Four isles lay, carved out from the planet’s core. One covered in water, the salt air echoes from its shore. One erected up high, foliage weaving in and out from its base. One made of clouds, suspended above the others. And one isle banished, scorched from the inside out.

Four isles lay, encircling a barren land, where no growth, nor wind, nor water breaches it. Only strips of sand sprawl from each, meeting to caress the empty bank.

Four isles lay, isolated from each other. Their inhabitants weaving their tales of each other, fueled by rumor.

Four isles lay, until one soul made of pine and root, abandons her isle.

She is covered in dirt, her skin made of leaves and flowers, her name Iris. She comes from the earth isle, its lush greenery so vast, it is considered its own citizen bleeding into every corner and crevice of the isle. It is crowded, her isle. So much so she descends down her isles roots to the long streak of sand. The bridge that will lead her to the barrens.

A land of waste and ruin, caused by the fire isle’s desire to ignite and watch everything burn. They were the reason the other isles cut off communication with each other. To not risk their own burning. Or so the stories go. 

Iris grips the roots, her feet shifting on the uneven ground. The sand is like no type of earth she has seen before and she lets out an excited gasp as she feels its warmth between her toes. It reminds her of the sun and of the little piles of mud by her trees after a surprise rainfall. 

Iris continues down the sand bridge, her feet landing crooked with each step she takes. She soon makes it to the barrens, where the sand has become flatter.

It’s here she sees him. Sitting cross-legged, his feet ashened and his head a wave of orange. He is looking up and speaking to another, one who sits on a cloud. _An islander from the air isle!_

She was expecting his voice to be rough, jagged, and mean even. Instead it is light, soft and calm. She waits, listening.

“I am the passage you seek. And that is the place you desire.” He points to the blackened isle behind him. The woman made of clouds hesitates, as she looks to where he pointed.

He senses her hesitation, as he continues, “Do not let the sight fool you.”

And with a flick of his arm, the woman now seems to see something that wasn’t there before. She shakes his hand and floats to the isle, laughter escaping her mouth.

All Iris sees is black.

The man, still cross-legged, turns to Iris. “What is your name, earthling?”

 “Iris.” She manages to say, mimicking him and forcing her stiff roots to become cross-legged. He smiles at her.

“You are afraid of me.” He says.

“I ..” Iris started, her hands trembling slightly. “I do not know you. There is a difference.”

The man laughs. “You are wise. What do you know?”

Iris thinks. She knows the isles were created from pieces of the planet's core. She knows they function independently but occasionally their elements will pass through each other's isles by accident. Rain will shower them from the water isle or a breeze from the air isle will rustle their trees. She remembers her grandmother telling her they used to see more water and air and fire even.

“We coexisted once. All four isles.” Iris blurted out. The man’s face breaks into a smile. “But now we don’t. Because your isle scorched this land. Threatening us.” His smile falters, sadness filling his eyes.

“There is always a seed of truth rooted in the lies.” The man said, standing up and dusting the sand from his legs. “We only scorch dead earth.”

“Who are you to decide if the earth is dead?” Iris asked, shock all over her face.

The man looked at her before saying, “Give me your left arm.”

Iris looks down at her left arm. The one where the florals are smaller, her leaves dried in places. The arm where her roots have shriveled up, barely clinging to her wrists. “Why?” She asks, tucking her arm into her.

“Because fire is not always scorching.” He extends his hand, waiting.

There is a moment in the mornings when Iris sits perched on one of the tree branches, watching the little birds awaken. Over time, they grow, their eyes wide and their wings bristling in their nest. They eventually stand up, looking over the branch's edge, deciding if the risk of falling is worth the promise of flying. It always is for them.

Iris extends her arm and closes her eyes, anxiety seeping into her roots. The man grabs her wrist gently, warm spreading across her arm. His fingers glide over her arm, the warmth becoming a steady drip. He feels like rain.

