Melts sand

I turn up the heat, focusing my fire into a white-hot beam. I'd seen craftsmen in Ghirapur do this before, when I was a kid, though they had an aetherkiln and some special powders and stuff. I imagine the idea is the same though. I feel the sand melting and grasp the air with my hand, commanding and sculpting the rivulets of molten slag. Those Ghirapur artisans made elegant figurines and fancy parts for ships with delicate, complex, spindly bits. My goal is much simpler. I step forward and shape the still-liquid glass into a simple, crude dome. Just big enough to fit four regular-size people and one Gideon-size people. The glass takes shape, hardening into a semi-clear bubble as grains of sand pepper into its still-soft surface. I drag my hand across one part, fingers not quite touching the surface, creating a small doorway.

"Come in. It's cool. Er, cooling. Er, it shouldn't light your clothes on fire if you accidentally touch it," I yell.

Liliana leads the way, and the rest join her, and soon we're all standing inside, looking out at the blur of sand and dust creating a constant sound like a thousand mothers shushing their children at some kind of weird place where there'd be a thousand mothers and their children gathered, only the thousand mothers is just tens of thousands of grains of sand washing over our little dome in this crazy storm. We all kind of just watch for a bit, and I'm not sure if the others are watching because there's a sort of primal beauty and awe-inducing aspect to the chaotic melee dancing through the air, or if they just didn't want to make eye contact after we came to kick dragon butt and ended up nearly drowning in sand.

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