His hands were blackened with soot.

Not from today, but from everything before

A man of few words, at least to the outside world. With a voice like gravel, he saves his conversations for the fire, whispering secrets to his explosive creations like they’ll whisper back.

Flint moves through the world like a man born in fire and baptized in flame. He takes pride in his work and in what it creates, beautiful destruction. Precise, poetic, and painfully personal.

The cost shows in the scars branded across his body, in burns that never quite heal.

Despite it all, Flint is calmest in chaos, sharing a strange intimacy with the flame.

To him, fire isn’t just a weapon

It’s an insatiable craving

A burning purpose