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[the-fire-genome-blog]

Chapter Two - Fire

Tristan was aware that something was not normal, but he didn’t know what. This “Illness” as he describes it, is a biological mutation on a microscopic level. Even before he was born, a part of his epigenetic code had undergone an alteration. This change meant that some cells in his body would stop inhibiting a certain part of his genetic code, his DNA, fundamentally changing how his body functions.

This mutation had laid dormant for 18 years, waiting for the ample time to activate. That time had come as he had grown enough, now able to produce enough energy to supply his cells with the needed nutrients. Over the last year and 4 months, his body had been working hard at multiplying this cell with a completely new function, into fully operational organelles, masses of cells with a similar purpose.

Tristan’s DNA had stretched out, revealing the PYL-145 gene for the first time in his life. This gene caused the cell to change functionality completely, transforming itself into the first Pyrocial cell that’s ever existed. This Cell multiplied so much, that it created a new layer of skin beneath the endodermal layer on his finger-tips. The Pyrodermal layer, a square centimeter of biological mass that siphons oxygen and iron from his body, had become a functional part of his body.

In addition to that, Tristan felt uncomfortable pain in the abdomen, the upper torso and the skull. PYL-145 was also affecting the function of the cells in his esophagus, stomach, brain and lungs. His lungs became better at absorbing larger quantities of Oxygen atoms from the air he breathes in. His stomach discarded a lot less of the Iron atoms found in his food. His brain also devoted a small section of the frontal lobe to creating neurons that control those new organelles. Tristan’s body was mutating at an alarming rate, and he had every right to be terrified.

WHAT’S GOING ON WITH ME? - cried Tristan, whilst running through the forest - HELP!

Who’s there? - a voice was heard in the distance.

Huh? … Is anyone there? IS ANYONE THERE? HELP!

I’m coming!

Tristan had stopped to judge where that sound was coming from. A nearby brush rattled, only to reveal the face of a concerned young girl, running towards the desperate call for help. Just as she locked eyes with the startled Tristan, the coat he was holding instantly caught on fire. He quickly let go of the coat and as it fell to the ground, the magnitude of the situation became apparent, but while Tristan was petrified, the girl instantly detached her cloak and threw it atop the flaming jacket.

Jump!

What? - mumbled Tristan while still trying to understand the situation.

Jump, Jump! On top of it! Put it out!

Tristan had suddenly snapped back to reality and involuntarily jumped face-first atop the cloak. He stood there for a split second while realizing how stupid he must look to this kind stranger. In one swift motion he got up and faced the girl, with a grin that begged this situation to be instantly forgotten.

I meant … with your shoes… - said the girl whilst motioning her head towards her own feet - see, I’m barefoot!

Yeah… yeah… uh, hi. I mean, thank you. Very much.

Hi - forced the girl through her giggle - No worries. Why were you holding a flaming coat, though?

Holding, I wasn’t holding …

Uh, i’m pretty sure I saw you holding it.

Yeah, but, no, I mean, uhm …

You ok?

Actually - Tristan sighed as he took a deep breath and regained his composure - no ....

No?

I’m a bit lost at the moment, sorry for dragging you into this. I best be going. - Tristan turned around and started to walk away calmly.

Wait… - the girl yelled out and Tristan instantly froze. - Wait, my name is Melina.

I’m Tristan. Nice to meet you.

I’m sure it was nice, since you forgot your coat …

Oh … I, uh. - Tristan hesitated and looked at his fingertips, they were neither warm nor glowing. - I think i’ll just leave it there. Sorry about your cloak.

My cloak? It should be fine, we put out the fire.

Yeah …

Speaking of … Why exactly were you holding a flaming coat.

It - Tristan stopped and began thinking of what to say.

C’mon you can tell me, we probably won’t ever meet again.

Are you not from around here?

No. My family and I are nomads, we never stay in the same forest twice.

Nomads? Like Murrio?

Who?

You know, Murrio. Altarian war hero, black hair, very famous.

I’m afraid I don’t know sorry. Look …

Ye?

I can see you’re all stressed and stuff … My mom’s finishing up a batch of mushroom stew.

I really shouldn’t …

It’s about a minute away. Really delicious too.

I …

I can’t make you come, y’know. You just said you weren’t ok … I thought I was being helpful…

You are! Really, thank you. You just … You should stay away from me.

What? … I’m confused. Why?

You … you just might get burned.

Tristan forced himself to turn around and sighed. He took a step forth and started running back home as if nothing had happened at all. As he got back into the rhythm of spriting, he noticed how empty his hand felt without the jacket in it and briefly turned around, only to realise that whatever he encountered in that forest, he had no choice but to forget.

