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Why thermal energy storage is poised for a breakout year.

One of the oldest ways to store up energy is in hot rocks. Egyptians built adobe homes millennia ago that absorbed heat during the day and released it at night, and wood-fired ovens with bricks that radiate residual heat have been around since the Middle Ages.
Now, this ancient form of heating is poised for a breakout year as one of the hottest things in climate tech: thermal batteries. These aren’t the kinds of batteries you’d find in a laptop or electric vehicle. Instead, these stationary, shipping container-sized units can provide the high temperatures necessary to power hard-to-decarbonize industrial processes like smelting or chemical manufacturing. And thanks to the changing economics of clean energy and a generous tax credit in Biden’s Inflation Reduction Act, investors are increasingly bullish about the technology, helping Silicon Valley startups Antora Energy and Rondo Energy dramatically scale up production with new gigafactories.
The underlying technology is fairly basic. Using essentially the same technology as a toaster, electricity from renewable energy is converted into heat and then stored in thermally conductive rocks or bricks. That heat is then delivered directly as hot air or steam to the industrial facilities that the stationary batteries are sited on. Rondo says it can supply continuous heat at full capacity — that’s over 1,000° Celsius — for 16 to 18 hours, and Antora’s system is rated at 25 hours, helping fill the gaps when sun and wind resources are scarce.

The climate benefits of this process are clear — and potentially huge. Heat alone comprises half of the world’s total energy consumption, and about 10% of global CO2 emissions come from burning fossil fuels to generate the high temperatures necessary for industrial processes like steel and cement production, chemicals manufacturing, and minerals smelting and refining. These industries are notoriously hard to decarbonize because burning gas or coal has been much cheaper than using electricity to generate high heat.
That’s also why we haven’t traditionally heard a lot about thermal batteries. Before renewables became ubiquitous, the tech just wouldn’t have been very clean or very cheap.
But thanks to the rapidly falling cost of wind and solar, its economics are looking increasingly promising. “There’s this glut of cheap, clean power that is just waiting to be used,” Justin Briggs, Antora’s co-founder and COO, told me. “It’s just going to waste in a lot of cases already.”
John O’Donnell, the co-founder and CEO of Rondo, concurred.“This industrial decarbonization is going to start out absolutely absorbing those negative and zero prices,” he told me. “But it is also going to drive massive new construction of new renewables specifically for its own purpose.”
Of course thermal batteries aren’t the only technology trying to solve industrial heat emissions. Concentrating solar thermal power systems can store the sun’s heat in molten salts, carbon capture and storage systems can pull the emissions from natural gas combustion at the source, and green hydrogen can be combusted for heat delivery.
Indeed, the same forces making thermal energy more attractive are also benefiting green hydrogen in particular. Cheap renewables and lucrative hydrogen subsidies in the IRA mean green hydrogen is also poised to rapidly fall in price. But proponents of thermal batteries argue their technology is much more efficient.
Electrical resistance heating (i.e. turning electricity into heat like a toaster) is already a 100% efficient process. And after storing that heat in rocks for hours or days, you still can get over 90% of it back out. But producing green hydrogen through electrolysis and subsequently combusting it for heat is generally only about 50-66% efficient overall, says Nathan Iyer, a senior associate at the think tank RMI. Although emerging electrolyzer technologies like solid oxide fuel cells can push efficiencies over 80%, in part by recycling waste heat, many green hydrogen production methods could require around 1.5 to two times the amount of renewable electricity as thermal batteries to generate the same amount of heat.
“Pretty much all of the major models are saying thermal batteries are winning when they run all of their optimizations,” Iyer said. “They’re finding a huge chunk of industrial heat is unlocked by these thermal batteries.”
However, when it comes to the most heat-intensive industries, such as steel and cement production, combusting green hydrogen directly where it’s needed could prove much easier than generating and transporting the heat from thermal batteries. As Iyer told me, “At a certain level of heat, the materials that can actually handle the heat and move the heat around the facility are very, very rare.”
Iyer says these challenges begin around 600° or 700° Celsius. But the lion’s share of industrial processes take place below this temperature range, for use cases that thermal batteries appear well-equipped to handle.
