FAUTLINE

He moved deeper, the glow from the main walkways fading behind him until the cavern swallowed the last hints of tourist chatter. He flicked on a narrow wrist light, its thin beam cutting across the uneven walls. The air here was colder, heavy with old dust and the sharp scent of raw crystal.

He paused, lowering his pack and pulling out a worn manuscript — pages yellowed at the edges, corners bent from constant folding and refolding. With his free hand, he raised his wrist display, the holographic map flickering above his arm in pale, shifting lines.

His eyes darted between the floating diagrams and the ancient scribbles on the page. Short, shallow breaths rose in his chest, each exhale clouding faintly in the cold.

He stepped forward, sweeping the light in a careful arc. Crystalline columns jutted out at strange angles, some thin as knives, others wide and spiraling like frozen whirlpools. Along the ground, jagged lines crisscrossed the stone floor — a pattern almost like veins under pale skin.

Rhys stopped abruptly. His eyes widened, pupils expanding as he leaned down.

He pressed the manuscript close to the ground, comparing the rough sketches to the broken lines etched beneath his feet. His breath dropped lower in his chest, slower but deeper, the excitement catching at the edges of each inhale.

With one tentative hand, he reached down and touched the cold surface. The grooves felt sharp, deeper than they appeared from above. He traced them carefully, following their curve, checking again against the faint drawings.

A strained, sharp exhale rattled out of him, something like relief or disbelief — hard to tell which.

He stepped further in, fingers brushing along each new split in the ground, eyes darting from the holographic overlay to the manuscript and back.

When he reached the next intersection of lines, he crouched lower, both hands pressed against the ground now. As he leaned closer, a thin sliver of rock suddenly caught the edge of his finger, slicing open the skin.

He winced, a hiss escaping between his teeth. Blood welled up in a quick, narrow line, but he didn't pull back.

Instead, he shifted forward again, pressing his bleeding hand against the grooves, as if trying to feel something deeper than texture alone. His breath remained steady, though a faint tremor passed through his shoulders.

Behind him, the narrow corridor of shadows swallowed every trace of the exit.

Meanwhile, back toward the cavern entrance, the tourists shuffled toward the final ramp, heads lowered as they checked final photos and souvenirs.

A gentle rumble passed underfoot — so faint at first that it almost felt like a passing vibration from distant machinery. The guide paused, looking down in confusion.

"Please remain calm, everyone," she called, her voice sharp but still polite. The robot assistants whirred forward, projecting soft lines on the ground to direct the crowd.

The rumble came again, deeper now. Dust sifted from high ledges, drifting down like pale ash.

A woman screamed. A man dropped his crystal figurine, shattering it across the glass floor.

The guide's voice rose higher, forced and strained.

"Please, move quickly but do not panic! Follow the marked lines—"

But no one listened.

The tourists surged forward in a rush of limbs and echoing footsteps, scattering in every direction. The robots rolled and beeped in protest, trying to herd them, but the flood of bodies broke past them.

Above, the cavern ceiling trembled again, stronger this time. A high, cracking groan rolled down the stone walls, followed by the first sharp crack of rock shearing away from the upper arches.

A cluster of people screamed as a section of ceiling split and fell, crushing part of the glass walkway beneath it. The rest of the group sprinted, tripping over each other as smaller shards rained down like crystal knives.

The guide's final orders vanished in the chaos.

Dust filled the air, choking out the last flickers of light.