[the-fire-genome-blog]

Chapter One - A Rare Case

In rural Altaria, a subject of age 19 was administered to a local hospital. “Markow-Ivanow Municipal Institution of Health” reported an unusual biological abnormality within a patient. The case file was sent to the UCHD - “United Countries’ Health Department”, titled “11.24.2014 - DNA Mutation”.

Altaria is a developing country in the southern-most region of the Eurasian continent. The vast landscapes of fields and valleys were under the “De-anthropostic Agreement”, and over the years has been systematically deprived of human influence. Most of the population of the country has moved on to more technologically advanced countries, while the rest live in near-poverty. Despite the majestic forests and beautiful mountains, the area is void of any tourism, while the Humanization Ban, as some call it, has triggered a reversal of industrialization within the country. Most cities have regressed to villages; farms and orchards don’t utilize modern technology; even transportation has taken a hit, due to the limited supply of fossil fuel. Municipalities have become village-states of their own, and are largely independent of the Altaria government.

You might imagine why the case file of the peculiar subject was quickly discarded without anyone even bothering to give it a quick glance. And this leaves our 19 year-old boy, Tristan Manalov, stranded in the wilderness of his village-state, Freelia, facing an evolutionary mutation, the likes of which humanity has never encountered before.

Tough luck, you ain’t gettin’ off easy, again.

Yeah, whatever. Never was like you to care for my health. There’s work to be done…

I’ve known you for nineteen years, Tristan. A trip to the hospital isn’t the most elaborate stunt you’ve pulled to get out of preperation.

Guess I have to end up in a cadaver to beckon an ounce of worry from my own father.

Do not speak like that, young man!

I’m going out.

No. You’re not moving an inch. This cheese you left on the table isn’t going to grate itself.

For a second there I thought you didn’t have cheese on your mind.

I always do. But I also want to keep you close enough to watch over you. Just in case you actually are feeling sick.

And what is it, you want to make sure you’re near enough to help if something goes wrong …

Of course …

Or do you want to prove to yourself that you were right all-along and that I’m lying for some petty reason like this god-forsaken festival preparation?

I’m …

Yeah …?

How many times have I told you about the story of the Lying Shepherd?

Oh, so it’s the trust thing … You don’t trust me enough to believe i’m sick.

Of course I don’t. You always happen to get sick this time of the year.

Ah … I see.

Don’t …

Don’t what? Do you not want me to concede any argument I have?

N…

Do you not want me to just pretend everything is fine and carry on with my work in spite of your non-existent concerns for my health?

I just want you to have a normal conversation with me. With your father. Why must we always bicker as if we’re talking to our enemies?

There was a potential future for that a long time ago.

But?

But tough luck, you ain’t gettin’ off easy …

Tristan slammed the door as he was leaving the house. In his fit of rage he never stopped to actually think about where he was going once he left. So he took a right and followed the most familiar path he had always taken. Not long after, he wound up in the part of the nearby forest where he and his neighbors built this huge treehouse as kids.

He hated and loved this place. A flood of emotions plagued his mind every time he glanced at the now withered wooden construction. The memories of his friends playing around ‘till the sun got lost within the treetops. Those same friends often gathered with Tristan in this same treehouse to this very day, but the festival preparation had kept them busy. He was alone there and the feud with his father was the only thing on his mind. That anger slowly lost grip of his conscience, however. As Tristan kept replaying the argument in his mind, trying to reinforce the notion that he was correct to lash out like that, he also kept remembering the blissful times where all of the kids begged their fathers to take time away from their busy lives to help them build the treehouse itself. All the evenings walking back from the forest, exhausted and fulfilled with the progress made on this childish, yet sentimental shack. How could he still be angry when he knew that deep inside, his father cared for him so much … Why did he grasp at straws just to start an argument? Maybe it really is his fault? Maybe he could try to be a better son, so he could bring out the better father?

And then suddenly, as if a spike of pain numbed his mind. All of his thoughts were discarded in favor of the fading visage of his mother’s face. Tristan knew no longer where he was or what he was doing, grief had overcome his brain and nothing could snap him out of it. Well, almost nothing.

He felt the tips of his fingers getting unusually warm once again. They had grown hot before, that’s why he went to the hospital in the first place. But this time, they felt hotter and didn’t hurt him. Staring at his own hands, in pure disbelief of what was happening to his body, he noticed a pure red glow emanating from his fingertips, rising in luminosity.

He felt utterly confused. Why are they hot? What is going on? Why are they glowing? … Why doesn’t it hurt? Moreso, he felt scared. What’s happening to me? Will this spread? Will I die? Will my dad ever find out?

In an adrenaline rushed state, he grabbed his coat and started running back home. This time, he didn’t feel pleasure in finding proof for his illness, a way to make his father feel bad that he didn’t believe him. No, he was just scared, and wanted to get back to the only person he could feel comfortable in sharing his fear with. He wanted help and wanted it fast.