First Spark
Stiffness gives way. My jaw unlocks first. Then my right arm shifts, fingers pressing down against the soft folds beneath me. Not stone. Cloth. Beside me rests a black remote with slick white buttons. I push forward, leaning weight onto my palm, and tap the plastic casing. A dull click answers. No fire erupts, but the pulse is real. I steady my stance, taking the ground as it is.