A flame that never burns the hand that holds it
Johnny Blaze traded his soul to save his foster father. What he got in return was a fire that never goes out. Every night his flesh burns away, leaving a blazing skull and a curse he has to carry for life. That fire is both his power and his punishment.
One night in the workshop, with the printer still running and the lamp falling on a pile of failed prints in the corner, it hit me: everyone who makes things is holding a flame. Some flames burn the person holding them: the sleepless nights, the failed prints, the moments you just want to quit. Others are only there to light the way.
This hand grew out of that thought. It rises from rubble, the way every project starts from things that went wrong. Its five fingers come apart and snap back on with magnets, because whatever can break can be put back together. And the flame never touches the palm: it floats, free, burning bright without burning anyone.
Real passion isn't something you grip until it burns you. It's a flame you lift up: close enough to light your way, far enough not to consume you.
— Duong Tran
Johnny Blaze has no choice but to live with his fire. We get to choose: let it burn us, or let it rise.