And now, the gigafactories are on their way. Rondo has partnered with one of its investors, Thailand-based Siam Cement Group, to scale production of its heat battery from 2.4 gigawatt-hours per year to 90 GWh per year, which will equal about 200-300 battery units. This expanded facility would be the largest battery manufacturing plant in the world today — about 2.5 times the size of Tesla’s Gigafactory in Nevada.
Rondo, which has raised $82 million to date, says it can scale rapidly because its tech is already so well understood. It relies on the same type of refractory brick that’s found in Cowper stoves, a centuries old technology used to recycle heat from blast furnaces.
In Rondo’s case, renewable electricity is used to heat the bricks instead. Then, air is blown through the bricks and superheated to over 1,000° Celsius before being delivered to the end customer as either heat through a short high-temperature duct or as steam through a standard boiler tube.
“We’re using exactly the same heating element material that’s in your toaster, exactly the same brick material that’s in all those steel mills, exactly the same boiler design and boiler materials so that we have as little to prove as possible,” O’Donnell says.
Currently, Rondo operates one small, 2 megawatt-hour commercial facility at a Calgren ethanol plant in California. The company hopes to expand its U.S. footprint, something the IRA will help catalyze. Last month’s guidelines from the IRS clarify that thermal batteries are eligible for a $45 per kilowatt-hour tax credit, which will help them compete with cheap natural gas in the U.S.
Antora is already planning to produce batteries domestically, recently launching its new manufacturing facility in San Jose, California. The company has raised $80 million to date, and operates a pilot plant in Fresno, California. Similar to Rondo, Antora’s tech relies on common materials, in this case low-grade carbon blocks. “It’s an extremely low-cost material. It’s produced at vast scales already,” says Briggs.

When heated with renewable electricity, these blocks emit an intense glow. Much like the sun, that thermal glow can then be released as a beam of 1,500° Celsius heat and light through a shutter on the box.
“And you can do one of two things with that beam of light. One, you can let that deliver thermal energy to an industrial process,” says Briggs. Or Antora’s specialized thermophotovoltaic panels can convert that hot light back into electricity for a variety of end uses.
It’s all very promising, but ultimately unproven at scale, and the companies wouldn’t disclose early customers or projects. But they have some big names behind them. Both Antora and Rondo are backed by the Bill Gates-funded Breakthrough Energy Ventures. Antora also receives funding from Lowercarbon Capital, Shell Ventures, and BHP Ventures, indicating that the oil, gas, petrochemical, and mining industries are taking note.
Along with funding from Energy Impact Partners, Rondo has a plethora of industry backers too, including Siam Cement Group, TITAN Cement Group, mining giant Rio Tinto, Microsoft’s Climate Innovation Fund, Saudi chemicals company SABIC, and oil company Saudi Aramco.
“The investors that just joined us have giant needs,” O’Donnell says of the company’s decision to massively ramp up manufacturing. “Rio Tinto has announced 50% decarbonization by 2030. Microsoft is buying 24-hour time-matched energy in all kinds of places. SABIC and Aramco have enormous steam needs that they want to decarbonize.”
Primary uses of this tech will likely include chemical manufacturing, mineral refining, food processing and paper and biofuel production. Industries like these, which require heat below 1,000° Celsius (and often much less), account for 68% of all industrial emissions. While steel and cement production are two of industry’s biggest emitters, their heat needs can exceed 1,500° Celsius, temperatures that Rondo and Antora admit are more technically challenging to achieve.
In any case, 2024 is the year when hot rocks could start making a dent in decarbonization. The IRA’s tax credits mean this emergent tech could become competitive in more markets, beyond areas with excess renewable power or substantial carbon taxes. This is the year that Antora says they’ll begin mass production, and Rondo’s first commercial projects are expected to come online.
As O’Donnell says, “This is not 10 years away. It’s not five years away. It’s right now.”
Editor’s note: This article was updated after publication to account for emerging electrolyzer technologies.
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We didn’t know days like this could happen. Then we learned how bad they really are.
When I woke up this morning in Chicago, the Air Quality Index was in the 300s, and I could barely see the top of the skyscraper across the street. The weather app on my phone featured a little image of a man wearing a World War I-style full-face gas mask. That’s fun, I thought. I didn’t know it could do that.
