Ren was ejected from the earth as if the ground had decided he was not the right prey. He lay on the edge of the Cedar-Veil forest near dawn, his body covered in thick dirt that had dried like black blood on his skin. The old shovel was still clutched tightly, the handle stuck to his palm as if glued together.
The damp air suffocated his lungs, but he was grateful to be alive—until the ground beneath his back vibrated. A soft vibration, almost like the snort of a giant sleeping not far beneath the earth's crust. Ren tensed, listening. A few seconds passed… then silence. He unconsciously squeezed the shovel; the red runes on the handle glowed a tiny bit, responding to the faint pulses deep within.
He forced himself to his feet, his joints creaking in protest. The dim light of the rising sun broke through the mist between the trees. Crows flew wildly, cawing hoarsely—a bad omen for any forest hunter. Ren turned, following the herd… toward Mudbrook Village.
Morning in the village began with the cry of goats. The livestock circled in their pens, butting into the crossbars, sending up dust. The mothers tried to calm them with straw, but the goats, pigs, and horses were equally restless; their nostrils flared as if they were smelling death.
Not far from the barn, a crack two fingers wide split the dirt road. Children squealed with delight at the break, throwing small stones and cheering as they disappeared into the darkness. Their joy turned to panic as the crack moved, extending beneath their feet. Adults came, pulling their children, their eyes wide as they watched another crack line run beneath the rickety wooden pillars of the house.
Another small earthquake shook. Roof tiles creaked, floorboards squeaked, glass bottles fell from the Brightwater Doctor's medicine cabinet and shattered like a shower of shards. Mudbrook, a remote village surrounded by soggy fields, had never felt such a tremor before.
In front of the village hall, the emergency bell tolled. Elder Thorne—the village chief, Marcus's father—was dressed in a sable coat, his gray hair tied back, his black oak staff in his hand. His voice was bitter but authoritative as he called the villagers together.
"My brothers!" he called over the din. "The earth is angry. We don't know why, but we can survive if we remain calm." His sharp eyes swept over the crowd. "All adult males, check the foundations of the houses and stables. Women, prepare water, medicine, and blankets in the hall. Children—"
A third quake erupted from below. The village hall shook, the old planks groaning. In the distance, the bell tower tilted a few degrees, making the bells sway madly. People screamed, then ran in all directions like startled chickens.
Ren arrived just as the tremors subsided. He was breathing heavily, his clothes torn and covered in mud. Some villagers stared at him as if he were the devil risen from the grave. Some whispered, "It's him again—it's always him." Ren didn't care. He only cared about one thing: every time the quake struck, the shovel in his hand vibrated softly, the red runes on the handle flashing for a moment, as if to warn him.
Elder Thorne looked at him, his old eyes narrowing. "Ren Eldrean," he called, half questioning, half welcoming. "You've been missing all night. Where are you?"
Ren was about to answer when Marcus Stonefist walked quickly, his face still bruised from yesterday's blow but his chin still raised. "Father, don't listen to him. Ever since that cursed shovel appeared, strange things haven't stopped happening."
Several villagers nodded in agreement, fear making them need a scapegoat. Ren realized his position was fragile. He held his tongue, thinking about what to say so as not to burn himself.
But Elder Thorne raised his staff, demanding silence. "Accusations without evidence don't help. We have a crisis." He looked Ren straight in the eye. "But I want to hear your explanation, son."
Ren swallowed. Images of black fog, green-glowing metal plates, the voice "dig deeper" spun around in his mind. He knew the truth would sound like a drunken tale. Finally he just said, "I… got caught in a landslide in the forest. This shovel saved me."
Marcus snorted sarcastically. Gavin and his cronies chuckled. Elder Thorne didn't join in the laughter, but his expression hardened. "Your luck is good. But your village is now fractured. If you know anything else, tell me."
Ren opened his mouth to explain the shovel vibrations, then decided to postpone it—not yet. "Excuse me, Mr. Elder. I'll help fix Mr. Weller's house." He bowed his head and stood up.
Amidst the anxious crowd, Elena Brightwater called softly, "Ren!" She approached, brushing away the hair that had stuck to Ren's dirty face. "Are you really okay?"
Ren nodded, but his eyes were wary. "Are you okay?" Elena had just managed to say yes when a shout came from down the street: "Cel! The stables are collapsing!"
