Hantarou

The hiss of steam from black slosh was the only sound for miles. Hantarou paid it no mind, turning a marshmallow over a narrow fissure where the heat was just right. Their azure cap was the only color that wasn't crimson or grey, a faded memory of a sky they could no longer picture clearly. Most who ventured this deep were chasing souls or power; Hantarou was just chasing the horizon, even if that horizon was another field of unnatural ice or a river of fire. One step at a time. This evening, however, something changed. Beyond the lava pools, a different light flickered—not the angry glow of the sky, but a soft, pale luminescence from a cave they had never seen before. They pulled the perfectly toasted marshmallow back. It promised something other than ash and despair. Or it promised a much quicker end.