He opened his vials. Black from Iceland. White from Australia. Pink from Bahamas. Green and blue shards from California. He poured them into a single pile in front of him.

“See those?” he yelled over the gale. “Nature’s hexagons. Better than your smartphone grid.”

Chester’s first rule: Always start with the weird one . Vik’s black sand isn’t sand so much as crushed lava that looks like someone ground up a dragon’s spine. The wind sounds like a disappointed god. Chester, wearing shorts (it was 4°C), squinted at the basalt columns.