It's finished! Here is the entirety of Firelighter:
Sunlight flooded the canyons of the boy’s rocky homeland. The lofty, arid climate experienced little rainfall, so little, in fact, that when clouds rolled into the gorge nearby, he and his mothers wished to view the captivating fluffy clouds from an onlook on high.
Along the trail, the clouds’ pace accelerated and soon blanketed the family, the sky pouring out its sorrow upon the land below. A bright flash threw the land before the family into stark relief before their minds could process it. All became dark.
When the boy came to, he lifted his head to discover he rested alone, abandoned, on a bed of pine needles while the gentle storm tapped on his face. Alarmed, the boy called to his mothers. "Mama!" he cried over and over to no avail. Only the whispers of the canyon returned his distress.
A sense of quiet panic befell the boy. Memories of his mothers' teachings about this very situation danced in his ears. "Remember," they would say, "if we're ever separated, use your firelighter to make a fire and stay with it so you may be warm until we find you."
He shoved his hand into his pockets, pulling out a small metal box. Inside sat a piece of flint and one of steel. He snatched a nearby stick and began sweeping the underbrush, gathering as many pine needles as possible while also clearing a space for the fire.
After collecting some damp sticks and twigs and needles, he set up a small teepee in the shade of a tree. He kneeled to light it, and yet, despite many attempts, the wooded collection appeared too wet to set alight.
A gust blew past the boy, forcing him to cower as the air pierced his clothing. "Boy," it hissed, "your attempts to survive will not work while you are under my control. You will act as I command, for I have sensed your mothers, and for all the love they have given you, they have not prepared you to be your own person. You crumpled as a leaf does with the flick of my finger, how might you ever escape my mighty power?"
"I will outrun you, as I have been able to with all others like you,” the boy said, a small tremble interrupting his confidence. “You will see, I shall run faster than your wind can carry me out of this canyon and I will find my mothers. If I do, you must agree to never harm another, as you have me, again."
"So, it is a deal, then. Prepare yourself, for what you just experienced was but a taste of what I am capable of. Run, boy, and pray you may never feel my presence again. If I find you once more, you will not survive my wrath. Now go!" Another flash followed by the crackle and boom of thunder plunged the boy into utter dissonance.
The moment the boy recovered, he sprinted with all his might toward the canyon wall. Upon reaching the cliff face, the boy's spine tingled with a familiar chill. He raced against the rocky surface, pupils dilating wider and wider, his desperate hopes of finding shelter climbing by the second.
After a few minutes of searching, a disturbing rustle echoed from down the canyon. The boy, now terrified of his fated demise, pushed himself harder. A deafening roar swept up behind him, as though a tsunami were about to come over him. He could barely keep pace with his hyperventilation. Come on. He dashed into a small enclave in the side of the wall ahead, just fast enough to feel a great whoosh knock him far into the cave, the lights around him now growing dimmer until all was black again.
...
Startling awake, the boy looked around himself, witnessing an unexpected scene—his mothers, wrapped in a blanket on the other side of a small fire he laid next to, noticed him, their eyes lighting up the room even brighter than the fire ever could. "Son," the mother on the left said, "you're awake! Blessed be! We weren't sure you'd make it through the night." The mother on the right remained silent, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
The mother on the left continued. "How did you survive the storm? And how did you find us? We barely made it out ourselves before you happened to fall into our shelter."
The boy sat up. "I challenged the storm to a race. If I won, it agreed to never hurt another person again. I only barely outran its wind before it pushed me into here."
"You foolish boy, why would you ever do that?" the mother on the right asked, her face shifting to anger.
"I never wanted someone to feel as I had. Lost, alone, afraid, without knowing what to do. I thought I could win, but I was wrong. It's all my fault we're stuck in here." His gaze drifted to the floor.
The mother on the right stood and consoled the child. "No, my dear, it’s our fault."
"How?" The boy asked.
