The cave was hidden behind the ruins of a collapsed farmhouse. Yang wouldn't have noticed it if not for the symbol—a scorched spiral etched in the stones near the base. Almost like a brand.
Inside, it was dry. Airless. Zhou lit a headlamp and gasped.
Bones lined the wall in geometric patterns. Human. Burnt.
And in the center of the chamber: a mural.
It depicted five figures standing before a black sun. The figures were robed, faces shrouded. Below them knelt hundreds of people, arms raised—not in worship, but in fear.
In the lower corner, names were carved in two scripts—ancient Chinese and something far older. One name repeated. Yang recognized it—it had been on the jade.
Zhou spoke softly. "They weren't priests. They were binders. Human conduits for sealing the Core."
Yang's voice was flat. "And we just broke their chain."
Zhou turned toward the exit.
But the cave mouth was gone.
Sealed in stone.
Behind them, the bones began to stir.