Chapter 27: The Teeth of the Chosen

The petrified hand crumbled under Yang's touch, leaving only the tooth.

"What kind of ritual uses human teeth?" he muttered.

Old Li scanned the symbols with a magnifier. "These aren't just markings. They're directional inscriptions—like a map."

Yang picked up the copper seal. As he turned it in his hand, the same symbol on the tooth aligned perfectly with one of the etched lines on the seal.

"It's part of a compass," he realized. "The seal points the way."

They gathered their gear. The hatch in the observatory groaned faintly, as if reacting to their decision. The dirt hand beneath had vanished by morning—leaving only claw marks where it had once lay.

They followed the tooth's direction through the dense forest behind the facility. Strange signs appeared along the way—carvings on tree bark, rocks stacked unnaturally in spirals, crows hanging upside-down from branches by thread.

As night fell, they reached a clearing. At its center stood a stone well, far older than any building in the region. Vines wrapped tightly around it, and the air smelled of rust and forgotten water.

"I know this place," Yang said slowly. "This is the well I fell into as a child."

He approached cautiously. At the well's rim, something was etched.

In his handwriting.

"Brother Xiang, thank you for letting us out."

He stumbled back. "I didn't write that. I couldn't have."

Then the whisper returned—louder this time.

"Come back home…"