The stench of death crept into Mudbrook Village before the sun had even peeked over the eastern mountains. On the main street, the usually clear dew streamers had turned a dull brown, leaving sticky marks on the cobblestones. The wheat leaves in Farmer Joe's barn, fresh green the day before, were curled stiff like burnt paper. Housewives scrambled to close their windows as the night insects' chirps died away—the silence was more shrill than a thousand crickets at once.
Elder Thorne dug his black oak staff into the cracked earth; the cracks hissed, expanding as if refusing to be touched. Marcus stood by his father's side—his face covered in cave dust, his eyes red from lack of sleep. Last night, after the rocks had collapsed and trapped the Cavity of Thorns, he had dug as hard as he could until he had stumbled out, only to find the stars extinguished in the sky—swallowed by a fine green mist drifting in from the forest.
"It's a sign of awakening, Father," Marcus murmured, his voice cracking between dismay and loathing. "As long as that Eldrean boy's shovel lives, the hellish caskets beneath our feet will not cease."
Elder Thorne did not answer; his gloomy eyes stared at the village well. The water in the bucket—which the little girl Lena had drawn that morning—had turned into a murky brown liquid, smelling of iron. When brought to the nose, the liquid gave off the stench of ancient blood. The people trembled, some throwing the buckets back into the well, splashing dark stains onto the stone walls.
"Call all the villagers to the hall," the Elder said finally. "Before tonight, we must decide who must be sacrificed so that the land may rest."
Marcus turned quickly. "You mean—"
"Whoever holds the key." Elder Thorne tapped his staff once more, then turned, his sable coat flapping listlessly in the fishy air. Marcus clenched his fists, imagining Ren's face as he lay there in the cave hall last night: his hands fused with the shovel, light engulfing his body. If the boy was dead, the disaster could not have continued to spread—so Marcus was sure Ren was still breathing, somewhere, with the medicine girl named Elena.
In Joe's barren field, Lizzy cried as she picked dandelions that had fallen off their petals at the first touch. Farmer Joe gathered bags of dead weeds, but every time he raised his hand, the wheat kernels fell like ash. He looked at his own fingers: their nails were coated in a dark brown coating that was hard to peel off, as if rotten well water had infiltrated his flesh. He wondered if he was cursed to have kept Ren in the barn.
Before the sun reached its peak, small holes—about the size of coins—appeared on their own in each patch of soil. The holes seemed endless; anyone who stuck a stick in would see it disappear without touching the bottom. Whispers came from the air, sometimes calling out names, sometimes just giggling softly—enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck dance.
Ren Eldrean awoke in pitch darkness, his lungs screaming for air. The first thing he felt was damp stone on his back and the sharp scent of sulfur that seeped into his sinuses. Elena lay on her side beside him, her golden-blond hair streaked with gray dust, her face serene as if in deep sleep. The oil lamp was shattered; the only light came from the shovel in Ren's hand—still half-smoldering red, but now tinged with thin gold veins from Elena's touch.
"Wake up," Ren whispered hoarsely, patting the girl's shoulder gently. Elena stirred slowly, opening her blue eyes that were now ringed with a thin red rim—a strange enlightenment she hadn't noticed. When she saw Ren, a glimmer of relief came quickly before being replaced by worry.
"Where are we?" his voice was hoarse.
Ren shone the shovel's light around them. They were in a vast rocky pocket; the walls were uneven—some resembling giant spines, curved like ribs. Far up in the dome, large stalactites glowed a faint green from thin cracks in the top. The sound of dripping water echoed, but there was no river. At the end of the room was a narrow corridor, leading down, swallowing up the light.
Elena sat up slowly. "I remember falling… then white light… then darkness."
Ren examined his arm: red runes still entwined his skin, but also intertwined with the gold lines on Elena's arm, like tattoos of light running towards each other. He shivered, but this was not the time to panic.
Old Martha's plan was in disarray. The salt ring was destroyed, the door was out of control. But if they were alive, then the great rift had not completely opened—it had only swallowed them down to the lower level. Ren felt in his waist pouch—there was still a handful of broken black salt, the lunar moss now a dry flake.
"First we find a way out," Ren said. "If we find a way up—"
The light from the shovel suddenly dimmed. Ren stopped talking: whispers struck his ears—this time in a foreign language, like a hymn in reverse. Elena held her chest. "Did you hear that?"
