Molten Lava.
He put his hand on the sand and felt the vibration of the earth, almost like a heartbeat.
But something was wrong. There was anger in it. A part of the rhythm felt unreachable, sealed behind a wall of darkness.
He lifted his hand and began walking toward the inactive volcano.
The legend said this was where the first drop of creation had fallen, and as it bounced back up it solidified into a mountain.
Powerful wizards once came here to pull sickness from the earth, melting it and forcing it out through the peak of the mountain.
That could be the way to rid the land of the darkness, so he continued upward.
Halfway up stood a tree. As tradition required, he thanked it and broke off a branch.
When he reached the highest point overlooking the crater, he began the ritual.
He removed his shirt, held the branch in his right hand, then stomped his right foot as he struck his bicep with his left.
The sky turned gray. A deep rumble rolled beneath the ground.
As the ritual continued, lava began to surface—without spilling—burning only the top layer of earth and making everything glow orange.
The sky mirrored the crater, leaving a circle of the same size carved out of the gray clouds above.
The ritual intensified as the heat grew. He dropped to one knee and pressed his hand to the ground.
He felt it then—the pain inside the earth, raw and vivid.
He recognized it. He had felt it before.
Betrayal.
Using the emotion as fuel, he completed the ritual. The ground gurgled beneath him, bubbles of lava pushing outward. Even the sky felt tense.
And then, just before it could spiral out of control, two rivers of lava flowed down the side of the mountain—
—as tears ran down his face.