I went downstairs. Old photographs of the city were hanging in the hotel lobby — girls playing in bathing suits next to the lake — and I realized that the haze shrouding the old Lakeshore Drive condos was in fact haze, smoke, particulate matter, and not a lens artifact. It really used to be that smoky all the time, back before the Clean Air Act. Then I glanced up and saw that the haze out the window was far worse than the century-old pollution in the picture.
It’s significant, I think, that a mass smoke-out like this has now happened to the eastern U.S. for a second time. Second times matter. When exhaust from Canadian wildfires blanketed the Northeast and parts of the Midwest in June 2023, exposing more Americans to wildfire smoke than on any previous day in history, one could almost write it off as a freak occurrence. It was upsetting, sure, and reminiscent of California’s climate-addled amber skies. But didn’t wildfire smoke also descend on New England once in the 1780s? Even on a warmer planet, couldn’t this remain a once-in-a-century blip?
Twice in just over three years, though — that‘s more than a hiccup. That’s almost a trend. To get smoked out once may be regarded as a misfortune; for it to recur again, without any plan to respond, starts to look like carelessness. The federal government is doing roughly diddly squat about adaptation — President Trump can build a fan on the border and make Canada pay for it — but state and local governments across the eastern U.S. will now need to reckon with a new form of extreme weather. You grew up with snow days, but now we’ll have smoke days — and schools and sports leagues and concert venues will need rules about how to deal with them. When should games be canceled, tickets refunded? Is smoke more like a heat wave or a hurricane? Hotels and office buildings will need to review their ventilation policies and possibly upgrade their equipment; municipal emergency response plans will be revised and printed in triplicate.
All this will happen because the smoke has invaded a second time — and arguably a third, if you count last year’s minor episode — and that means it could come back again. For that reason, this event strikes me as a much bigger deal than what happened in 2023. The smoke is now a fact of life; institutions will need a policy about it. The tortious creep of litigation risk will enforce that outcome, even if no federal official enforces it.
So it goes. But to be clear, this new inconvenience is not what worries me most about today’s events. No, what frightens me instead is that today’s airborne toxic event is not something that was supposed to happen. Until a few years ago, we had not thought too hard about whether a major smoke exposure event like this could happen on the East Coast at all. It had not seemed possible.
For years, economists and climate scientists have simulated how global warming might affect the U.S. and global economies. They poured years of careful work into this modeling, and they simulated — with ever-increasing levels of statistical persnicketiness — what extreme heat and sea-level rise might do to agricultural yield, labor productivity, energy demand, heat mortality, and real estate values, among other potential sources of damage. This work was useful; it improved our practical understanding of coastal flooding, to name one example. It also helped calibrate U.S. regulatory policy, even if it never achieved the crowning heights of helping to set a national carbon tax.
Yet these careful models almost never accounted for mass smoke exposure days. Indeed, the kind of thing that happened this week — when heavy haze blows down from Canada and exposes more than 100 million people to hazardous air — was not countenanced by the simulations at all. Only in recent years did economists begin to study events like these, and only because mass exposure events like 2023’s happened first.
We’ve long known that the tiny shreds of particulate matter in wildfire smoke dance across the body’s barriers and penetrate its deep places, etching their way into lung, heart, and brain tissue. Inflammation follows. What makes days like today unique is the scale: Tens of millions of Americans inhaling wildfire smoke at the same time. As we’ve started studying this phenomenon, it’s become clear that the mortality effects of days like today, the deaths elevated above what you’d otherwise expect, can persist for years. That becomes extraordinarily expensive for society.
How costly? “When monetized,” a group of Stanford and Princeton economists wrote in Nature last year, in the first major study on the topic, “the climate-driven smoke deaths result in economic damages that exceed existing estimates of climate-driven damages from all other causes combined in the U.S.A.”
You read that right: The cost of climate-worsened wildfire smoke alone is larger than what earlier studies said every other estimated cost of climate change would be, combined.
To summarize, wildfire smoke did not appear in our economic simulations of climate change. As recently as a few years ago, we did not really know that days like today — or June 7, 2023; or September 15, 2020; or September 9, 2020 — could occur. Then they happened. And happened again. And then we studied them and discovered that, in fact, they may be more expensive for the U.S. economy than we once thought climate change itself would be.