Before Ren could answer, a straight crack appeared on the wall to the side of the hallway. The line widened slowly—like a dry mouth smiling—creating a hole as high as the wrist. A black insect the size of a rabbit crawled out; its body was encased in green calcite plates, its eyes hollow with a zombie glow. On its back grew fang-like spikes, dripping brown slime.
One… two… three. Dozens of short centipede-like insects poured out, filling the gaps in the floor, moving in a line toward Ren and Elena.
"Don't touch my salt," Ren muttered tensely. He scattered a speck of salt in front of him; black lightning hissed, and the first line of insects shattered into calcite shards. But the rest circled, undeterred. The narrow passage behind them was the only way.
"Run," Ren said quickly. Elena didn't wait; they ran down the corridor, the smooth walls narrowing. An insect leaped at Ren's feet once or twice; the shovel blade slashed, shattering its body into green powder. But for every one that died, three more crawled out.
The corridor ended abruptly at a steep incline; the air here was cooler, indicating a large space. They burst out at the edge of a giant alcove—wider than the previous hall. Below, at least fifty meters, a circular clearing was dotted with pointed stone pillars. In the center stood a circular, black cavity, like a well—thirty meters wide—surrounded by ancient spiral carvings. A greenish light rose through the thin mist, turning all the colors into a frozen gloom.
Elena held her breath. "That's… the main altar?"
Ren shook his head; instincts told him it was no mere altar, but a giant vein where the entire network of tombs met. A slow pulse rattled the stone beneath their feet; each thud made the thin pillars at the edge of the precipice creak, sending pebbles down.
A centipede appeared at the mouth of the tunnel behind them, reluctant to approach the misty light, as if afraid. Ren breathed a sigh of relief for a moment—but the juxtaposition of calm felt wrong. Like the eye of a storm.
Then… boom. A tremor deeper down made the ground ripple. The mist lifted slightly; Elena let out a soft cry as she saw the surface of the central well—not water, but thick black flesh, pulsing…as if an enormous heart were buried deep within. Occasionally a sharp protuberance emerged from the flesh, then sank again.
The vision hit Ren like a hammer: he felt like he was being dragged out of his body, watching a series of images—ancient heroes clad in obsidian armor, dragged into the giant cavity; ritual shovels hacked at their chests, planting still-beating hearts into the green mud—dubbed Tremor Seeds. Hundreds, thousands—centuries. His father's voice echoed: Dig deeper, my son… there the monster sleeps, waiting for your blood. Then the image changed: a giant horned monster, its body entwined with bone roots, opened its red eyes in the darkness, struggling—mountains collapsing, villages swept away.
Ren jerked back, gasping. Elena held his shoulder. "You dreamed… when you opened your eyes."
"It was… a vision." Ren swallowed. "The monster has not fully awakened. But signs of awakening are already happening above: the plants wither, the well water rots. The village has no time."
Across the wall of the alcove, a narrow path spiraled down toward the giant well. At several points, stalactites formed narrow ledges—perhaps leading to a greater expanse. Ren figured: descending the spiral would mean getting closer to the monster's heart—crazy, but perhaps the only way to get the salt to the source before it awakens.
Elena read his mind. "You want to go down."
Ren nodded. "If we can sow black salt directly in the center before the seal breaks, we might buy some time."
Elena stared at the small bag of salt in Ren's hand; it contained less than a handful. "Will it be enough?"
"We use the shovel as a catalyst. The red rune contains my blood—our blood," Ren looked at the golden lines on Elena's arm. "That means the salt will double its effect."
Before Elena could answer, a new rumble erupted; the walls of the cavern vibrated. In the back passage, the centipedes scrambled aside in panic—a block of stone gave way, opening a second tunnel. A deep grunt echoed; the green mist parted. Marcus Stonefist appeared, his face streaked with embers. In his left hand, he held a broken spear, his right hand cradling a burning log as a torch. Behind him, two young villagers armed with sickles.
"Eldrean!" Marcus pointed angrily. "Elena, get away from him! Look around—you're leading us into a demon's lair!"
Ren was stunned—how had Marcus broken through? But there was no time for explanation: another scream erupted as the floor of the alcove to Marcus' side collapsed, revealing a towering creature: a colossal humanoid skeleton covered in a web of green muscle, its eye sockets glowing red. It was a full-grown Buried One—the final stage. The creature reached for the nearest villager, crushing his head like an egg. Marcus screamed in rage, stabbing the monster in the ribs—his spear breaking uselessly.
