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A dark, iridescent cloak covers the man's head and body, as he stands in the valley, facing a flat topped mountain. Arms stretching outward and hands pointing forward, he is the maestro to the landscape's orchestra. His hands come together. Sparks sprout in a vertical line along the centre of the mountain, as the ground shakes slowly and a loud thunder rolls. His arms stretch out again, as if holding back invisible forces trying to crush him. The mountain in front of him snaps cleanly in half, the two pieces tumbling over, with the strength of the movement.

The thunder loudens and the earth starts shaking more violently in the valley. Trying to keep his balance, the wizard smiles and admires his achievement. Black smoke gushes out from where the mountain once stood, as grey stone and silt are pushed up from under the earth with a near liquid aspect. Occasional explosions send rocks the size of houses hurling hundreds of meters up. As he sees the flow moving in his direction, the cloaked man suddenly realises the danger and starts running in the opposite direction.


A quarter of the way up, the dark cloud catches up with him, the sudden push dropping him to his feet. Looking back he sees the flow about to reach the base of the hill. The torrent has grown darker now, here and there patches of bright orange molten rock can be seen. It's still moving as fast as before, though.


A few desperate minutes running up the path, the wizard reaches a dead end and curses under his breath. The smog has thinned out a bit and he sees the ruins of an old lookout post watching over the quickly changing landscape. A single brick wall from what was once a cottage or a storage shed stands near the rock face. He awkwardly climbs onto the wall, holding onto the cliff-side for balance. With a well timed jump aided by the movement of the ground he grabs onto a large root and pulls himself up.

Winded and breathing heavily, he hugs the swaying tree for stability as he rests. He coughs frantically for a few seconds and throws up on the grass. Recomposed, he tries to look back down the ledge.


A small explosion under the flowing rock sends a large boulder flying by, missing him by a few meters.


A loud hissing sound confirms the hot rock has met the sea, a new cloud of ash in the distance barely visible through the smoke. He continues walking up the mountain, now less desperately. The peak of the hill is a couple of hundred meters above the bush-line, and provides him with a good overview of the scene. Sitting down on the ground and leaning against a rock, he rolls a cigarette absentmindedly, then remembers inhaling eruption fumes minutes before and decides against lighting it.


A strong southerly wind blows the ash clouds away from where the wizard is sitting. On the other side of the valley the hills are covered in soot, and burning trees add fuel to the smog. Stones small and large still drop from the sky at regular intervals, carving new detail into the recently formed landscape. Looking away from the valley the nearby ranges seem relatively unscathed. The quakes caused landslides and opened a few rifts, and an adventurous river is exploring a new path. A group of trees is on fire, probably from a falling rock which hadn't had enough time to cool down.

A sip from his canteen mixed fresh water with the remains of soot and vomit in his mouth, the foul taste making him spit it out in reflex. After rinsing his mouth properly and drinking the container half empty, the wizard stands up again. His once shiny cloak has turned an unflattering shade of grey, and an assortment of twigs, seeds, holes and tears adorns it. He patiently removes the plant matter and shakes off the ash, but the cloak refuses to change back to its original colour.

"Indie meets Mariachi? Pop meets Alternative? They may be indescribable but you still find yourself whistling their tunes."