The Ember Shell

It rose at dusk, suspended above scorched ground where language once lived. Coils of searing light spiraled endlessly around its glassy surface, pulsing like a heart too ancient to beat. Sparks danced through the cracks beneath it, as if the earth itself had tried and failed to contain what waited inside. No one knew who placed it there—or if it had always been. But every evening, as shadows curled around it, the sky seemed to hold its breath.