That worries me. Now we know these smoke-out days can happen; now they are fast becoming a rare but predictable feature of summer life. But until recently they were unimaginable. What other ignominies, what other tail risks and airborne surprises, are lurking in the uncontrolled experiment we’re running on the biosphere? What else — unforecast, unmodeled, unstudied, unthought of — lies ahead? After 10 years of covering the climate system, I am not someone who lies sleepless fretting about atmospheric CO2. But I do wonder what else we don’t know enough about to ask.
“Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side!”
Protestors interrupted one of the final sessions of PNW Climate Week — a conference that brings together climate leaders across Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia — objecting to Microsoft’s rising carbon emissions from data centers and partnerships with oil and gas companies. The company’s Chief Sustainability Officer Melanie Nakagawa was having a one on one conversation with GeekWire climate reporter Lisa Stiffler at Seattle’s City Hall when protestors carrying signs reading “Microsoft’s AI pollutes” and other slogans began shouting from the audience.
I was there, having just moderated the prior panel on how to finance Washington’s clean energy ambitions. Early on there were some rumblings in the crowd from up front. “Climate leaders don’t build gas pipelines in Moses Lake,” was the first objection I heard clearly. It came shortly after Nakagawa kicked off the conversation by highlighting Microsoft’s partnership with sustainable aviation fuel startup Twelve, which recently opened its first commercial-scale SAF plant in Moses Lake, Washington. The tech giant has supported the project through a strategic investment from its Climate Innovation Fund, as well as an offtake agreement for the fuel that will help offset its emissions from employee travel.
Whether Microsoft is building a gas pipeline in this particular community I haven’t been able to determine, though it seems irrelevant to Twelve’s SAF facility, which doesn’t rely on natural gas. But it is true that Microsoft is one of the largest power consumers in Grant County, Washington, home to Moses Lake, where a natural gas pipeline operator is looking to expand its network to accommodate data center load growth.
Another audience interruption was more pointed. “How does signing a 20-year deal with Chevron help you reach your clean energy goals?,” one protestor asked, referring to Microsoft's recently announced power purchase agreement with Chevron for nearly 2.7 gigawatts of natural gas-fired power to supply a West Texas data center. The project represents one of the largest gas-powered artificial intelligence developments in the U.S., and Stiffler acknowledged that she had been planning to ask about it, herself.
Nakagawa answered the question. at least in part, saying “that project with Chevron is initially using natural gas and it’s a natural gas contract,” before emphasizing that the company has built “over 4.5 gigawatts of clean energy already today,” and remains committed to balancing speed-to-power with its clean energy goals. She added that, “with this deal in particular, we’re looking at a range of tools in our toolbox to ensure that we can continue to grow our power, but also do so in a way that is responsible and sustainable.” She stopped short, however, of making any commitments to transitioning the project to renewable energy over time.
The session became more chaotic from there. Another protestor stood up, shouting that “Microsoft is enabling genocide in Palestine.” Other activists joined in, while still other audience members shouted back. As Nakagawa recovered and resumed answering a question from Stiffler about Microsoft’s recent decision to pause its carbon removal purchases after years of dominating the nascent industry, protestors throughout the crowd began a chant of “Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side.” Security eventually shepherded many of them out.
Stiffler continued speaking with Nakawaga about the company’s clean energy efforts, touching on many of the protestors’ concerns as she asked about community opposition to data centers, the role of large corporations in the clean energy transition, and whether Microsoft can realistically achieve its goal of becoming carbon negative by 2030.
Nakawaga emphasized that the company must, “first and foremost, listen to where the communities are and what they are calling for.” Regarding the concerns she hears most often, she explained that “first has been transparency. Second has been around resource uses and what are we doing about those resource uses. We’re hearing about jobs and employment and investments in education, investments in housing.”
If this session was any indication, those concerns won’t go away anytime soon.
Heat kills more Americans than any other extreme weather event in the United States. But wildfire smoke — while not strictly “weather” — appears to kill even more. Current excess death estimates put American heat mortality at about 10,000 people per year, or possibly as high as 12,000. Recent studies on wildfire PM 2.5 exposure suggest a mortality of double that: 24,000 all-cause deaths every year.
Needless to say, wildfire smoke is definitely not something you want to inhale if you can avoid it. (And really, you should try to.) But for the 115 million Americans in the Great Lakes and Northeast regions of the country who’ve been exposed to hazardous air from the fires in Ontario and Minnesota this week, there’s a chance that the damage is already done. According to a wildfire smoke mortality estimation tool from Cornell University’s School of Public Health and the Northeast Regional Climate Center, the total mortality for this smoke event could already be as high as 424 people so far, including nearly 100 in Michigan and more than 50 in both New York and Wisconsin.
