Absolutely — here's Chapter 5: The Root Cellar from The Echoes Beneath
The cellar door groaned open as Elian descended, lantern in hand, the bone pendant heavy against his chest. The air was damp and metallic, thick with the scent of earth and something older — something buried.
The shrine had changed again.
Where once there were bones and broken toys, now stood a circle of stones, each etched with a name. In the center, a bowl of black water shimmered, surrounded by candles that burned without flame.
Elian knelt beside the bowl.
His reflection stared back — but it wasn't him. It was his mother, younger, eyes wide with fear, whispering into the dark.
He reached for the journal.
It was already open.
> "I bargained with the Echo. I gave it my memories of Elian's birth, his first laugh, his name. In return, it spared the village. But it is hungry again."
Elian's breath caught.
He had always felt distant from her — like something was missing. Now he knew why.
She had traded pieces of him to keep the Echo asleep.
He turned to the wall behind the shrine. There, carved into the stone, was a list of names — children, all vanished. Some were crossed out. Some glowed faintly. One pulsed.
His.
He touched it.
The room shifted.
Suddenly, he was standing in the manor's study — but it was decades ago. His mother sat at the desk, speaking to someone unseen.
"I'll give you what you want," she said. "But leave him untouched."
A voice replied — low, layered, like many speaking at once.
> "We do not touch. We consume."
The vision shattered.
Elian gasped awake on the cellar floor, the bowl cracked beside him, the candles extinguished.
Lira stood at the top of the stairs.
"You saw it," she said.
He nodded. "She gave me away."
"Not all of you," Lira said. "Just enough to forget."
Elian rose, trembling. "Why me?"
"Because you were born during the last Harvest Moon," she said. "And because the Echo likes children who remember."
He looked down at the shrine, at the broken bowl, at the pulsing stone.
The Echo was waking.
And it wanted more.
---
Elian stood before the wall of names, his own pulsing faintly. The stone beneath his fingers felt warm — not like rock, but like skin. He pressed harder.
The wall opened.
Not with sound, but with breath.
Behind it lay a narrow passage, carved from root and bone. The air was thick with whispers, and the walls pulsed like veins. Elian stepped inside, the pendant glowing brighter with each step.
At the end of the passage was a chamber.
Circular. Silent. Sacred.
In its center stood a pedestal made of twisted wood and ash. Upon it lay a reel-to-reel recorder, dusty but intact. Elian pressed play.
His mother's voice filled the chamber.
> "I gave it my memories. I gave it my son's name. I gave it my joy. In return, it gave us silence. But silence is not peace. It is hunger waiting."
The tape crackled.
> "If Elian finds this, he must choose. The Echo will ask. It always asks. And it never forgets."
Elian stepped back, heart pounding.
The pedestal split open.
Inside was a bundle — cloth-wrapped, tied with hair. He unwrapped it slowly.
A child's shoe.
A lock of his own hair.
A note: "To remember is to bleed."
The chamber trembled.
The Echo was waking.
He turned to leave, but the passage had changed. The walls closed in. The whispers grew louder.
> "Stay."
> "Remember."
> "Bleed."
Elian ran.
Bursting into the cellar, gasping, clutching the bundle. The shrine flickered. The bowl of water boiled. The journal lay open again.
> "The Pact is broken. The Echo is hungry. You must choose what to forget."
Lira was waiting at the top of the stairs.
"You found it," she said.
Elian nodded. "She gave everything."
Lira touched the pendant. "Now it wants you."
Outside, the Harvest Moon rose higher.
And the soil began to breathe.
---