“Is there truly no way to stop it?” says Aër.

Gaia studies her. “The children that recently called me home. Their spirit is now but scattered dust upon my belly. Unlike the first, they had built wondrous technology. And yet, even they—“

“But—,” Aër tries to interject, but Gaia rumbles, cutting her off. “Even they could not shield us from this fate.

Egua considers for a moment. “The first? You mean the Dinosaurs? As some Humans would say.”

“Yes, my child. I—“

“But you survived, Gaia! After Dinosaurs. After… Humans?,” Aër interrupts, pausing before the mention of the most recent loss as it is still fresh—in their measure of time at least. “Why is this any different?”

“Do you recall the Human story of Theia?”

“Theia!? Yes, I recall the tale. She broke you when you were but a child. At least, a part of you—” Aër replies quickly.

“You mean the celestial rock that created what the Humans called the Moon. Is that right, Aër?”

“Yes, Egua,” she replies impatiently. “The separate part of Gaia that still has some dominion over you.”

“That’s because I let it. Same goes for you, even though it’s more subtle,” a tsunami rises quickly then lowers as Egua calms herself.

The atmospheric winds intensify briefly in response. “Why do you mention it, Gaia?”

“This one, Aër. The one now nearly upon us. Is much greater.” Gaia explains, calmly despite the dire situation.

Several tornados form across Gaia, “It’ll have to get through me first. And I won’t let it!”

“Bold words, Aër, but you couldn’t stop the others,” Egua counters. “And those were like pebbles under Theia’s foot.

“Egua is right. You may slow it, but you will not stop it,” Gaia says as Egua comically tries, and fails, to stop her own tides.

“So we do… nothing?” Aër frets, the sky seeming to pale in color.

“Daughters. Let us not despair. Instead, we shall share our most cherished moments,” Gaia comforts, “Perhaps, if we are lucky, they will be recorded amongst the stars.”

After a few moments, Egua chimes in. “That is a splendid idea. For me, it was being carried by the Sun to share myself with all the fascinating creatures. Especially people, though they could be finicky about what they called, Rain.”

Aër reminisces. “For me. It brought me joy to hold flying creatures and Human-made gadgetry aloft,” Aër lowers her voice. “I have always loved their riding balloons, how they filled me with warmth. They were so… beautiful.”

“Hot air balloons,” Egua agrees, “I will miss those for sure. All the colors…”

“What say _you_, Gaia?” Aër asks, curiously.

“I will miss a great many things. Deforestation. Oil drilling. Global warming.”

“Gaia?!” exclaims Egua, shocked. “Those things hurt you. Aren’t we sharing our best times?”

“I have been around a long, long while, Egua. Before you or Aër arrived,” Gaia breathes hard, as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders—which he did. “And feeling the humans rip and tear and dig and destroy… allowed me to _feel_ again. For that, and many others, I will miss them dearly, as I’m sure all of you do.”

Aër sends a ripple across the equator in agreement.

“Me too,” adds Egua.

“Me three,” sounds a voice from the shadows.

“Pyro?” Aër’s clouds shift erratically in surprise.

“You know it!” Pyro exclaims with a flare. “Wouldn’t miss the literal end of the world. No offense, Gaia.”

“That seems a bit disingenuous,” waves crash the continent where Pyro burns.

“Not at all,” counters Pyro. “I just always figured it would happen one day. Keeping it real, you know? It’s gonna happen, so why not embrace it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Gaia?” asks Aër gently.

“We have all enjoyed our time,” Gaia continues. “But as I’ve always said, time is a gift, and there must always be an end. We should be grateful for the time we’ve had, not mourn time not given.”

“So, Pyro,” says Aër, begrudgingly. “What is your dearest memory?”

“That’s easy,” blurts Pyro. “S’mores.”

“Be serious, Pyro,” Egua shoots back, waves intensifying.

“Okay, okay,” flames flare out. “I have many others. First—it’s an oldie but a goodie, as the Humans say—but their first use of fire.”

“The cave dwellers? Was that for hunting?” asks Egua, genuinely curious.

“Nah,” Pyro replies. “For protection! Here’s a bit of trivia for ya—it allowed those early beings to sleep on the ground rather than in the trees.”

“Interesting!”

“Go on?” Aër prompts.

“Night lighting,” Pyro continues. “Like, before Edison and Tesla—and no, I’m not getting into that argument—_Tesla_,” Pyro puffs the last word in a whisper. “I’m talking fire pits and torches. They, of course, got the ideas from me.”

“You spoke to them?!” Egua’s eyes widen.

“No, no, no,” Pyro quickly corrects. “They watched me burn the forests. They were copycats, but I was still honored.”

“It is here,” Gaia booms, causing everyone to look up.

“I want to thank you, my children, for a great many millennia together.”

“Hey, um Gaia?” Pyro murmurs.

“Yes, youngest daughter.”

“Can I like, just start burning stuff? Being the end and all. I had this itch to—“

Aër interrupts. “Look yonder!” Clouds begin to part, offering a better view.

“What!? Nah. Really?!” the inferno subsides, “But I was about to—“

“Shut up, Pyro,” heaving a small river’s worth of water at the talking flames. Smoke billows on the spot. A few burning embers remain.

Gaia booms. “We have been given a gift, my children. We are reborn! Let us celebrate this rebirth.”

The clouds churn violently, dissipating the last of the smoke and snuffing the last of the embers. “It is a joyous moment indeed.”

“Ha! What did you do?” the oceans ripple in delight.

“Well, as it is my birthday. Thank you for that, Gaia. I did what Humans would. I blew out the Can-dle,” Aër says, careful to pronounce the foreign word correctly.

“Sorry, b$%@&, I’m a Magic Candle!” Pyro flares back with a wink.

The four of them chuckle, having survived the potential end of the world.