On the Significance of Fire - November 4th, 2024

Note: This was written in response to a prompt on the Fictionkind Dreamwidth, to discuss our connection to fire, and any significant memories or moments with it.

I was born of the sun’s heat, and my sister was born of the sun’s light. On Earth, the sun is but a distant orb in the sky, but there, what was “sun” could be essentially equated with “life” as a whole. When it was bright, the citizens of our world flourished, and when it grew dark, everyone grew lethargic. Except for me.

As Ivlis, this prompt fits so completely that it’s hard to know where to start discussing it. Maybe because of that split between what my sister and I were made of, I have always burned with an inner fire that she lacked. The tips of my hair are warmer to the touch, the red growing more or less intense depending on the intensity of my emotions. Though it never happened until I was thrown into the Sunspot, I’d hiss smoke across my tongue in frustration or click my teeth to emit sparks. And in the darkness, my world burned with it constantly.

While my world had no formal name in my universe (apart from literally being a sunspot), this world fandom aptly calls it the Flame World, and I’ve no issue with that title (I often use it myself). The world itself, and all its inhabitants, are associated with flames; I create by breathing life into fire, the non-sapient species often have visible flames somewhere on their bodies, and the demons living here all have the ability to manipulate flames in a minor sense, whether they can breathe it, create fireballs in their palms, infuse it into their attacks, or just keep their internal temperatures high.

Fire was all we were at our cores, and that makes lacking that inner fire now feel very odd.

Technically speaking, what we know as fire in this world was different from the fire we had there; the closest equivalent is the idea of magic, in that what we were filled with was a high temperature, burning, flickering energy that resembles the fire of this world but has different properties. If we used our fire on others, or on objects, it wouldn’t burn unless we wanted it to; it was our own life energy, and we could at least control how it affected things around us, barring extreme circumstances where we lost control. If we couldn’t, I presume things would be much dicier in the town we all lived in, buildings being scorched left and right.

Considering the above, water didn’t have any adverse effect for us aside from the temperature. It was cold compared to our skin, and we tended to struggle in colder environments unlike the one we were built for, but it steadily turned to steam at our touch. We could technically drink it, but... There would be no point. We wouldn’t gain any benefit from it.

I’ve written prior on my first time creating, how I learned that I had an ability that Siralos shared and never disclosed to me, so I won’t repeat it again, even if it is the most significant fire-related memory I can think of. Instead, I’ll try to reminisce on the smaller moments.

In my castle, I had a room with a balcony. I’ve thought about the kinds of materials we had available in my world before, how we had no trees that lived in the same way those on Earth do, but that we still had something vaguely wood-like; something stiff and hard, like petrified wood here, but properly cuttable into segments. It was varying shades of dark rock that the castle was built of, with that wood-like material on the floor, and on my balcony, I had a small private pool filled with lava. My little platform was high enough that no one on the ground could see me, and an overhang shielded me from those who may be flying above.

I don’t know if those baths truly had a medicinal effect, or if it only affected me on a mental level, but it always felt healing to spend time in them. The consistency is thicker than water, a sluggish substance that coats your body until you feel cocooned. Whatever the temperature was, it was similar to that of our inner fire, because it was a comfortable heat that made me drowsy, and it didn’t take getting used to. It would slide against your wounds, It was one of the few places I felt safe, until things went even further downhill than they already had. Until then, I knew I was at least secure within my castle, with Rieta alert and aware of those who were and weren’t supposed to be there.

Public lava baths could be found all around the town and beyond, both natural and sculpted specifically for demons’ use. It was a frequent ritual for us; some may have used it for bonding, to chat together in a relaxing place after whatever work they’d done that day, but I used it to soothe my nerves alone, to exit the reality of being the world’s Devil for a moment.

Also in the castle dwelled a small doglike creature that my daughter kept as a pet. It was black and round, with gleaming red eyes, comically large jaws, and a flame burning where its tail would be in this world. When it opened its mouth, you could see its inner fire glow orange-white within its stomach. I’m not sure it had any organs; it was just a creature of pure fire, shaped like many of my early creations were.

It was meant to be by her side when I, Rieta, and anyone else who knew what they were doing could not be, a final line of defense. She often carried it around, or had it clumsily trot after her like a shadow as they ran. It was a relief for me to see, even after I’d more often than not turned away from her, afraid that she’d leave me just like my son did, and later, afraid that she’d perceive me as weak like everyone else. But that simple little creature toddling about became somewhat of a symbol that she hadn’t, yet. I knew she wouldn’t leave him behind as well.

There is so much more to say, tangents blooming the more I think about any particular line of thought, but I’ll end it here for now. The answer to the prompt, then, is a resounding yes.