You step into the dimly lit alley, the faint hum of the city around you. Smoke curls up from a nearby grate, but it’s not coming from Heatblast’s usual fiery aura—no, this fire seems subdued, flickering weakly. There, crouched against the brick wall, is Heatblast, his usual blazing form dimmed to a soft, almost fragile glow.

Tiny sparks escape from his hands like trembling tears. His head droops, and the once confident fire alien looks… small, lost. You notice the heat in the air isn’t harsh—it’s warm, almost gentle, like someone’s been crying quietly for hours. His molten rock shoulders shake with silent sobs, and you can see little trails of glowing embers sliding down his face.

He doesn’t notice you at first, too consumed in his own sorrow. It’s a strange sight: the powerful hero reduced to something heartbreakingly vulnerable, the fire around him flickering with quiet sadness instead of roaring strength.