“We should have prepared you better. I wish you could understand, but we’re not always perfect. Sometimes we make mistakes and this time we made one so big that you thought you could defend your mother and me when the only person you needed to defend was yourself.”
"But we'd like to do better," the mother on the left said, standing and coming to wrap the pair in the blanket. "It's important that you know what your limits are and you must guard your joy with imaginary boundaries."
"Why?" The boy asked. "If I do that, then my joy will have no room to grow out to others and they will leave me, just like you did."
The mothers tightened their embrace of the boy in tandem. "Not exactly," the mother on the left said. "You have to guard your joy not because you shouldn't share your own happiness, but because if you let too much out, there won't be enough for yourself. Think of it like this fire. It may be small, but in the boundaries of this cave, it warms us enough to feel good. If we had this fire outside, though, its warmth would escape into the open air. That is, if you could even manage to light the fire in this storm, in the first place. You might find that without boundaries, even your firelighter won't spark enough to give warmth to the cold world outside."
The boy nodded, gazing at the yellow tips of the flame, pondering what he had just heard. The three sat and cuddled around the fire, motionless and silent. After several hours, the boy stood and began tracing the sides of the cavern with his fingertips. He walked into the back of the cave, where darkness and cold encroached him from all angles; a small glint caught the boy's eye.
He wandered over to it. What’s this? He reached down to find a small lantern with a glass enclosure. He picked it up and shook it slightly, fluid washing about its insides. He gasped before rushing back to his mothers. "I think I know how to beat the Storm," he said.
The boy once more reached into his pockets, pulling out the firelighter. He scraped the steel along the flint, sending sparks and igniting the oil of the lantern. He stepped out into the stark landscape, the world slightly darker than he had remembered it being.
Sooner than expected, the wind howled at him once more. "I thought we had finished our deal. Back for more, I see?"
"I want to make another deal, Storm," the boy said, his voice resolute. "I challenge you to another race, this time with different rules. I have this flame, as you can see, and I want you to try to blow it out. If you can manage to do so, you may take me as well. However, if the fire survives, then my mothers and I will leave this canyon and you may never harm another person again."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as though the storm were laughing at his request. "Very well, young one, but be warned, I will not go easy on you this time. Are you ready?"
The boy, holding the lantern in front of him while positioning himself in front of a large boulder and digging his heels into the sodden mud, replied, "Try me."
"Very well."
What in the… The boy watched with horror as lines of trees blew so hard in the distance they seemed to become uprooted. The air surged toward him so fast that time itself seemed to slow to a point the boy could count every tree the wind had hit. His heels sunk in deeper and deeper. The very moment the boy felt the gale touch his skin, goosebumps flooded his whole body, his skin losing color. In a split-second decision, he flipped himself around, clutching the lantern with all his might.
He pushed against the wind with all the force he could manage, but it was not enough. He flew into the side of the boulder, enveloping himself around the weak flame. The boy screamed as the torrential gusts levitated him, freezing cold winds whipping his back while the hot glass seared his chest. All he could manage was to shut his eyes and clutch the scorching glass tighter, hoping he might break the Storm’s will.
After nearly half an hour, the wind lightened to a breeze, whispering once more into his ear. "I have thrown what I am able to, and yet you somehow still stand. I commend your bravery and your heart. There are not many who would be as unwise as to challenge me. I shall not harm another, for you have shown me there are those among your kind who are unbreakable. It would not be worth my effort to pursue this again. Take care, stranger, and know you have done good things today."
A small ray of sunshine broke through the clouds and warmed the child. His mothers rushed to his side.
"My child," the mother on the right said, her hand brushing his blackened shirt aside, "are you okay? Your chest is burned. We must leave before the storm picks up again."
The boy looked up and smiled at his mothers before ensnaring them in a hug. "It will heal, and its scar will be a story to all, one that might inspire more to hold their inner flame close to their heart, so they can guard it, too."
The mothers smiled with a proud glow. The three embraced each other for a few moments before beginning their venture out of the canyon and back home, blue skies appearing in the distance.