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First was Caelis, God of Aether,
Bulder, God of Ground,
The Goddess of Water came next. Rayne
Her love was a screaming torrent. The deep, gut-wrenching wail of an avalanche. The near-silent cry of sprinkling rain.
Clode—Goddess of Air—who
Ignos was a glutton for Clode. The God of Fire feasted on her. Consumed her. Loved her so much he could not breathe without her.
Bound to his mournful solitude, Caelis watched this all, jealous of the other Creators for their ability to be seen, touched, or heard, but thankful to be part of something. Anything.
Until one aurora rise, for the first time in more than five million phases . . . Another moon fell.
Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
the air this far up feeling . . . borrowed. Like it doesn’t belong to us. Like it belongs to the dragons.
Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move. Ignorance is my self-preservation tonic, and I’ll swear by it until I die.
You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd. It still stinks.
“Who hurt you?” “I do not hurt, King Burn. I harden.
Ew.
