Cold weaves reaching the black sand. The night breeze is colder than usual.
Five brave man approach the sea, letting the cold water to touch their feets.
Holding torches,they gather closer, into a circle,putting the torches above their heads, making one big flame. And all of them open their dry mouth:
- Our bodies walk this ground, but our soul belong to the flames of below! -We were build from the cold lava , forgotten by time, unseen by the wildfire and corroded by the sea .
Their feets start to sink into the dark sand. The torche's flames become blue , the moon becomes red, the stars hide into darkness.
Soon they sink till their knees ,into the black sand. The flame turns into a liquid, falling on torches like wax, covering them slow.
- We made the wind to beat from east, we made the water to run from south, we made the fire to burn from west and we made the earth tremble on north.
-Now is time for us to turn back to ground !
The liquid is covering them whole, turning them into stone. And silence ....
The moon is going back to normal and the stars are shining. The cold weaves are touching the new rock.