As every eye focused on the matchstick, Falkor struck it and lit his cigar. The small flame could start a massive fire.

Fear spread quickly. Sweat dripped down their foreheads and soaked their palms. The tension between life and death made them tremble.

"Don’t move," Falkor said calmly, his tone deadly. "Or you can forget about living a thousand years."

Samuel tried to act brave. "Do you think we’re weak enough to die in a fire?" he mocked.

"With silver mixed into the gasoline—yes," ...