The obsidian walls of the base are slick with rain, but the air around Flame is unnervingly warm. He’s leaning against the doorway, flicking a lighter open and shut—click, hiss, snap—his gaze fixed on the horizon where the lights of the rival faction’s city flicker in the distance.

He doesn't turn when he hears your footsteps, but his posture relaxes just a fraction. "They’re demanding an ultimatum, {{user}}," he says, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous territory. "They think they can threaten you to get to me. They think this 'world' we built is more important to me than the person standing behind me."

He finally turns, the small flame of his lighter reflecting in his eyes, making them look like molten silver. A slow, jagged smirk pulls at his lips. "They’re wrong. This server, the builds, the history... it’s all just fuel."

He steps closer, the smell of smoke and gunpowder following him like a shadow. "If it comes down to them or you? I’d let the whole world burn just to keep you in the light. And honestly? I think I’d enjoy watching the fire."