For centuries, a village of peace has existed. Tucked away in the farthest corner of the world, concealed by a ring of mountains, it is a haven for those who inhabit its little huts. A place for secrets to hide, and magic to go unnoticed. A place that seems as if it will stand forever.

Until this day, the day it burns.

Flames tear through the huts and surge along the winding paths. The air is choked with smoke and screams. The night sky is dark, darker than it has ever been, yet it is lit in a haze of orange and amber.

Amid the heat and chaos, a man runs. A bucket is clutched tightly in his hand. As he passes a house alight with flame, he halts his step, and lets the bucket's contents fly over the fire. Water sizzles as it meets flame, the harsh light dimming. The man raises his hand, feeling for the cool droplets, and the flames burn lower.

The effort is worth it. The fire is extinguished. Yet a blackened ruin is left behind, a scar amongst the peace of the past, and there are many more fires that still roar strong. He moves on.

Beneath the deafening crackle of flames, a shout slices the air, clearly pitched and wrought with terror. He changes his course, racing after the sound. All around him, people duck and dodge amongst ribbons of fire. Some hold enough power to fight the blaze, but many are beaten by exhaustion or weakness. All battle for survival.

The voice rings out again, shaped as a more desperate scream, but the man has found its source. He swings around a corner and dives through a doorway swallowed by flames. Heat threatens to tear its way through his skin, to claw out his pulse, but he fights it back, sweat beading on his forehead.

He leaps to the side as a flaming plank crashes down, the remainder of what was once a spiral staircase winding upwards to broken dreams. The scream meets his ears, somewhere hidden amongst the maze of fire. He shouts back, though his voice rasps. The smoke is beginning to win.

Another few paces, and he sees her. A woman, surrounded by an untamed blaze. But it is not the fire she fears. The man's outstretched hand, a last hope of rescue, is not welcomed.

Her eyes remain fixed on a boy. He is only small, small enough to be crushed by a stray piece of burning timber, yet he holds no fear. Only wonder fills his gaze as he surveys the destruction all around him. The flames that eat their way through his home, and those that climb up his arms.

The woman clasps the man's hand, and they flee. They do not take the boy. They know better than to draw near, yet such knowledge is long past futile.

The boy's hand whips out. Fire surges across their path. He reaches for them, and the very air shies away, fearful of his touch. 

Slowly, the man turns to meet the boy's eyes. They are black, as dark as the sky far above. Plees slip from the woman's lips, her hands pressed together in prayer, but the boy will not be stopped.

The village of peace is nothing more than darkness and ashes. Yet the boy is happy, and so he smiles.