At the End of the Tunnel
Victor and his companions moved deeper into the earth.
A curve of steps twisted into darkness, worn stones slick from years underground. Above where they stood, a dead torch sat in its bracket, blackened by old fire. Not one among them moved to take it.
It was unnecessary for them.
A bit of a lift came from Victor's hand. It rose, just above shoulder level.
"Light."
A tiny sphere appeared in his hand, rising soon after to spill gentle light down the tight steps. Not long afterward she copied - her glow taking shape like something whispering between darkness and dawn. A breath passed before Clara followed, calling forth her own pale spark into the air.
The shadows retreated.
But not completely.
As they descended, the air grew colder, thicker—heavy with something unseen. Victor could feel it now clearly.
The villagers.
Their presence pulsed faintly beneath layers of stone.
And beneath that—
Another presence.
Stronger.
Older.
