One could not particularly say that fire and water were inherently opposed, really, merely that they sought different things. For when flame looks out into the world, it sees the will of mind and heart, from the fear of wild infernos and the rage of war to the empathy around a lone flame at night and the joy of a celebration. Even the very word warmth takes meaning for both flame and kindness alike, even the very idea of passion evokes a fire in mind. But when one looks upon water, such passions are dulled. Water is a physical thing, something to be consumed and something to be immersed in. Life lives and dies in it, life is lifted away and life falls within. And so water consumes and worms it's way within in turn. Fire fears water, of course, as a deluge suffocates flame so also does instinct cloud the mind. But in desperation fire can indeed rebel, tossing water to the air and in doing so embodying the very concept of bravery.
This is in turn seen in the dangers in approaching such higher forms. Flame towers, it creates fear and establishes dominance, it warps into illusions and creates confusion and madness. It presents the most obvious danger, yet in most cases practices the most restraint. Only to anger it is to be caught in it's destruction, though in search of passions it actively seeks to excuse it's rage. When offered gratitude instead, however, it readily responds in kind, as pleased with the idea of being a guardian as that of rending all in it's path. Water, on the other hand, seeks embrace, contact, stimulation. It is the embodiment of hedonism, and to the greater ones all interaction with the world is euphoric. Thus it swirls with primal compulsions, it's motivations nothing more than to sense the world with a fascination both childlike and perverse. Water likewise embraces terror, but where flame seeks the psychological side of fear water craves the movement of trembling and the quickening of the heartbeat. For flame, the euphoria of sensation is merely a second pursuit to be enjoyed alongside the pursuit of expression; for water, the two are one and the same.
Thus creates the obvious irony in the two who interact with our world most in that water, though a force in the world vital to creation, is far more likely to rip it away. In the same irony, fire, though on the surface only capable of destruction, is far more likely to promote the survival of those clever enough to entertain it. Even the philosophy as to why they take forms we are capable of understanding is different. To fire, it intends to emphasize to those who see it that what they look upon is above them in power. Too close to that of our kind, and it is but a peer. Too far away, and it is but a natural force to be conquered. And so it toes a line, just close enough to both in it's most common manifestations that the appearance strikes one as unsettling. Uncanny, but not exactly accurate. Water, on the other hand, cares little for appealing to ourselves. It takes physical forms something resembling ours because it wishes to feel the sensations we feel, but it may as easily take the form of anything else or several forms at once. Form is about the shapes and perceptions able to be understood through it, presentation is but a mild consideration. It is little wonder, then, that fire is so often easier to deliberately approach. . .
