“Good,” it said. “You still have hands. Fire next.” Fire didn’t come as flames.
“It’s a bet,” the figure whispered. “You lost one already. Now you can win. Or you can keep the flame and let the fire spread. Your choice. Earth taught you to dig. Fire will teach you to burn .”
A candle burned on her old desk. Small, blue at the base, yellow at the tip.
It reached up, unclasped the bell, and tossed it to her. It was lighter than air and heavier than stone.
She tried to run. Her legs moved, but the black glass field stretched infinitely. The burning city stayed exactly the same distance away.
She looked out the window. Her mother was in the garden, kneeling by the rose bushes, humming. Kaelen hadn’t heard that hum in twelve years.
The ringing stopped.
Kaelen picked up the candle. The wax was warm but not hot. She held it close to her chest, and for a moment, the faceless thing tilted its head as if confused.
“Find the seed,” said the figure. “In the dirt. Before the worms do.”
Kaelen’s bedroom dissolved. She was back on the black glass field. The burning city was gone. So were the two suns.
She didn’t answer.