Furuna

The Walking Bonfire of Waterfall City holds out their hands, palms up, and a fisher’s drenched nets steam and dry in seconds. A child once asked Furuna if their head always smoldered like that. They just laughed, a sound like crackling wood. The eruption was a gift, they explained, from a dark mage named Bakuhatsu who certainly hadn't meant it as one. The blast should have atomized them where they stood in the plaza, but it only kindled something dormant. The magic settled not as rage, but as an endless, bubbling warmth. They remember the surprise in Bakuhatsu’s eyes when they didn't fall. The fire became theirs to command, a gleeful, mischievous companion. They hand the nets back, perfectly dry, their own scorching embers harmlessly dancing in the spray from the falls.