After that, the announcer finally lifted the torch in his hand.
The flame flickered weakly at first, reacting to the air around it, before stabilizing into a steady burn. The light cast long, trembling shadows across the stone floor, stretching and warping the figures of everyone present. Slowly and deliberately, he walked forward, each step echoing through the vast space.
When he reached the platform where my father lay, he lowered the torch until its edge brushed against the prepared surface. There was a brief moment where nothing happened. It was just a quiet, almost suffocating pause. Then, as if answering an unspoken command, the fire caught.
It spread quickly.
The platform had been arranged with dry wood, oils, and other materials meant to burn easily. The flames crawled outward, licking along the edges before climbing higher. There was no struggle and no resistance. Everything ignited exactly as it was meant to.
