Fire burns just beneath his skin, a dangerous edge of playful violence cheerily crackling with nearly harmless sparks and the power of an inferno capable of enveloping the world, razing it to the ground and leaving dead, dull ashes to settle. But the worse side is always the one he turns to the world, inner softness shielded by a blackened, hardened wall of charred flesh and broken hearts. Life has taught him many things, and fire burns within him, consuming everything he is, and everything he touches, to fuel its heat. Those that approach him are spurned, those that seek his company are meet with harsh words and harsher blows.

For he is fire, and to touch him is to burn.

And oh, some people just want to burn. To burn with him is the sweetest thing, for he is a revolutionary, a man of change and renewal and razing the world to the ground, if only to let others rebuild. He is the spark of a war, the blunt, opinionated voice shouting for revolution, for the death of gods and kings alike. He is the man who will drop a match in a timber house just to watch it burn around him, he is the one to sweep across a land, to start a war with the gods themselves to prove they are little more than selfish, petty creatures like those they toy with every day.

And to those he trusts he is the tame fire crackling in the hearth, warm and bright and safe. Time has mellowed his swift temper with the few he trusts and left him full of snappy wit. He is quick to insult, but never with the bitter, painful barbs he once laced into every word no matter with who he spoke.

But he is fire, and he still burns.