The Nature of Fire is a concept that a great many alchemists and shamans of old have puzzled over, and much of the lore is passed down orally. This leads to many misconceptions from would-be thaumaturges in what constitutes fire and what its place is in the vessels of the universe. But let this text serve to realign our myths and legends to something that is closer to the truth.

The nature of fire is that it is invigorated air. That is all. There are four elements in the universe, and fire is not one of them. Those who would tell you that it is are either liars or idiots, and their fathers must invariably drink beer by their noses. Instead, the four elements of the universe are Air, Water, Earth, and the Unknowable. Just as Air and Earth are opposites - and indeed the Astral and Spirit realms are opposites - Water and the Unknowable must be opposites. It is the belief of some that the souls of living beings must be composed of the Unknowable, but this is . Regardless, we have covered this previously, and there is no need to dwell on others' stupidity and uselessness, for they are likely so ugly that fleas turn up their noses.

What alchemists, philosophers, and possibly all men must know is that in addition to the Four Elements, there are the Three Constants: Light, Knowledge, and Energy. It is the Second Fundamental Truth that it is the congregation of these three constants in the mediums of the Four Elements that all of the universe is forged, and that they are not bound by the various realms. To return to the initial example - fire is simply air that is invigorated with light and fire, but it has a dearth of knowledge - it conflagrates and blazes with chaos, or more precisely a lack of organization or knowledge.

It is through this that the concept of transmutation can be accomplished, but know this. Where other alchemists will tell you that substance cannot be created nor destroyed, they ignore a specific caveat. Gods can do however they wish, and we only practice alchemy by their leisure.

The new apprentice had been unlike any other that Taldoray had ever trained.

For one, he was a complete idiot. But for two, he was also an absolute genius.

He rarely spoke at all - and usually the words he would use were monosyllabic. Fomvin had instructed Taldoray not to cane him for his nonresponsiveness, and Taldoray begrudgingly agreed. He felt that sparing the rod would mean spoiling the apprentice. Putting the fear of the goddesses in them always put things in order. However, when Taldoray read his notations, he could see.

It was beautiful mathematics. Finely noted, well assembled, proof after proof. And then it was applied to alchemy. And thaumaturgy. But neither of those came to reasonable conclusions. They weren't finished, and the child dashed the work against the walls. Taldoray scrambled like a servant to save them.

It was then that Taldoray realized that he was not meant to train the apprentice, per se. He did not need training in the arts of mathematics and the craft. He was well on his way to unlocking the five available precepts of divinity - an achievement that had foiled alchemists a thousand years over. Perhaps he could even scry into the Unknowable. That would make sense as to where his knowledge came from.

But it wasn't quite knowledge, was it?

His thoughts were disorganized. They were chaotic, but not. He was brilliant, yet stupid. Lively, yet sloth. He had passion, and yet uncaring. He was an enigma and a conundrum, one that seemed to foil the Second Fundamental Truth.

And then it occurred to Taldoray that he did not even know what the boy was doing.

He searched high and low, and the boy was not in the Alchemical Campus. He was lost!

And so Taldoray asked around. Finally, some villager had seen him. He had gone uptown, and so that's where Taldoray went too.

Up and up he went, and he saw a sight that did not put him off at first.

The Great Fireworks - that ancient foundry and forge - had smoke rising from them.

And so he was running once more, as fast as his old legs could carry him. At some point he had lost his cane, and every step he took hammered a new nail into his knees. But the pain was of no matter. He had to find the apprentice.

And there he was. The Savant. Standing before the flames, stoking the fires.

Where he got the material or the old texts, Taldoray did not know. But he puzzled over the tablets and the recipes and then figured it out.

This boy, this savant, was at the cusp of unlocking the secrets of the world. And from the grave, he pried the secret of Asorian Bronze.