Leaving Chaos was strictly forbidden, of course, but I was young and curious. I’d seen the man so many times staring into our domain, watching us from Dream and beyond, working his primitive glamours. To be frank, I felt almost sorry for him; as a man sitting by a roaring fire might feel for the beggar sitting outside, trying to warm his hands with a match. But this beggar had a noble look, for all his rags and shivering. It was a look that told me that, sooner or later, he meant to be king. I rather admired his arrogance; I wondered how he would do it. And so, that day, for the first time, in defiance of Surt and of all the laws of Chaos, I left my fiery Aspect and ventured out into World Above.

For a moment I was disoriented. Too many sensations, all of them new, enveloped my new Aspect. I could see colours; I could smell sulphur; I could feel the snow in the air and see the face of the man before me, cloaked in glam from head to foot. I could have chosen any form: that of an animal, or a bird, or just a simple trail of fire. But, as it happened, I’d assumed the form with which you may be familiar; that of a young man with red hair and a certain je ne sais quoi.

The man stared at me in amazement (and, dare I say, admiration). I knew that behind my human disguise he knew me for a child of the Fire. A demon, if you prefer the term; although to be honest, the difference between god and demon is really only a matter of perspective.

‘Are you real?’ he said at last.

Well, of course, that’s a relative term. Everything’s real on some level, you know, even (maybe especially) dreams. But I wasn’t used to speaking aloud. In Chaos, such things are un necessary. Nor had I been expecting the sheer impact of physicality; the sounds (the wind; the crunch of the snow; the thumping of a snow hare on the side of a nearby hill); the sights; the colours; the cold; the fear . . .

Fear? Yes, I suppose it was fear. It was my first real emotion. Chaos in its purest form is free of all emotion, working on instinct, and instinct alone. Pure Chaos is without thought. That’s why it only ever takes shape when in the face of the enemy, taking its form from the enemy’s thoughts; its substance from his deepest fears.

Still, it was an intriguing experience – if somewhat claustrophobic – to keep to a single physical form, constrained by its limitations; feeling the cold, half-blind with the light, assailed by all those sensations.