Shadows Beneath the Ashes

Gerda stood at the edge of the cliff, her bare feet digging into the loose, still-warm earth that reeked of scorched metal and something sour, as if the world had swallowed itself whole and spat it back out as this ugly mess. The wind, cold and sharp, lashed at her face, whipping her hair—black with those damn emerald streaks she'd hated as a kid—around like a tattered flag. She stared down into the abyss where lava churned, spitting green sparks, and thought it looked like the breath of some beast pretending to be dead. The planet was alive. She could feel it in her bones, in the way the ground trembled beneath her, in the way the air pressed against her chest, like invisible hands squeezing her ribs.

"Gerda, why'd you freeze up?" Shi's voice cut through her ears, rough and raspy, like someone who'd screamed into the void too long. He stood a little behind her, leaning against the warped trunk of a tree that looked like it'd been turned inside out. His skin shimmered with a reddish glow, like embers in a dying fire, and his eyes burned—not bright, but dull, tired. He looked like a ghost she'd dragged out of that fiery hell, and she still wasn't sure why.

"Dunno," she muttered, not turning around. "Just… looking. Feeling something. Don't you hear it?"

"I hear it," Agatha chimed in, her voice lower than usual, laced with a shadow that made it feel foreign. She stepped closer, her footsteps heavy, like she was dragging something unseen behind her. Shadows writhed around her, thin tendrils bursting from her silhouette before dissolving into the air. "It's not just the wind. It's… voices. Down there, somewhere."

Gerda nodded, though her insides twisted. She didn't want to admit it, but Agatha was right. There were voices—whispers, faint like the rustle of leaves that didn't exist here. They called, pulled, beckoned, and it made her want to clamp her hands over her ears and run until her legs gave out. But there was nowhere to run. Around them stretched a blasted wasteland, littered with shards of the Echoes of the Rifts, those cursed crystals jutting from the ground like the teeth of some giant monster, glowing so bright it stung her eyes. And behind them—the forest, the one where they'd met those red-eyed insect things, where she'd nearly torn everything apart when she lost control.

"We need to go down," she said finally, surprised at how calm it sounded. "If something's there, it'll find us. Better to face it head-on."

Shi snorted but didn't argue. Agatha just looked at her with those new eyes—golden, with triangular lines that made her look like a predator from one of Grandpa's old stories. Gerda turned away. She didn't like how they'd all changed. Didn't like how she didn't feel human anymore. But there was no choice.

The descent was long and miserable. They clung to ledges, slipped on crumbling rocks, and every step echoed into the chasm. The lava below hissed, spewing clouds of steam that stank of rot and metal. Gerda tried not to look down, but every time her gaze caught that green inferno, memories flashed: Grandpa, his warm hands, the smell of bread in their tiny kitchen, then—the flash, the blood, his last gasp. "It's time," he'd said, and those words rang in her now like a tolling bell. She clenched her teeth. No time to fall apart. Not now.

They reached a narrow ledge where the stones were smooth, like something alive had polished them. It was dark here, with only the faint glow of crystals seeping through cracks in the walls. And the silence—thick, pressing on her ears harder than the air itself. Gerda stopped, listening. Shi and Agatha's footsteps faded behind her, and she felt their stares—heavy, tense.

"Something's watching," Agatha whispered, her voice trembling. "I can feel it."

Gerda didn't get a chance to reply. A shadow slipped out of the darkness, from a crack in the rock. No—not a shadow. A figure. Tall, gaunt, with arms too long and flexible to be human. Its face was hidden under a hood of ragged cloth, but its eyes—white, pupilless, like a corpse's—glowed in the dimness. Gerda froze, her heart pounding so loud she heard it in her ears. A second figure appeared, then a third. They moved silently, like spiders, encircling them—not rushing, but inevitable.

"Who are you?" Gerda blurted, regretting it the moment the words left her mouth. Her voice was too loud, too sharp, and the echo carried it deep into the abyss.

The figure in front—the tallest—slowly raised its head. The hood slid back, revealing a face, if you could call it that. Its skin was gray, dry as parchment, stretched tight over a bony skull. Instead of a mouth, a narrow slit parted, letting out a hissing sound like a crushed insect.

"We… Dwellers-in-the-Depths," it rasped, sending shivers down her spine. "You… outsiders. Surface-dwellers. Why… come?"

Gerda swallowed. She wanted to snap something back, like she usually did, but the words stuck in her throat. These things weren't human. They were something else—something that had survived down here, in this hell, and now looked at them like prey. Or a threat.

"We're not enemies," she forced out, trying to keep her voice steady. "We… we're looking for answers. What's happening here?"

The Dwellers-in-the-Depths exchanged glances—if you could call it that with those empty eyes. The one who'd spoken leaned closer, and Gerda caught a whiff—sharp, like rust and rotting flesh. She stepped back instinctively, bumping into Shi, who muttered a curse under his breath.

"Answers…" it hissed. "Answers below. In the Core. But you… not ready. You smell… of weakness. And power. Dangerous power."

"What Core?" Agatha cut in, her voice shaky but edged with steel. "And why are you here? You're not from the surface, are you?"

The creature turned its head toward her, and for a moment, its eyes flared brighter. The others stirred, their long fingers flexing like claws.

"We… children of the Rifts," it replied. "We were… once. Now… different. The Core calls. It… changes. It… gives life. And death."

