Fire Defeats the Broken Thing

Meanwhile in His Dimension

In Fire’s existence, something was always perpetually broken.

No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it would hold together only for a moment—before breaking again.

He examined the broken thing from every angle. “Why does it keep falling apart?” he wondered.

It shouldn’t have been broken, yet it was. Always in the way, always failing. “Was that why it was discarded so easily? Like someone else had already given up?”

It felt cursed— defiant, mocking, relentless.

He tried again and again—reinforcing, tightening, rearranging. Each time, it seemed to hold for a moment before crumbling again. “Maybe it’s just meant to stay broken,” he thought, staring at the scattered pieces.

But something about giving up felt worse. Fire’s frustration blazed like a furnace, consuming every ounce of patience he had left with each attempt. He even considered total and utter destruction.

Exhausted from the fight, he lay on the ground, defeated. “I can’t leave it like this,” he thought. “There has to be a way. Starting over would be far too costly.”

The solution he avoided lingered in the back of his mind. It was risky, and once done, there’d be no undoing it. For days, he hesitated, circling the idea like a moth to a flame.

After days of hesitation, Fire finally tried the one thing he had avoided. “I’ve got nothing else to lose,” he said.

And then—what a glorious moment! For the first time, he felt like he truly understood the broken thing.

It had been held together by hacks and patches, but what it truly needed was a permanent solution.

The broken thing bore scars of countless repairs, but for the first time, it stood firm, resilient in its imperfection.

Fire sat back, a wave of relief washing over him. He felt a quiet sense of accomplishment.

“Finally,” he sighed. “What else do I need to fix?”