She smells burning and she opens one eye to see her arm smoking. She gasps, taking her arm from him but it is not scorched nor ashened. In fact, it is greener than it has been in months. All the dry leaves are gone, the shriveled roots no longer sucking the life out of the little flowers. 

Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him. “How?”

“It’s not always a destroyer. Fire can cleanse. It can heal. It also can be the beginning of life.” His eyes look down at her arm. Iris follows his gaze and gasps. A new budding flower is now visible near the top of her wrist. Iris smiles as she looks up, taking in the vastness of the barren land. They are the only two elements here.

A thought prickles her brain, like a thorn from a rose. She frowns as she turns back to the man and says, “Nothing grows here. There is no wind, no earth, or water either. No life begins here!”

“You have been marooned too long.” The man says, his eyes sad again. ”Nothing grows here because no earthlings have blessed this land. Nothing lives here because no waterlings have showered this land. Nothing stays here because no airlings have weathered this land through clouds or sun. No life exists without us. All of us.”

Iris thinks back to those days when water would creep in, the leaves sighing with relief and stretching wider than they had in ages. She remembers the breeze through her vined hair, as it rustled the neighboring seeds, taking them further around the isle. How there would be new growth from those spots days later. The days were better, when the rain would fall and the clouds would move to show the sun.

“Does a place like that exist?” Iris whispers, her hands nervously clutching her roots. “With the firelings?” 

She looks up to the man. The man, with his ashened boots and his glowing hair that seems to always be moving. The man, with one blue eye and one orange. The man, whom Iris now finally smells, has a scent of dirt and pine needles. The man, who looks like fire, moves like wind, feels like water, and smells like earth. The man, whose soul is elemental, smiles at her.

“Yes. It exists.”

They say the inhabitants of the earth isle are stubborn. They grow in one direction and refuse to change course, even if they run out of room. Perhaps this is true for most, but Iris knows she cannot grow anymore. And maybe that makes her less of an earthling than she thought.

“Take me to the fire isle.” Iris says, standing up straight. She is unsure where her courage came from but knows the warm sun and the new blooms have helped her roots get stronger. Helped her backbone form.

The man smiles, as he spreads his arms wide. “You are already here.”

Iris looks around the barrens, momentarily perplexed. She walks in small circles, inspecting the sand and dirt. There is nothing here. There is no one here. The realization hits her like a tree branch, the fear taking over again. “You scorched your own isle?”

“We scorched an isle to grow anew. And we have risen from our own ash. Metaphorically, of course, as no inhabitant was harmed during the burning.”  His smile is calm, as he waits for Iris to process this. He continues, “Your isle, along with the air and water isles, did not want to participate in the building of something new. Of something together. But that did not stop its own inhabitants from seeking us out. Like you are doing now.”

It always felt off to only be among earthlings. It’s probably why Iris enjoyed her mornings with the birds. It’s why she descended the roots of her isle to come here. It’s why she isn’t running away now. She feels almost a magnetic tug towards him.

“You are who they call Compass. Why should I follow you?” Iris asks, her tone not accusatory but genuinely curious.

The man starts to walk to the blackened isle and Iris fears he may leave her before he answers her. But he stops and turns to face her, snapping his one hand high above him.

Soon, the blackened isle behind him comes into focus, no longer being shielded by ash and soot. It is massive, full of inhabitants from each of the different isles. Iris sees clouds swarming parts of the isle and other areas being showered in rain. A breeze cuts through, whipping her small leaves on the back of her arms. There are small fires being put out in areas along the shore and she can see new buds forming from the ash. The sea bumping up to the isle shore gifts the land with something fresh and green.

“Earth can grow .. underwater?” Iris asks, looking back at the man.

“Earth, with the help of water, air and fire, can grow anywhere.” Compass says, taking Iris’ hand and leading her to the new isle.

“What is this isle called?” Iris asks, following Compass.

She takes in everyone. How fluid they all seemed to be with each other, in a way her earthlings have never been. This isle has flourished with the assistance of everyone, of every element.

Compass let’s go of her hand, as he ushers her through the shore.

“Home.”