Gerda felt something twist inside her. Those words—"changes," "life and death"—struck a chord in her memory. Grandpa used to tell her tales of underground gods that devoured people to reshape them. She'd laughed at them back then, but now… Now it didn't feel funny.

"If you don't touch us, we'll leave," Shi said, his voice low, almost a growl. "We don't want a fight."

The Dwellers-in-the-Depths fell silent. The quiet stretched so long Gerda thought they might just vanish like ghosts. But then the leader stepped forward, its clawed hand reaching for her. She tensed, ready to strike, but it stopped a pace away.

"You… won't leave," it hissed. "The Core… knows you now. It… wants you. Soon… you'll come. Or… die here."

With that, they melted back into the darkness as silently as they'd come. Gerda stood still, not moving until their white eyes faded into the shadows. Only then did she exhale, her hands trembling.

"What the hell was that?" Shi whispered, his voice quivering with anger and fear.

"No idea," Gerda said, staring where they'd disappeared. "But I feel… they're right. Something's calling. And it's close."

They decided to keep going. Not because they wanted to, but because standing still felt worse. The chasm narrowed into a tunnel, its walls coated in something black and sticky, like tar. The crystal glow grew brighter, but it didn't help—it only picked out strange shapes in the dark: bones fused into the walls, chunks of metal jutting out like broken ribs. Gerda led the way, each step sending jolts of pain through her legs, but she didn't stop. She felt like if she did, she'd never move again.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Agatha's voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried a thread of worry. "Your grandpa."

Gerda froze. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to dig up what already hurt like an open wound. But Agatha was looking at her, and there was something in those golden eyes that wouldn't let her lie.

"Yeah," she managed, her voice rough. "He'd know what to do. He always did. And me… I'm just stumbling forward, hoping I don't break."

"He was strong," Agatha said, resting a hand on her shoulder. The shadows around her shifted, not threatening but soothing. "So are you. You're part of him."

Gerda nodded, but inside, she was screaming. She didn't feel strong. She felt lost, like that little girl hiding behind Grandpa while the world fell apart. But he was gone, and she had to be the one who protected now. She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

The tunnel opened into a massive cavern. The ceiling vanished into the dark, and the floor was strewn with crystal shards that crunched underfoot like glass. In the center loomed a thing—not quite a machine, not quite alive. It was huge, taller than their old house in Bakirton, made of metal and flesh woven together so you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Tubes sprouted from its sides, oozing black sludge, and at its heart pulsed a crimson crystal, red as blood.

"Is that… the Core?" Shi whispered, his voice trembling.

"Maybe," Gerda said, but her eyes weren't on it. Around the machine-thing, shadows moved. Dwellers-in-the-Depths. More of them than before—dozens, maybe hundreds. They didn't look at them, busy with their tasks: some hauled metal scraps, others scooped up the sludge and smeared it on the walls. But Gerda knew—they sensed them.

"They're… building something," Agatha said, her voice barely audible. "Or… preparing."

"For what?" Shi asked, but no one answered. Instead, one of the Dwellers turned toward them. Its eyes flared, and it let out a sound—not a hiss, but a low, vibrating hum that shook the walls.

And then it started. The others stopped their work and moved toward them, slow but relentless. Their claws gleamed in the crystal light, their movements smooth and menacing. Gerda felt something snap inside—the beast that had woken in her back in the forest. She clenched her fists, and the air around her shivered.

"They won't let us go," she said, her voice cold as steel. "Get ready."

Shi stepped forward, his hands flaring with weak but dangerous fire. Agatha raised hers, and the shadows thickened, coiling into tendrils. The Dwellers closed in, and Gerda knew—this wasn't just a meeting. It was the prelude to something bigger, a fight that would leave them alive or dead. And deep down, she felt it was only the beginning.

The Mechanical Cat and Her Mysteries

High above this fractured new world, in the stratosphere where the air was thin and frigid, Jizi floated. Her colossal form, now the size of a continent, shimmered with metal and light, like a star that had fallen to earth but refused to fade. She gazed down at the planet she'd reborn, and in her eyes—if a mechanical goddess could have eyes—there flickered a mix of indifference and curiosity. She didn't interfere. Not yet. But every so often, her paws—vast as mountains—clenched, and from them dropped toys. Artifacts, humans might call them. Tiny spheres that could slice steel with a touch. Metal plates whispering in unknown tongues. Strange devices that sparked and melted, leaving trails of power no one could wield. Jizi tossed them down like dice in a game, watching who'd claim them first—the Dwellers-in-the-Depths, the surface survivors, or perhaps Gerda herself. She waited. And in that waiting lay a mystery no one could unravel. Not yet.

They stood back-to-back, surrounded by shadows drawing closer. Gerda felt the power inside her swelling, clawing to break free, ready to shatter everything. But she knew—if she lost it like she had in the forest, it could kill them all. She took a breath, trying to steady herself, but the stench of blood and metal only hit harder. The Dwellers stopped a few paces away, their eyes glowing like lanterns in fog. Then the leader—the one with the gray face—raised a hand. In its claws glinted a crystal shard, sharp as a blade.

"You… are chosen," it hissed. "The Core… will decide."

Gerda didn't get a chance to ask what it meant. The creature lunged, and the world around them erupted in motion, sound, and fear.