The eruption thundered through the night, shaking the cliffs and painting the sky with fire. From the cave, the villagers watched in horror as the mountain spat ash and molten rock into the heavens.
By dawn, the sky was no longer blue but gray, thick with drifting ash. It fell like snow upon the land, coating roofs, trees, and the sea itself. The air grew heavy, choking, and the villagers covered their mouths with cloth to breathe.
Children cried, frightened by the strange darkness. Mothers held them close, whispering comfort. Fishermen stared at the sea, now blackened with ash, their boats useless against the suffocating tide.
Lira stood at the cave's mouth, thumb pressed against her lips, listening. The wind carried the mountain's voice, deep and rumbling: Ash will bury. Ash will blind. Stay hidden until the sky clears.
She turned to the villagers. "We must remain in the cave. The ash is dangerous. It will choke us if we wander."
Elder Ramos nodded gravely. "We will obey."
But Dario scoffed. "We cannot hide forever. We must return to the village and salvage what we can."
Aling Rosa's voice rose, firm and protective. "If we leave now, we will die. The child speaks truth."
The villagers hesitated, torn between fear and desperation. Yet when another tremor shook the ground and ash poured thicker from the sky, they followed Lira's command.
Inside the cave, they huddled together, waiting. The ash fell endlessly, turning day into night.