Chapter 33: Woken Below

The howl echoed down the shaft like a siren, rattling the bones of the ruin. Dust rained from the ceiling as ancient stone trembled underfoot. Zeila drew her blades with fluid precision. Kael swung his rifle up, scanning the upper tunnel with infrared.

"Movement," he said. "Multiple signatures. Fast. Big."

"Bonebound?" Zeila asked.

Kael squinted. "No. Worse. These aren't bound. They're feral."

Ethan slipped the shard into a pouch lined with Rift-suppressant cloth. The moment it vanished from sight, his Beastmark dimmed—but the tremor in the air didn't ease.

"Exit plan?" Zeila asked, eyes darting across the chamber.

Kael motioned to the far wall. "Back tunnel. Could loop around and take us to the surface, but it's not mapped. Might be crawling."

Ethan looked up the shaft. Already, shadowy figures were slithering down the walls—limbs wrong, eyes glowing with Riftfire.

"We don't have time to argue. Move!" Ethan barked.

They sprinted toward the back tunnel, just as the first feral landed in the chamber—its form like a wolf and serpent twisted into one, eyes weeping Riftlight, jaws laced with bone.

Zeila slashed its throat mid-leap. It collapsed in a hiss of black mist.

Kael tossed a detonation behind them—an unstable Rift grenade. "That'll slow them down."

They plunged into the narrow tunnel, the walls getting tighter, more organic—slick with growths that pulsed faintly like veins. The architecture shifted. It was no longer a mine. It was alive.

Ethan's voice was grim. "This isn't a tomb anymore. It's a womb."

Zeila nodded. "Something's gestating here. Feeding off the sealed shards."

Kael muttered, "Let's hope we're not the afterbirth."

The tunnel opened into a vaulted chamber—this one older than the last. Stalactites hung like teeth, and in the center, rising from the floor, was a cocoon of bone and Riftcrystal. It pulsed with slow, rhythmic light.

A heartbeat.

And then the whisper returned, but this time it wasn't from the stone.

Flameborn... child of ruin... you awaken what must not wake...

Ethan dropped to one knee, clutching his head. His mark flared bright enough to sear light through the gloom.

The seals break... and the Heart remembers.

A single word burned behind Ethan's eyes—Warden.

Zeila pulled him up. "Ethan! We have to go!"

The cocoon cracked.

Kael shouted, "We've got more incoming!"

Feral beasts crawled from the walls, eyes locked on Ethan—not to kill, but to watch.

"It's him," Zeila whispered. "They're not attacking. They're waiting."

The cocoon split fully open with a sound like wet stone tearing.

From within emerged a figure—humanoid, but not human. Its body was sleek bone and Rift energy, its face masked with curved runes. It hovered an inch off the floor, limbs trailing smoke.

Ethan stepped forward before the others could stop him.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said.

The creature tilted its head. Then it spoke—in Ethan's voice.

"You should be."

The mark on Ethan's arm blazed. The others raised their weapons, but Ethan held up his hand. "No. This one... isn't here to kill us. Not yet."

Kael scowled. "Then what does it want?"

The Warden stepped closer, bone shifting like armor plates, its eyes burning twin points of white Riftlight.

Three seals. One gate. You are the key and the curse. The third seal lies in the Rift Below. Break it, and the Heart will rise. Refuse, and the world will fall unbaptized.

Zeila whispered, "What's the Heart?"

The Warden didn't answer. It began to fade into mist—but just before it vanished, it turned back to Ethan.

*You are already becoming. The mark is not a gift. It is a lock.

Then it was gone.

Ethan stood frozen, heart racing, the final word still echoing through his bones.

A lock.

Kael stepped up beside him, pale. "So... we're not just racing against time. We're racing against whatever's inside you."

Ethan finally turned, his face unreadable.

"Then we need to find the third seal," he said. "Before I become what it's trying to unlock."

And behind them, the cocoon husk still pulsed… like a second heart waiting for its rhythm to match his.