In a cave at the edge of a cold and dark valley lived a man named Kiro. The valley provided berries and rabbits, roots and rivers, but it was a harsh place, brutal and frozen at night. Darkness swallowed all.
Then Kiro discovered fire.
At first, he watched it carefully, suspiciously. It was wild, unpredictable, alive even. But as time passed, Kiro learned to feed the flame sticks and branches, turning the fierce beast into a gentle companion. It lit the shadows, cooked his food, scared off beasts that prowled too close. Soon his cave was warm, safe, prosperous, a glowing island amid the night.
The Flame was a friend and protector, a provider of comfort and security.
But one night, as Kiro fed branches to the hungry blaze, a spark leapt out, angry and uncontrolled. It caught him on the arm, searing his flesh. He cried out and jumped back, betrayed by the very thing he trusted most. Pain sank deep into his bones, a warning he wouldn’t soon forget.
In the days that followed, Kiro kept his distance. Cold returned, creeping back into his home. Food grew scarce again, and the beasts lingered closer each night, emboldened by the darkness. But Kiro remembered the fire’s bite, the betrayal, and the blistered pain. Fear kept him from lighting it again.
Days passed. Cold deepened. Kiro became thin, fragile, and isolated. He huddled in the dark, shivering in stubborn solitude. The thought of fire filled him with dread, so sharp was the memory of its sting.
Then, on a bitter evening, Kiro ventured out from his cave, driven by hunger, cold, and desperation. He wandered down the rocky slope toward the caves of his neighbors, cautious and curious. From afar, he saw the familiar glow, dancing and warm—firelight spilling from another’s home.
Quietly, Kiro approached, hiding behind a rock. He watched another man, older and scarred, his skin bearing the marks of old burns and healed wounds. Yet the old man sat peacefully near the flames, holding out his hands toward its heat. He roasted food, nodded softly in contentment, smiling faintly as sparks occasionally jumped. When sparks flew, the old man shifted carefully but stayed seated, calm and unafraid.
Kiro stared, puzzled. Didn’t the fire bite this man too? Didn’t it hurt him just as badly? The scars said yes, but the man’s calmness spoke louder. Were the scars reminders of lessons and not shackles of fear? Pain was not unique to him. Fire was dangerous, yes, but danger was not the whole story. This man, who’d known pain, still embraced the flame; careful, wise, but unafraid.