The tunnels were alive with noise.
Boots scraped stone. Spears clinked. Voices echoed and overlapped, sharp with irritation and hunger.
"Spread out!" one overseer barked. "They can't have gone far."
Another laughed harshly. "If you see the boy with the purple hair, break his legs first."
Lantern light swept across the walls in restless arcs. Shadows stretched, collapsed, and reformed. A group of overseers rushed past one narrow passage, spears lowered, boots pounding—never noticing the ragged strip of cloth stretched loosely over a shallow crack in the stone.
When their footsteps faded, the cloth shifted.
Three pairs of eyes blinked from the darkness behind it.
The boy exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him. Beside him, the taller boy sagged against the wall, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing or crying. The girl let out a small, broken sigh, her shoulders finally dropping.
"Looks like they're searching for us," the taller boy whispered, stating the obvious like it might make it less terrifying.
The girl tightened her grip on the boy's arm. "I'm scared," she admitted, her voice thin. Her fingers brushed the blood soaking into his sleeve, still warm. She swallowed. "You're bleeding again."
"I know," the boy muttered, glancing down. The wound throbbed in time with his pulse. "I need something to patch this up. Cloth. Anything."
The taller boy squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched. "This is my fault," he said quietly. "If I hadn't been so sure… if I'd known that tunnel was a trap—"
"Well," the boy cut in gently, "what happened already happened." He shifted, wincing. "Blaming yourself won't change it. Right now, we just need somewhere safer than this hole."
Footsteps echoed again.
All three froze.
The girl's breath caught. "Did they come back?" she whispered.
They pressed themselves flat against the wall, hearts hammering, the silence suddenly deafening. The footsteps drew closer—slow, careful—
Then the cloth was yanked away.
They screamed.
The person on the other side screamed too.
"Ah—damn it!" the elder shouted as he stumbled backward, losing his balance. He landed hard, clutching his lower back. "Ohhh, my back—by the stones, I'm too old for this nonsense!"
The children stared. Then, almost at the same time, they broke into relieved, disbelieving smiles.
"Elder?" the boy hissed. "You scared us!"
"You scared me," the old man groaned, pushing himself upright inch by inch. "Sneaking around like ghosts…" He looked them over, eyes sharp despite the pain. "You three alright?"
"How did you find us?" the girl asked.
The elder snorted softly. "I've wandered these tunnels longer than you've been alive. This place doesn't have many secrets left from me." He straightened, rolling his shoulders with a wince. Then his expression hardened.
"Come," he said. "I know somewhere they won't look."
He turned, already moving.
"Now," the elder added, glancing back, "let's get you to safety."
They moved with their backs to the stone, slipping through the veins of the mine like shadows afraid of their own weight. Every sound felt too loud—the scrape of a boot, the rasp of breath, the faint drip of water somewhere deep. The elder led them without hesitation, one hand brushing the wall as if it whispered directions only he could hear.
"Quiet," he murmured once, raising a crooked finger.
Lantern light bled across the passage ahead.
Voices followed.
The elder pushed the children into a shallow recess just as two overseers rounded the bend. One of them had broad shoulders and a tired stance, his spear resting loosely in his grip. The other—thick-necked, cruel-eyed—snickered as he walked, the same man who had once sneered at the elder and told him to stop spreading false hope.
"Well, look what we dragged out of the dust," the sneering overseer said. "The storyteller himself."
The broader one glanced at the elder, frowning. "Enough. This is fine," he said quietly. "After all, this old bag of bones only has so many years left. Let him have his fun"
"Always soft, Jabez," the other laughed. "You worry too much."
He shoved the elder hard into the wall.
The old man grunted but stayed on his feet.
"Seen the runaways?" the sneering overseer asked, pressing a hand into the elder's chest. "Purple-haired brat. Two others."
The elder coughed, then nodded slowly. "No," he lied, voice steady. "But if I do, I'll tell you."
The sneer widened. "You'd better."
He struck the elder once more—nothing fatal, just enough to hurt—then waved a dismissive hand. "Come on. They won't get far."
Jabez hesitated, eyes flicking back to the elder. Then he turned away, following his partner down the tunnel.
When the footsteps faded, the children rushed out.
"Are you alright?" the girl whispered, panic sharp in her eyes.
The elder straightened with a wheeze, then chuckled. "I've taken worse," he said, rubbing his side. "Now move. Before luck decides it's had enough of us."
And they went on.
They reached their hiding place just before their legs gave out.
It was little more than a forgotten pocket carved into the rock, its doorway half-collapsed, old planks leaned together like tired ribs. Rusted picks, broken carts, coils of useless chain lay scattered inside, abandoned when the vein had run dry. Dust lay thick enough to swallow sound. It was perfect.
"Here," the elder whispered. "For now."
They slipped inside. The girl slumped against the wall immediately, shaking now that the fear had room to breathe. The taller boy stood watch by instinct, peering through the cracks between planks. The elder tore strips from an old sack, hands practiced despite their age, and crouched before the boy.
"Hold still."
The cloth pressed against his side burned, but he didn't flinch. He barely felt it. His hand kept drifting to his chest—empty. His fingers curled, grasping at nothing.
The elder tied the knot and leaned back. "You should rest."
"I can't," the boy murmured.
Because every heartbeat echoed the same absence. The bead. Gone. Taken. The promise his mother had pressed into his hands, stolen like everything else.
Elsewhere, lanterns swayed.
Crass stalked through the tunnels, boots heavy, breath loud, the purple bead hanging openly at his throat. It caught the light as he moved, pulsing faintly, as if amused. He snarled orders, shoved slaves aside, eyes burning with the thrill of the hunt.
"Find them," he growled. "They're close. I can feel it."
The bead rested warm against his skin.
And far away—yet impossibly near—another bead glowed.
Kairo moved through the shattered paths of the ruins, each step measured, deliberate. Onyx walked at his side, silent and watchful, while Shiri glanced around with barely contained energy. The air felt different here, charged, humming beneath the stone. Kairo's fingers brushed agains the stone, walking forward, the bead at his wrist flared softly, violet light reflecting in his eyes.
Awe stirred in his chest. Excitement. And beneath it all—hesitation.
As if the world itself was holding its breath.
Back in the shed, the elder sat with his back to the wall, eyes closed. "These tunnels…" he murmured, voice low. "They've been quiet for years. Too quiet. Now they whisper again."
The boy looked up.
"They're saying change is coming," the elder continued. "Not gently. Not kindly. But truly."
The boy clenched his empty fist.
Crass turned a corner, smiling.
Kairo stepped forward, eyes alight.
And in the dark between them all, the mines seemed to listen.
"Because the change that was coming would decide who survived it—and who did not."
To be continued.....