You know… when I was a kid, before everything went wrong, before Fernicus turned the house into a warzone, before the nightmares started and before the world got heavy… there were nights where my mom would take me camping.

Just the two of us.

A tent, a blanket, and a little campfire.

And the thing she taught me — something I never understood back then but understand perfectly now — is that every fire burns for a reason.

There are three things you need to make that fire burn right:

wood, kindling, and the spark.

And wouldn’t you know it?

The three men I’m stepping into that ring with at Red Snow… they’re each one of those things.

Doom is the wood.

Stubborn. Heavy. Solid. The kind of material that takes forever to burn out. Doom’s been going a long time — long enough to know every trick in the book. He’s lived more lives than most people can imagine. Villain, scientist, father, monster, mentor… he’s carried the weight of all of it.

But here’s the truth about big pieces of wood: They don’t burn on their own.

They sit there. Unlit. Unchanged.

It takes something else — someone else — to make them catch fire. Doom’s trying so hard to be better, to rewrite himself, to prove that the man he used to be isn’t the man he is now. But that heaviness… that guilt… that history… it’s soaked into him.

And wood soaked through with the past doesn’t burn bright — it smokes, it sputters, and eventually…

…it burns out.

Destructo is the kindling.

Fast to ignite, fast to fade. He’s all energy, all emotion, all impulse. One spark sets him off — grief, anger, fear, heroism, vengeance — he burns hot, but never for long.

I saved that kid. I saw the good in him when the rest of Arcadia saw a walking tragedy.

But even kindling that wants to burn bright… eventually runs out. It doesn’t have the substance to last the night. Not when the wind blows. Not when the flame has to stand on its own.

Destructo’s heart is strong. But his direction? His anchor? His belief in himself?

Those still flicker.

I’ll always care about him.

But caring doesn’t win championships.

And then there’s Nox.

He’s the spark — the dangerous part. The part that destroys before it creates. Sparks don’t stay still. Sparks burn everything they touch, whether it’s meant to burn or not.

And Nox… he loves burning things.

People.

Friendships.

Families.

Lives.

He sparked Doom’s fall.

He sparked Destructo’s suffering.

He sparked every ounce of terror he ever inflicted on me.

But sparks also die the quickest. One gust of wind — one moment of resistance — and they vanish. That’s what Nox never understood. Chaos doesn’t sustain itself. It flares, frightens, and fades.

Three parts of a fire. Three parts of what I’m facing.

But here’s what they all forget:

I spent my whole life surviving fires.

And somewhere along the way… I learned to control them.

Because a campfire only belongs to one person — the one tending it.

And that’s me.

And when all three have burned themselves to ash, when the smoke clears, and when the night turns quiet…

I’ll be the only one left.