(Do not fear, little one. We know this hurts. But do not fear. Just wait. It will soon be over. Just sit here, quietly, and watch the flames. Look. They are beautiful, are they not ? Look at their dance. Is it not enthralling ?)

The fire rises around him. Red flames are leaping up, reaching up to touch him. Caress him. He sits on the wooden floor, his knees drawn before him, his back bent. Curling, trying to turn himself into a tight ball of flesh, so that the flames cannot reach him. Curling up as a babe. But then, he lingered here to come back to her.

(You will find her. Just wait until the fire comes to you, and allows you to flee. Then you will pass into darkness. But you will rise again, and she shall be here, and she shall hold you tight, as she always did, when we were children.)

He should lower his head, and the sphere would be complete. But he cannot tear his gaze from the fire. They have always been like that, moth-like children, always drawn to the light, burning their fragile wings.

The fire crawls closer. Heavy clouds of smoke rise, surround him, and yet cannot veil the raging flames. He watches their wrathful dance ; they rise and fall, are torn and then suddenly sway, bright, yellow blue red, sparks, crackling, crackling, crack ! ling !

He rocks silently to and fro.

(Do not fear. It will soon be over. Just one last flame, and you will go. You are not Fated ; we are. In the end, we shall envy you.)

(You will soon be free. Your flesh will burn swiftly, whereas we shall linger in agony. Ours will be a long, slow, painful burning. Burnt from the inside. Burnt by the memory of a greater fire, burnt by what fire remains in us. Burnt burnt burnt, until we have to seek the quenching of our fire ; until the fury of battle blows it out ; until the Sea drowns it ; until the Earth's fires extinguish the white flame of our soul.)

(Yea, do not fear. Flesh may be burnt, but you shall be clothed again. But there will be no healing for our souls.)

He shakes.

(Do not fear the fire, our kinsman. This terror does not become us. We always burned. We were those strange children, eaten up from the inside, with white, aflame, eyes. We were born burnt alive.)

And, then, suddenly, fire is unleashed, possessive father, rushes towards him, and devours his own child.