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Summary
You flex your wings as you feel the warmth of the magma at your back, sending yourself into a slow roll that takes you out of the bubble column right before you reach the bottom of it. The specific magma that caught you is at the very edge of another chasm; you pull your wings in a bit to be sure you won't clip the edge of it, and exhale a stream of bubbles as you sink from the blue into the black. How much longer, now? How much deeper? There's nothing to see now; when you close your eyes, all it does is shift the blackness from cool-hued to warm, blue to red. You open them again anyway, just in case.
Every so often, Philza tries to make contact with someone he can't speak to in person.
