Chapter 3. First Day. First Assignment

She stood still, looking at it, then took out a piece of chalk and made a mark.

– Here, she said aloud, softly. – If I don't return, start from here.

The trail led to the northwestern wall of the ravine. Where, according to old maps, there used to be an overgrown root system. She remembered: there always grew a shrub with gray leaves and moss that looked like ash. Now, nothing. The ground was cleared. Everything removed. Only fragments remained. Not burned. Not dried. Specifically cleared. As if something had carved a path and didn't want anything living to be underfoot.

Ellie approached the wall. The northwestern side of the ravine was different from the rest. Not just cracks like you'd see in a crumbling slope, but clear lines that weren't natural. At first glance, they seemed chaotic, but if you stood sideways, looking at an angle, they formed geometry. Too precise. Her fingers moved across the stone. Not sharply. As if touching hardened wax. The stone was warm. But not from the sun. In this corner, sunlight didn't reach.

At waist height, Ellie noticed a barely visible indentation. A triangular shape. Not symmetrical. Not like a symbol. Closer to a keyhole, only with no door. No cracks, no seams. Just a cut in the surface.

She ran a nail across it. A soft click, a hollow sound, but nothing else happened. The stone inside felt not empty but filled with something. As if someone had hidden... a component. A presence. There was no way to explain it. Just a feeling that it wasn't accidental. She took out her notebook. Opened it. Began to write, then crossed it out.

"Indentation in the wall: geometric, triangular in shape.

Located at ~115° from the center of the riverbed (west-northwest).

Size: ~half a palm.

Depth – unclear. Dark.

Feeling: as if air comes from within. Not wind. Something like... pressure?

Thought: if it's a mechanism, it's been built in long ago or hidden by someone who knew others would come. Also, why make a keyhole shape here? Nothing opens, but the shape is precise, not accidental, not chipped out. Cut."

She sat for a minute, just staring. The wind didn't change. There were no sounds.

And then she heard it, a single crunch. Not loud. Not close. As if something beneath her feet slightly shifted. She stood up sharply, stepped aside. Stood silently. Nothing happened again.

"Sound. One. Short. Possibly movement within the soil. Or maybe just a normal settling.

But the feeling was as if something alive was beneath me."

She felt unwell. Not fear, but something else—an instinctive signal: enough. She wasn't a coward. But everything inside warned her: one more step, and something would begin that couldn't be stopped. She rolled up her notebook, tied it tightly. Looked around one last time.

Whatever was here didn't want to be found. But it also wasn't hiding.

Climbing out of the ravine took longer than entering. Ellie didn't rush. Going up was harder, and each step sounded louder. The birds hadn't returned. Not one. The air grew warmer, but lifeless. Unnatural.

She returned by evening. The city greeted her with its usual cacophony: markets, the smell of fried dough, porters shouting, a brawl outside a tavern. Life was happening. People had no idea that just a few hours' walk away lay a ravine that didn't sound like a ravine or smell like earth.

The guild was noisy. One of the fighters argued about a caravan reward, someone asked for an injury recount, someone complained the mage in their group "accidentally set the cart on fire." Business as usual.

Ellie walked past, approached the clerk.

– Welcome back, he muttered without looking up. – Assignment?

– "The Womb." Reconnaissance.

He put down his quill, finally looked up.

– Any success?

– Success. But it's not a ravine. At least, not just that.

He raised an eyebrow.

– You mean magic?

– I mean artificially leveled walls, a trench along the bottom, pressure in the ground, keyhole shape in the northern wall. Nothing alive. Everything cleared. And a feeling that something is waiting beneath you.

– Wrote it down?

She silently handed him the notebook, open to the page. He read. Slowly. Then again.

– Sounds like paranoia.

– Sounds like a warning.

He grunted.

– Fine. I'll file it in the archive. Maybe someone will check.

– They won't.

– Yeah. They won't.

He handed her the completion slip, scribbled a mark.

She was about to leave when he appeared—same researcher from the morning.

– You're back, he said, looking at the clerk, not at her. – Fast. Must've found nothing.

– I found something, Ellie said.

– Really? Hope it's not another pinecone you'll call an "artifact." Or a dried stream.

– It didn't dry on its own. It was removed.

– Oh, you can tell the difference between water drying up and "unnatural forces"?

– I can tell when the ground is moved. Manually or not. I'm not here to prove what I see. I just record it. What you do with it in your head is not my concern.

He said nothing. Just shrugged and walked off.

The clerk, without looking up:

– Wait for it. Now he'll file a report in the same zone. Out of spite.

Ellie stepped outside into the dark. The air had turned cool. Her skin under the jacket itched—not from fatigue. From something else. Her body was here. Her thoughts were still in the Womb.

The room was in the upper corner of an old house, once a guild barrack. Now it was somewhere between rented housing and a storage room with windows. A steep staircase, creaking steps, a key in a lock that kept out drafts more than thieves.

Ellie opened the door, stepped in, and immediately felt the familiar: dust, ink, dried herbs, a bit of wax. Good. No one had been here.