People ran. Elena followed, carrying a medicine bag. Ren was about to follow when the shovel in his hand shook violently—more violently than before. The red runes glowed, hot through his thin gloves. Ren winced, nearly dropping the shovel. And just then…
Boom.
A hollow explosion sounded from the bowels of the earth, followed by a fourth major tremor. The crack in the middle of the street gaped wide, wide enough to swallow a cart. The ground undulated like a wave of mud, forcing people to stumble. The pillar of the bell tower snapped; it slowly toppled with a screech of iron. The giant bell rolled, hitting the ground with a deafening clatter.
Ren was thrown back, but the shovel pulled him—as if the blade had stuck itself to the wall. As he stood, he saw something crawling in the great crack: a faint green light, like the forest, seeping into the surface like liquid poison. Children screamed; a man grabbed his son by the collar and backed away.
Elder Thorne uttered a prayer, his staff digging into the crack. "Everyone back!" But most of the villagers were stunned, the light captivating if terrifying.
The runes on the shovel flashed brightly. Vibrations surged, as if calling Ren forward. In the din, he heard a whisper that only his blood could hear—his father's? Or an older entity? The key… in your hand…
Ren motioned for the villagers to retreat, but no one heard. He leaped toward the crack, his knees burning with pain. Marcus screamed in anger, "You crazy brat, what are you trying to do!" but he couldn't stop himself.
Green light pulsed just beneath Ren. From the depths, a spiral of runes formed in the air, shooting up like a torch, piercing the gray sky. The flash collided with the clouds, carving a green gash across the sky.
In the center of the pillar of light, something moved. Ren squinted, raising the shovel: a dark shape, humanoid but cracked like dry earth. From the cracks, green light shot out, tracing its veins. The creature's eyes glowed red.
The cracked hand reached out, broken fingers stretching. The creature stepped out of the crack, landing on the trembling ground of the village. Black mist rolled off its back like a living cloak.
The crowd screamed. Some fainted; others froze. Marcus, for once, was at a loss for words. Elder Thorne took two steps back, his staff shaking.
The creature turned slowly, staring at Ren. Its voice came out cracked: "Heir… of the shovel…" Each syllable was accompanied by the hiss of stone grinding against iron. "You… open the door…"
Ren straightened the shovel, forcing his voice out through his parched throat. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The creature coughed—the cracks in its chest widening—then laughed, the sound echoing across the ground. "Not… who… what. We… lock… and lock." It looked up at the sky, as if calling to its mate in the depths.
The shovel in Ren's hand heated up, the light of the runes pulsing in time with the creature's pulse. A burning sensation spread up his arm; the bones of his fingers felt charred. Ren wanted to let go, but the shovel refused to let go.
The mist creature crouched, arms outstretched. The ground around it rose and fell like a giant heart. The green light intensified; the village was enveloped in a ghastly glow.
Ren knew—somehow—that if the creature absorbed the light entirely, the rift would split wider, swallowing Mudbrook whole. He had to act now.
He stepped forward, gripping the shovel in both hands. Red runes burst into light, challenging the creature's green light. The air between them rippled, forming strange swirls.
Over his shoulder, he heard Elena shout, "Ren, don't!" Then Marcus's voice, "Kill him, if you can!" And finally Elder Thorne's call, "Children, run north!"
All sounds faded. Only the thump of the shovel and the crack creature's breathing were real. Ren raised the shovel high, his muscles pulsing. Red and green light clashed on the blade, sending sparks that cut through the air.
He swung the shovel—
But in that millisecond, the ground directly in front of the rift exploded. Another figure leapt out: Brutus Ironhand, his body still wrapped in bandages, white eyes flashing with horror. He slammed into Ren, knocking him to the ground. "No, kid! It's too late!"
Ren slammed into the ground, the shovel nearly gone. He stared in a blur as the cracked creature stood upright, green light completely enveloping it, its body expanding as if sucking in the energy of the earth. From its chest, a third mouth split open, emitting a vile scream that tore through the sky, calling out to something deep within the earth.
Beneath the village, the final tremor boomed—no longer a crack, but a giant's awakening embrace. The ground beneath Ren's feet gave way. He reached for the shovel, but the earth rolled over him, pulling him and Brutus into a chasm of young earth.
Meanwhile, above the surface, a green pillar pierced the clouds, tearing open a rip in the sky…