Night in the Buried Earth was no different from its day.There was no sun to draw a line between them—only the endless dark.Far above the villages, the cavern's ceiling hung like a dead stone sky, held by pillars vast as mountains, clutching the shadow like a shroud drawn over a frozen face.Nothing stirred there but the breath of men, the scrape of pickaxes, and the echo of hammers striking a wall that never ended.
Deep in one of the narrow tunnels, Beryn awoke before the others.He opened his eyes to the heavy dark—it was a familiar kind of coffin—and did not flinch.He was always first to rise.He donned the miner's garb—torn, stiff, soaked in the scent of sweat and baranis, that green metal which glowed like embers when cut—and made his way toward the passage.He did not seek the ore itself.What he sought was something else.
He took his pick and began to dig.Stroke after stroke, the ring of baranis on stone beat in his ears like slow drums.Sweat mingled with dust upon his face, painting him in shades of ash.Though he was alone, he felt the walls watching him, listening to each breath, mocking him in their silence.
Soon, others came.Half-eyed, sluggish men, sleep still clinging to their lashes.They found Beryn already working, striking the rock with all the strength his body could lend.Some exchanged smirks. Others muttered, bitterness curling in their voices.One said:
"If baranis could feed us as well as it feeds Beryn's pride, we'd all live as kings."
Their laughter rattled down the tunnel.Beryn did not answer. His hammer rose and fell, steady as faith.
Among them stepped a broad-shouldered man, hair the color of pale straw—Tavyn.He was not like the others. His eyes always held a spark of curiosity, as though he searched for something unseen.He stood beside Beryn, voice low and uncertain.
"How do you do it? Wake before the horn blows?"
Beryn turned to him, his eyes hollow in the dark. The question was not new.
"I'm not digging for ore," he said quietly. "I'm digging for the light."
The word light hung there, alien and forbidden.In a world that had never known a sun, it felt like blasphemy.Tavyn said nothing. He simply gripped his own pick—pure baranis, faintly glowing—and began to dig beside him.
Then the earth screamed.
At first, it was only a groan—like the mountain itself mourning in its sleep—then came the grinding, the crack of breaking bones.The ground trembled. The rock split.A hand broke through the wall—thin, rotten, its nails black and long.A human hand… but lifeless.
The miners froze.Some fell back, screaming. Others stood rooted in horror.The moan deepened, multiplied—a choir of the damned rising from the stone.And then the bodies came, dragging themselves through the cracks—flesh torn and gray, mouths open in soundless gasps, eyes white and empty.
The dead had awoken.
Panic devoured the tunnel.Men ran, but the passages twisted like a labyrinth with no mercy.The dead fell upon the slowest—teeth sinking into flesh, the sound of chewing echoing like some obscene hymn.Blood sprayed across the walls, turning dust to mud and stone to red glass.
"It's the curse!" someone screamed. "The curse of the Buried Earth!"
They trampled each other in terror, falling, clawing, dying.
Beryn did not flee at first.He stared, eyes wide—not with disbelief, but recognition.It was as if he had always known this would come.
Tavyn grabbed his arm.
"We have to go! Now!"
They ran together, swinging their picks to fend off the dead hands reaching from the walls.The ceiling cracked, stones rained, dust filled their throats.Every step was a battle. Every breath, a prayer.
At the tunnel's end, the faint light of the miners' village beckoned—but it felt impossibly far.Tavyn ran first, Beryn behind him.Then something cold and sharp seized Beryn's leg—an ancient hand, bones wrapped in rot.He fell, choking on grit.
"Take my hand!" Tavyn cried. "I won't leave you!"
Beryn's face was pale, his blood soaking the dust.He pushed Tavyn away with desperate strength.
"Run! Tell them! Tell them the dead are coming! The dead are walking!"
Tavyn hesitated, tears gleaming in the dim light.Then he turned and fled, his sobs lost in the rumble of collapsing stone.
The last thing he saw was Beryn being dragged into the dark—his screams fading beneath the roar of the earth.
The mine fell silent.When the dust settled, only Tavyn remained—breathless, broken, carrying in his chest a single ember of Beryn's last words.