To the left, a worktable, almost completely covered: scattered quills, a bottle of ink, knives for cutting maps, two worn journals, a couple of notes from the guild tied with string. Dry bread in paper. Half a dried fish. To the right, the bed, low to the floor, no canopies or soft pillows. Just one sack under her back and an old wool blanket.

But it was the walls, this was where she really lived.

On the left wall, she had hung nearly every route she'd ever taken.

Not for show. Just to see. A map with a scar from a rift in the gorge. A page with marked spots not to step on after rain. A tunnel map under the old road, drawn in thin red lines. Next to it, notes with short conclusions, corners crumpled, scribbled with things like "don't cast magic here" and "too many bones, don't dig."

The right wall held notes on structures. Geometry she had encountered in deep zones. Triangles, circles, blueprints, theories. Nothing that formed a full system yet, but giving the sense that there was logic below. Just not understood yet.

She tossed her jacket on the edge of the chair, boots under the bed. Hung the canteen on a nail by the door. Sat at the table. Rested her elbows, lowered her head into her hands. A few minutes just to sit. Just to listen to the quiet in the room.

Then, almost without thinking, she took out her notebook.

"The smell of the ravine is still in my nose. The stone has no scent, but something inside the walls did. I'm not afraid. I just don't understand. And that's good.

Because if everything were clear, I'd already be bored to death."

She closed the book. Stretched. Stood. Walked to the wall, looked at the map of the Womb. New lines already layered over the old ravine. Deviations. Markings. Red ink.

She closed her eyes for a second. Tired? Yes. Ready to sleep? Yes.

But... in her head, a question had already taken shape, one that didn't let the silence remain silent:

And if I don't return tomorrow, who will continue? Who will check if something opened in the night?

She opened her eyes. Walked to the table. Gathered her things: notebook, knife, chalk, compass, second flask.

Put on her jacket. Laced up her boots. Opened the window. Breathed in the air. The moon hung dully, almost gray. The courtyard slept. The city whispered somewhere below.

And she went.

The road to the Womb at night felt twice as quiet, three times as long. Ellie walked quickly, but not in haste. No torch. No extra noise. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, her steps exact and careful.

At night, the sounds were different. Even the wind whispered differently. The forest wasn't silent. It was watching. She knew that. And didn't mind.

At the descent to the Womb, she stopped.

The upper edge of the ravine was intact. No changes. But as she began to descend, on the third ledge she noticed a footprint. One. A boot. Not hers.

Bigger size. Male width. Not fresh, but clearly left after her. Because during the day, it had been dust, smooth. She remembered. Clearly.

Ellie crouched. Ran a finger over the print. Dry. About two centimeters deep. Weight? Heavy. Or the person stood for a while. He was waiting.

"Footprint: boot, left. Deeper than mine.

Direction: into the ravine.

Not mine, appeared at night, someone came after me or after what I found.

Or he was here the whole time."

She didn't panic. But her body reacted—shoulders tense, breath short, fingers gripping the belt tighter.

She stood. Continued down. Along the way, two more prints.

Not straight. In an arc. As if someone was looking around. Searching. Or listening.

At the bottom, everything felt... off. The stream was still silent. But the air had a different pressure. She walked along the old trench, the spine trail still visible. But now, next to it... another trail.

Thin. Lighter. Not straight, but intermittent. As if the one who walked beside the trench avoided touching it.

As if they knew they shouldn't step there.

In the center, where she had measured during the day, lay an object. Neatly. In plain view. Right in the middle of the smooth area. A piece of cloth. Dark, no patterns, folded. She didn't approach immediately.

Checked the perimeter. Scanned the walls. Then stepped forward.

The cloth was not new. Smelled of earth, but not decay. Inside, a piece of paper. Half charred. On the back—marks. Handwriting. Male. Sharp. Half the words unreadable. One fragment stood out clearly:

"…if she sees, then she's the first and not the last.

But if she doesn't stop, they will come out."

And below:

"I was right. The trail isn't ours. It came to us."

Ellie froze.

Then carefully folded the note. Wrote in her journal. Not word for word. The meaning.

"Foreign object found: cloth, paper. Intentionally left.

Content: only fragment clear, conversational.

Male handwriting.

'If she also sees… not the first.'

'If she doesn't stop, they'll come out.'

Who are 'they'? Who is 'I'? Possibly: another research group. Possibly: someone who had already been here.

And he… They didn't know I would come at night.

I'm glad I did. That means I'm going the right way."

She tucked the journal into a hidden pocket. Stood. Looked around. And then, at the very last moment... somewhere deep down, just at the edge of hearing, someone sneezed.

Ellie froze. Not from fear. From surprise. The sound was too normal. Not a growl. Not a moan. Just a human "sneeze." Quiet. Muffled. As if someone was sitting down below, covering their face, not wanting to be heard.

She didn't move.

Thirty seconds. A minute. Nothing. Then slowly stepped back. Took out the chalk. Made a mark on the stone. A line with a single slash. Into the pocket, the cloth and the note.

Fingers on the belt. She didn't draw her dagger—no need. If "it" breathes like a human, then either he got scared or he saw everything. She exited by the same route. Not speeding up. Not leaving her back exposed for too long.

At the third ledge, she looked back. In the darkness, nothing moved.

But she knew, he was there. And "he" knew that she was too.