The commotion triggered the resonance of the earth; the black heart in the well beat louder—dum-dum-dum—until shards of stone leaped. Ren pulled Elena down just as a towering green jet erupted from the well, cutting through the air in the center of the alcove, striking the ceiling. A thousand thin cracks spread, stalactites falling like a rain of knives.
A giant boulder hurtled toward Marcus. Ren, impulsively, swung his shovel—a flash of red cut through the darkness, striking the stone in midair and shattering it into dust. The shimmer formed a momentary shield, forcing the Buried One to retreat.
Marcus stared in awe, a mixture of hatred and envy. Ren shouted, "Follow me if you want to live!" and pulled Elena down the descending spiral. The centipedes scattered, crushed by their feet. Behind him, Marcus was forced to run as well, while the Buried One roared, climbing the stone pillars in pursuit.
The spiral was slippery; one wrong step would mean a fall into the heart well. Ren lit the shovel, lighting the path. Elena behind him, Marcus last, occasionally throwing rocks to block the centipedes. The Buried One's roar echoed.
At the halfway point, the path suddenly broke—a broken archway five meters to the far wall. Below, a green void swirled. Ren stopped, breathing heavily. The Buried One had reached the upper edge, giant hands grabbing the broken planks.
Marcus took the lead, jumping first—surprising agility for a body his size. He landed on the far edge, almost slipping. "Hurry!" he shouted.
Ren prepared to jump, but Elena grabbed his arm: "I can't!" The distance was too great for him. The Buried One dropped a level, the pillars rumbling.
Without hesitation, Ren gripped the shovel with both hands; the red blade throbbed. He slammed the handle against the wall next to him—creating a thin bridge of red light, radiating to the other side. Blood energy formed a bridge for a moment, but the runes on his arm vibrated, sapping his stamina.
"Now!" Ren pushed Elena. She stepped into the light, each step sending red sparks. Ren followed; behind him, the Buried One leaped—grabbing half of the spiral pillar. The bridge of light cracked; Ren landed on the other side with Elena, and the light shattered into pieces. The Buried One floated a few feet before falling; his body slammed into the heart well, sinking into the black flesh, provoking more wild beats.
Marcus stared at Ren—he wanted to insult, but amazement held his tongue. Ren didn't care; he sprinkled the rest of the salt on his palms, preparing to descend the final path.
But the earth suddenly stopped beating, then spread a giant pulse— BANG!—that killed all sound. At the center of the well, the black flesh cracked, opening a gap like the iris of an eye. Green and red light formed a giant pupil that gleamed with awareness.
Ren, Elena, and Marcus froze. The eyes stared directly at the shovel in Ren's hand—as if recognizing the key that had cut his flesh. A boiling voice rose from the depths, not words but emotion: revenge.
The edge of the well cracked wider; the stone pillars collapsed, sending shockwaves. The spiral path swayed; Marcus screamed as part of the edge fell away, leaving him hanging in the rock cavity. Ren caught Marcus' wrist with one hand, the shovel in the other. Elena held Ren's waist, steadying him.
Below, two giant arms of green pus rose, trying to grab the edge of the well. If the monster came out, the entire network of tombs would collapse—the surface world would be destroyed. Ren stared at the salt residue on his palm; it wasn't enough. The only way: he had to drive the shovel straight into the heart's eye—and maybe never come back.
He looked at Elena; she shook her head, tears mixing with dust. Ren whispered, "If I… fall, save the village." Elena cried, but there was no time to reply: Marcus slipped again, nearly dragging them both along.
The giant arms dug into the edge; the rock shattered. Ren knew time was up. He took a breath, released Marcus's grip—making the boy scream—and then plunged straight into the well, shovel raised like a shining red spear.
Elena screamed his name, Marcus tried to get up, but the floor beneath them began to crack apart. Ren dove through the green mist, toward the monster's dilated pupil, ready to swallow. The shovel flashed red and gold, his father's voice whispered once more: Dig deeper, my son—until the heart of the earth stops…
Ren's body plunged into pitch darkness, hot and cold at once, and before the light of the shovel touched the giant's eye, the world seemed to stop spinning—