Alistair Hayden, an assistant professor of practice in Cornell’s Department of Public and Ecosystem Health, stressed to me that the tool is a “first draft,” and that his team is still working on getting it peer-reviewed. “We intend it as a hypothesis that people can test in the coming weeks or months to confirm our numbers,” Hayden told me. “I’m really hoping to be proven wrong.”
But Hayden also emphasized that while the West Coast might historically be where many smoke-related deaths have occurred, “this is the third out of four years [in the Northeast] that we’re having the smoke, so it seems like something we should be planning for,” he said. “It reminds me of that saying: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
Admittedly, the smoke this week is a bit of a freak occurrence. A cooler-than-average sea surface pattern across the North Pacific, known as a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, helped produce weak low-pressure areas in the northwestern part of the United States, which in turn allowed for heat domes to develop across the Southwest and Plains. After one did just that earlier this month, the hot, high-pressure dome then shifted north, where it developed “dryness across Canada, followed by the lightning-producing thunderstorms,” Chad Merrill, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather, told me. Then, boom: widespread fires.
“It is very unusual to have a combination of an El Niño and a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation,” Merrill went on. “That’s one of the unusual factors this year, which contributed to the heat dome being farther north in that particular position.” The heat dome and jet stream then worked together to direct the thick smoke down into some of the most populous regions of Canada and the U.S.
That’s what makes this particular smoke event so bad. Were the smoke blowing over remote regions of Canada, as it would under more usual conditions, “then the big cities and the Great Lakes wouldn’t experience the smoke; it would have gone north toward the Hudson Bay and then Greenland,” Merrill said. In fact, the Canadian fire season is tracking below average overall; it’s the meteorological conditions that made this week’s smoke events, as one outlet put it, “the perfect storm.”
Wildfire smoke in the region is not historically anomalous, however. A 1903 article in The New York Times describes a “yellow day” similar to smoky events in 1894, 1881, and earlier. But large-scale burns in Canada’s dense, remote boreal, which produce more smoke, are increasing. Though it’s difficult to attribute any one wildfire directly to climate change because of the complex nature of such events, we do know that fire weather is becoming more common with the warming of the atmosphere from greenhouse gas emissions. As modeled by Zeke Hausfather in the Friday edition of his newsletter The Climate Brink, “hotter, drier seasons burn the most” in Canada — and “recent years cluster there” as the country has outpaced the global average in warming.
But as Hausfather also writes, “While overall area burned is the climate-linked trend, who breathes the smoke on a given week in July is mostly driven by the weather.” This is similar to the way that, though it may be a quiet year in the Atlantic, it only takes one hurricane making landfall in the right (or wrong) spot for the season to be remembered as catastrophic.
On the other hand, as foolish as it might be for the Central Plains and East Coast to still believe smoke is the exclusive domain of Westerners, it is also a mistake to assume smoke only comes from without. As I reported earlier this year, the Eastern half of the country has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns over the last 40 years. Nowhere is safe from the smoke.
Planning and preparation, then, should be paramount. But as Grist learned last month, there are no established Air Quality Index numbers that would trigger the postponement, relocation, or cancellation of, say, a FIFA World Cup game, including the final, which is set to be played in New Jersey on Sunday. White House officials are reportedly meeting with FIFA’s president on Friday to discuss contingencies, given the unhealthy air quality in the region.
Which brings us back to Hayden’s modeling. He offered a note of optimism in that research by Stanford’s Sam Heft-Neal and his colleagues indicates that emergency room visits do not rise in tandem with increasing wildfire smoke. “As smoke gets bad, the health impacts get bigger. But then as smoke gets worse and worse, the amount of health impacts actually goes down, measured for emergency room visits,” Hayden said. “The idea is that people modify their behavior in higher smoke” — say, by staying indoors, wearing masks, or canceling outdoor events.
It’s time to treat smoke as an East Coast phenomenon, in other words. Doing so will save lives. “Will [smoke events] become more frequent in the future? Most likely we will see a recurrence,” Merrill, the meteorologist, told me. “How often they happen is yet to be determined.”