Thorne had to keep himself from jumping when he saw the little flicker of fire appear, dancing around the fuse of the central firecracker. He calmed himself, breathing deeply. His eyelids fluttered as he mouthed a few words to himself, trying to find the power inside of himself. Or more accurately, the power within the mask that hid his face. The dim, orange fire barely lit the white mask on his otherwise tanned face. The mask looked as though it was some sort of throw-away protective gear, the ceramic facemask had no obvious straps, no distinguishing features other than a look of touch plastic, four air holes near the mouth, a slight angled bulge where the nose would be, and two dark, trapezoidal eyeholes, which mysteriously held a view not of Thorne’s own chocolate brown eyes, but of a bleak abyss of obsidian.
Thorne shook his hands out a little, then suddenly threw out his palms again, as if trying to surprise the power, trying to sneak up on it and control it, like a little boy trying to collar a stray dog. This time the exertion was different, he could feel warmth enter into him from the mask, passing to his fingers through his heart. The fuse of the first firecracker ignited, instantly setting the cheap explosive off on the ground. The small pop it created was like a symphony to Thorne. He smiled behind his mask, which strangely brought up the corners of the seemingly inflexible mask, as if the mask was trying to smile along with Thorne.