I dreamed the fire never ended

I was standing at the edge of a ridge, not running, not fighting—just watching. The flames were quiet now, not roaring but breathing, like something alive that had learned to rest. I could hear the crew’s voices from years ago, faint as embers in the wind, calling my name in a language I’d forgotten. And then the smoke didn’t clear—it settled into the ground, turned into roots. I woke up with the taste of burnt coffee on my tongue, and for a minute, I thought I still smelled it in the room.