“Why am I the last?” Elara whispered.
“The last daughter,” the girl said. “The mountain has been waiting. It cracked open because it was hungry. And it ate everyone who stayed. Everyone except the ones who ran.” caliross
Elara read it three times before the chill settled into her bones. She hadn’t thought of Caliross in seven years—not since she’d fled its narrow streets with nothing but a satchel and the memory of her mother’s silence. “Why am I the last
Caliross glass , the old stories called it. The city had been built on a vein of the stuff—a strange, fragile mineral that could be blown into vessels of impossible thinness, or ground into a powder that healed wounds in hours. The trade had made the city wealthy. The trade had made it proud. It cracked open because it was hungry
“I was the first,” the girl said. “I was here when the mountain opened. I saw what came out. And now I’m the last thing keeping it shut. But I’m almost done, Elara. I’m almost gone.”