Felo… “Flame,” in the Thalassian tongue.
Fire, raw and alive. Power and passion manifest, in purest symbolic form.
Earth often went dormant or barren when it would not blossom. Water changed through three states of being - ice, rain, vaporous steam. Air either breathed as softly as a goodnight kiss on your skin, or bit through your clothes and into your flesh with the gusty winds.
Fire was the constant.
Fire was always awake. Even when it smoldered it did not sleep, it merely lay patiently in wait to ignite something, to catch it and set it ablaze. Light and heat that could sustain or destroy. Always volatile, dangerous, and beautiful, and nothing was truly its master. No one fears anything like fire.
Flickering and capricious as flames could be, one could still count on all of that. Nothing changed about any of that.
And “playing with fire” - in absolutely every sense of the phrase - was everything that Aranya ever lived for.