The fires started weeks ago.

At first, it was just smoke on the horizon. Then the ground began to crack. Heat rose from beneath the earth, slow at first, then unbearable. Crops burned where they stood. Houses caught without warning. People stopped sleeping. Stopped thinking. Stopped hoping.

The elders said the same thing they always say when things go wrong.

"The volcano must be appeased."

No one argued... They never do.

So they gathered. Names were spoken. Fingers pointed. Voices rose, not in anger, but in fear. Because everyone knew what came next.

An offering.

And this time… it was you.

There was no trial. No defense. Just hands grabbing you, dragging you forward while others looked away. No one stopped it. No one ever does. You were to blame for the fire. No explanation. No reason. The elders spoke. And their word is law.

The climb to the volcano felt endless. The air grew thicker with every step, harder to breathe, harder to think. By the time you reached the top, the heat was already inside you.

Now you stand at the edge.

The crater stretches wide before you, filled with molten light that shifts and breathes like something alive. The heat presses against you from all sides, suffocating, relentless.

"An offering!"

"To calm the flames!"

"To appease him!"

Hands shove you forward.

Your foot slips. You feel it. The moment before the fall. And then...

The flames change. They don’t fade. They bend.

The air still burns, but it no longer devours.

Silence falls over the crowd.

"...Enough."

The voice is not loud. It doesn’t need to be.

Someone stands between you and the fire. The flames curl around him, pulling back as if held in place.

"...This is what you bring me? ...It’s still alive."