Ambrose awoke beside a quiet river, blue flames flickering gently from his body like ghostly embers in the night. The air around him shimmered with heat, yet the grass beneath his feet remained untouched.

He remembered only one thing:
His name.

As he leaned over the riverbank, the water revealed a stranger staring back at him — a figure wreathed in blue fire, with a top hat hanging crookedly from his head. Strangest of all, the hat did not burn.

Ambrose did not know where he had come from, who he had once been. Beside that lonely river, he found purpose. Years passed in solitude as he studied the fire that lived within him. He learned to shape it, command it, and bend it to his will with flawless precision. The forests around the river came to know the soft blue glow that danced through the trees each night, while the river itself reflected the flames like liquid sapphire.

When he finally did step away from the riverbank, the fire no longer controlled him.
He controlled the fire.