HEIRS OF THE FOURNAISE

Our skies are basalt ceilings. Our horizons, concrete walls.

I am Sister Sol, number 2583. Like every Creole of Mahavel, I was born in the volcanic depths of Réunion, beneath La Fournaise, in a city cut off from the Surface since the Great Wave.

Some go up to the Surface. Others serve the Veil.

Here, survival means preferring no one. Love, friendship, family—anything that binds one soul to another—threatens the balance of our two thousand lives.

I was trained to pass this order on. I thought I knew what kept us alive.

Then came gestures too tender. Silences that said too much.

And Mahavel began to fracture inside me.