Thin, frail specks of ash fell from the sky like crestfallen flakes of snow. I watched as the small flame licked at the corners of the few planks of wood I’d placed in front of me. The city, stretched out in front of me, had never looked so small. The small flame I’d produced with my palm slowly flickered and died. High above the city, I’d only meant to start a small fire for myself; I was camped out on the mountain and it was growing cold. Still, even though I knew it was wrong, I felt no panic as the city caught fire. In fact, a small smile slowly spread across my face as I watched it burn to the ground.