And lo, the bell did toll—over and over. Sometimes at the zenith of the sun, and other times, at the full moon. Sometimes on the dot of each hour, and other times, way off schedule.

And it didn’t matter when the bell rang. They gathered up their things as in a wild frenzy of terror, fearing the next ring, and ran for shelter anywhere the light of the sun was blocked, because when the bell rang, the sun’s rays heated degree by degree until fire broke out in the wilds by day, and even night. At the next bell, the clouds rolled to soothe the lands with calming rains.

Their time was measured by the ringing of the bell, and they talked of a glorious final toll. A time when the bell ceased to ever ring, though many often said it to be a fairy tale. To those who believed the bell would never end, they feared each ring of the bell as though it would be their last.