Ciaran leaned closer to the fiery surface; his hands gripped the edges of the bowl and blistered, but he felt no pain. If he closed his eyes and gave in, he would be free of his flesh cage. He could ride the wind and sky, level forests and boil lakes down to their beds, burst out of mountains and build new lands on the seas. He could turn gold into liquid and use it to paint the world. He could -
"Ciaran."
No, he was tine, an element beyond name or form. He was -
"Ciaran, come back to me."
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