Celestia recounts a memory. One that is terrible, yet beautiful. A flash of light, small sparks, a tiny flame, an eruption of life. A fire means both warmth and comfort as well as fear and pain. Menacing and evil, it can gobble up all that is dear to us in its hunger for destruction. Is that really what it is, though? Is this fire? Do we understand this simple, glowing ball of light? What is fire?