at what the cripple said after the race, that made his dream strange.

A twisted laugh suddenly bubbled within his chest, fighting for dominance against his galloping heartbeat until he became too winded to breathe.

It was the most ridiculous thing he had heard since Kovan assigned him to be a Torch.

Atari? Tyler found it cruel jest to mock him with insinuations that he was someone specially chosen by a fire elemental, or spirit, god – whatever.

An Echelon chose him. Cursed him. Not some omni-potent entity that was as real only as stories passed by world of mouth.

Atari was nothing more than myth and fables.

The hooded cripple was nothing more than an over-zealous ascetic. They have but few pockets of folks who clung to such illusion, believing in legends long buried beneath the sands, or myths that might not have even seen the sun in the first place.

Thankfully, majority of society don’t pay homage to such mysticism and tales – at least from what Tyler could see. And needless to say, he too was a man of fact, not fiction.

And certainly, not one to dwell on the nonsense that visited his mind whilst he slept.

From the vivid, saturated yellow tone of light ray spilling upon the Silica floor, Tyler could tell it was nearing noon.

He rarely slept in this late, usually up for stationary exercises in the room by this time. It must be because he was kept up almost all night. He had tossed and turned restlessly, staring up at the dim glowing moss plastered against the ceiling for hours.

The terrifying images of charred skin, broken bones and the phantom sensation of heat and pain was not so easy to forget. Particularly since he would be reminded of it every coming two weeks.

He was surprised he managed to fall asleep. Though he became aware of how sticky and sweat-soaked his sheets were. He felt a chill run under his skin from sleeping in the wet sheets, whilst air swathed him in thick layers on the outside, hot and suffocating.

It was not a good combination. He could not afford to fall to fever. His health was of prime importance if he were to beat the flames of the Volcan rocks.

Picking up his lethargic body, he headed for the shower, crossing the main lounge, which he noted was empty. Kovan was normally busying about the hearth at this time, preparing their meals, or, a food runner and cook would be there in his stead if he was not in. He briefly wondered if Kovan was holed up in the other areas of his abode that was restricted.

Tilting his face up, he gave a long sigh as water spilled from the ceiling, dousing his slightly feverish body. He willed the waters to wash away the terrors that clawed at the outer reaches of his mind, and rid his body of the demonic heat.

Long he stood. Ironically, the waters did nothing but wake his drowsy senses and bring to mind fresh clarity of the ash blackened flesh cooked bloody red and raw from fire that he glanced just briefly. Tyler’s gut had churned at the sight, and twisted again upon recollection now. He could not even bring himself to see the face of his fellow, fallen Torch, so he wasn’t sure which of them was the one who succumbed.

Having gone through a fiery ravage himself, Tyler was uncomfortably brought back to his own pain, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself together in such a public space, rather than just shriek in sheer terror.

At least he knew it wasn’t Clement.

Three seasons, Tyler recalled, bewildered how the man could keep on and enter into his now forth season of racing. Tyler on the other hand, doubted if he had enough strength to carry through even one. Or if he had the good fortune. 

Tyler rested his head against the cold, obsidian wall – the main structure that was the pillar of support for all the disks that fanned out from it – biding himself to discard his fearful thoughts.

He calmed his breathing, but could not steady his heart beat, still rapidly skipping like camels kicking against a slippery sand dune.

Hot sands! He cursed inwardly.

There was no denying the beginnings of fever stirring inside him. He should get out before the chill of the water do more harm than good.

Fever was such a precarious, unpredictive condition.

His limbs made no move however, leaden and unbothered, wallowing in the cold respite before his next journey to hell, whilst torrential faces of blistering pain and fire demons danced against his lids tauntingly.

He was rudely shaken however, mangled visions of flesh and fire wiped clean, replaced by a bright green slate that startled him.

“Tyler!” he heard his name with some tension tied to it, “What are you doing on the floor?”