“The last what?” Elara asked.
Caliross glass.
It was a child. A girl, maybe nine or ten, dressed in a threadbare gray dress. Her hair was the color of dead grass, and her skin was pale—too pale, almost translucent. Through it, Elara could see the faint tracery of veins, and beneath them, something darker. Something that shifted. caliross
Elara pulled her hand back. Her fingerprints were white with him. “The last what
The Caldera Gate still stood, but barely. Its iron hinges were rusted through, and the great wooden doors hung askew, one of them propped open by a drift of that same glittering sand. Beyond it, the city sprawled downward into a basin—a basin that hadn’t been there seven years ago. maybe nine or ten