Fire. He was born in it. He lived in it. He played with it. He spread it to every corner of the earth he inhabited. He was not immune to its destructive nature, no. He had be burnt countless times, by others and himself. No person, animal, place, or time was safe from the inferno that would follow in his path. Everything he touched, spoke of, and interacted with would feel the annihilation that followed him, engulfing them, searing their hearts and minds. He was a fire starter. This was by no means his intention in life. He didn't want to destroy others. He wasn't fond of setting fire to everyone and everything he cared about. This was just the way it was.
Tales from long ago paint a different image of him. He was bright eyed, full of curiosity and an eagerness to show the world he had what it takes. He cared of others and he cared of how others thought of him. He relished in the idea of others thinking highly of him. He tried his best, at least he thinks he did. Something changed though. Something inexplicable, something deep down in the abyss of a heart such as his. Maybe it was his decisions. Perhaps it was an elaborate set up by his enemies. Or perhaps it was just fate or a combination of these articles all together. Whatever it was due to, he was an unstoppable force of pain, destruction and despair.
He loves her. The only thing he's certain of. He feels the pain he inflicts on her. He burns her again. He never burns to the point of death. Just long and hot enough to leave permanent and grotesque scars that stay for life. He doesn't burn continuously, but it short spurts so as his victims have time to heal momentarily before he burns again.