he wasn’t hurt by it. he thrived in it. it was his friend, yet he was its master. he had it at the tip of his fingers. he could make it as nourishing as Mother Earth or as fearsome as the darkest demon.

the flames gently his fingers, tame as a sleepy puppy. yet something was in the air, in the way they burned. they told tales of death and fear, of war and destruction. and they were going to make one more victim tonight.

they became restless. he wrapped them in a ball, held them in his hand, looked at them lovingly.

they were him. he was them. they were one.

he put on his cloak, pulled the hood over his head. he was unnoticed in the dark night, the swish of his coat the only sign he existed.

he neared the house, looking in through the window. the man was sleeping peacefully. yet kibum knew he had no right to. he could see in his mind, knew the things he hid. terrible, atrocious deeds, no remorse in his heart.

the flames in the fireplace flickered in recognition. their master was there. they welcomed him. they knew they were going to serve him and they were restless.

kibum pulled his right hand from under his cloak and the flames burned brighter. he spinned his index slowly two times and fast a third time. the flames intensified and began flowing out of the fireplace as if they were liquid.

he watched for a little while as the room began lightening, pleased with what was happening, yet he had to leave before the villagers came. before they started blaming the demons and the bad spirits again. it was silly for him, but it was for the better. no one was supposed to know his kind still existed.