There was, however, one major worry that Sylvia had, one that no one could help her with. Not even the Fire Spirit.
The Weatherman.
He was the antithesis of the Fire Spirit. He was the bringer of rain, the one weakness of fire. He wanted to snuff out the flames for good.
He stood against everything that Sylvia stood for.
She hated him.
But she also feared him.
She could not bear to look outside when it was raining, unable to bring herself to see the sodden world beyond the prison. She hated how the environment changed for the worse.
After all, you can't start a fire with wet wood and soggy leaves.
Every time she caught sight of his silvery form, she couldn't help but tremble. He'd chuckle hauntedly at her fear.
He loved to make her feel powerless.
He loved to stir her into a frenzy by telling her that fire was obsolete, that it wasn't as powerful as she thought.
He loved the idea of drowning the world, the idea of the whole world being swallowed up by foamy waves more powerful than anybody could ever dream of.
Every time he showed up, Sylvia would glare at him, angrily trying to hold back tears as she spewed vicious words and hurled the nearest objects at him, startling those around her.
But, no matter how hard she tried, she was never able to hurt him.