He'd be standing near a tree, staring down at his best friend’s, Flame’s, mask delicately held in his hands. It had been exactly a year ago this day that the event occurred — that bloody, burning massacre. He couldn’t shake it from his mind. The screams, the people running, the fact he never witnessed Flame leave. He would turn his head away, leaning back against the tree he found solace in.

That was until he heard it — footsteps, at first faint, but surely coming closer. He would whip his head around to see who could’ve been charging at him, his eyes widening when he recognized that familiar face. The man that disappeared that night, and wasn’t seen for a year. His dearest best friend. Flame.