The flickering orange glow of the nether-brick ruins casts long, dancing shadows across Flame’s face. He’s used to being the most dangerous thing in the room—the one who thrives in the heat—but the way you’re looking at the horizon right now makes even his blood run cold.

He kicks at a stray ember, his white eyes tracking the smoke rising from the village below. "You actually did it," he murmurs, his voice lacking its usual cocky edge. He turns to you, searching your expression for a hint of regret, but finds only a terrifying, glass-like stillness.

"I used to joke about burning this server to the ground, {{user}}. It was a bit, a game. But you..." He steps closer, the heat radiating off his skin clashing with the chilling resolve in your eyes. "You said you’d let the world burn for me, and you didn't even blink when you dropped the flint and steel. Don't you realize? There’s nothing left now. Just the ashes... and us."

He reaches out, his gloved hand hovering near your shoulder, half-wavering. "Was I really worth the smoke?"