The churning heat burned through Theron's soul. It felt like he was trapped within the core of the sun itself, the searing pain grating against the deepest parts of him continuously in hissing tides of steam.
Theron's soul had been as cold as ice. For so very long, it was covered, coated in one layer after another, hidden beneath shields and sheets of a chilling blue.
Even when he felt the heat before, it was all barely relative—small chips and minor droplets peeling away from the otherwise dense core of it all.
But now, it was as though he was burning through his very sense of self.
What remained trapped before, hidden beneath those layers, was quickly being burned away, a rush of heat forming waterfalls of blue that fell down the dense center of his soul.
