Savage Earth / Season 1, Episode 2
Tangled Roots
Episode 2: Tangled Roots
Torren stumbled, his boots skidding on the slick, moss-covered stone as the tendril whipped past his shoulder, close enough to singe the edge of his jacket. The air stank of charred fabric and something sharper, like acid eating through metal. His wrench—or what was left of it—dripped molten slag onto the ground, hissing as it hit the damp earth. Behind him, Mira’s ragged breaths cut through the humid stillness of the forest, her hands clawing at his back for balance.
“Move, damn it!” he barked, shoving her forward with his free arm. The ground beneath them pulsed, a low tremor that vibrated up through his legs. Another tendril erupted from the soil, black and glistening, its tip splitting into jagged barbs as it lunged for Mira. Torren threw himself sideways, tackling her into a roll. They hit the dirt hard, a tangle of limbs, the wind knocked out of him as her elbow slammed into his ribs.
“Get—off—” Mira gasped, shoving at his chest, her voice raw with panic. Her dark hair was plastered to her face with sweat and mud, eyes wide as she scrambled to her feet. The tendril slashed down where they’d been, carving a gash into the earth, spraying clods of soil that stung Torren’s cheek.
He didn’t have time to curse. The forest around them was waking up, the air thick with the creak of shifting bark and the hiss of unseen things slithering through the undergrowth. The trees loomed, their trunks gnarled and twisted, bark peeling like flayed skin to reveal pale, pulsating veins beneath. A sickly green light filtered through the canopy, casting shadows that moved even when nothing did. Torren’s skin prickled, every instinct screaming to run, but there was nowhere to go. The forest had them boxed in, a living cage of roots and vines that tightened with every breath.
“Which way?” Mira’s voice cracked as she spun, her hands shaking as she clutched the small data-pad strapped to her wrist. Its screen flickered, casting a weak blue glow over her dirt-streaked face. “Torren, which way?”
“Does it look like I know?” he snapped, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a countdown he couldn’t ignore. He scanned the clearing—or what passed for one in this hellhole. To the left, a wall of thorny vines pulsed like a heartbeat, dripping a viscous sap that smelled of rot. To the right, the ground dipped into a ravine, the bottom lost in shadow, but the faint sound of rushing water echoed up. Straight ahead, the tendrils were regrouping, coiling like snakes, their tips twitching as if tasting the air for their scent.
“Ravine,” he decided, grabbing Mira’s arm. “We’re not fighting those things.”
She yanked free, her jaw tight. “You saw what’s down there. The water—it’s not right. It moved, Torren. Like it knew we were watching.”
“You wanna argue with me or die here?” He didn’t wait for an answer, half-dragging her toward the edge. The ground sloped sharply, loose pebbles skittering underfoot as they descended. Behind them, a wet, tearing sound ripped through the air—a tendril uprooting itself, dragging its bulk across the forest floor. Torren’s stomach twisted. He’d seen what those things could do to flesh, the way they burrowed under skin, splitting muscle like overripe fruit.
The ravine’s air was cooler, damp with the scent of algae and something metallic, like blood. The stream below glinted under the faint light, its surface unnaturally smooth, rippling in patterns that didn’t match the current. Mira’s warning echoed in his head, but he shoved it down. They didn’t have a choice. His boots hit the water first, the cold biting through the leather, sharp enough to make him hiss. It clung to his legs, heavy, like oil more than liquid, and for a split second, he swore it tightened around his calves before letting go.
“Keep moving,” he growled, wading deeper, the current pulling at his knees now. Mira hesitated on the bank, her boots half-sunk in the muddy edge, her face pale as she stared at the water.
“It’s watching us,” she whispered, barely audible over the rush of the stream. “I can feel it.”
“Feelings don’t kill you. Those things back there will.” He jerked his head toward the ridge they’d come from, where the forest’s edge writhed with movement. A low, guttural hum vibrated through the air, the sound of roots grinding against stone. Torren grabbed her wrist again, pulling her into the stream. She stumbled, splashing down beside him, the water soaking her up to her waist. Her gasp was sharp, and she clutched at his arm, nails digging into his skin.
“It’s—cold. Too cold,” she stammered, teeth chattering. But it wasn’t just the temperature. Torren felt it too—a pressure, like fingers brushing against his legs under the surface, testing, probing. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep moving, one step at a time, the streambed slick underfoot. Every instinct told him to turn back, but the forest behind them was a death sentence. Forward was the only option.
They waded downstream, the ravine walls closing in, jagged stone slick with moss and streaked with rust-colored stains. The water’s surface rippled again, a slow, deliberate wave rolling against the current, and Torren’s grip on Mira tightened. “Don’t look at it,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the bank ahead, where the ravine curved out of sight. “Just walk.”
She didn’t answer, but her breathing was shallow, hitching with every step. The hum from the forest grew louder, joined by a new sound—a wet, slapping noise, like something heavy dragging itself through the water behind them. Torren risked a glance over his shoulder. The stream’s surface bubbled, dark shapes moving just beneath, too many to count. His throat went dry.
“Faster,” he said, voice low, urgent. Mira nodded, her boots slipping as she pushed ahead, water splashing up around her hips. The slapping grew closer, rhythmic, and Torren’s pulse spiked. He could feel the weight of whatever was coming, the way the current shifted, pushing harder against them as if herding them forward.
The ravine bent sharply, the bank rising into a narrow ledge just above the waterline. Torren hauled himself up first, muscles straining as he gripped the slimy rock, then reached down for Mira. Her hand was ice-cold, trembling as he pulled her up beside him. They collapsed against the stone, chests heaving, water dripping from their clothes in heavy rivulets. The slapping sound stopped, replaced by a low, bubbling gurgle from the stream below. Torren didn’t look. He couldn’t afford to.
“We can’t stay here,” Mira panted, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her data-pad flickered again, the screen glitching as she tapped at it. “Signal’s still dead. No way to call for evac. We’re blind out here.”
“Evac was never coming,” Torren said, his voice flat. He wiped a hand across his face, smearing mud and sweat, and forced himself to stand. His legs ached, the cold seeping into his bones, but he ignored it. “We’re on our own. Always were.”
She glared at him, her jaw tight. “You don’t know that. Kael’s team—they could still be out there. If we find them—”
“Kael’s team is dead,” he cut her off, harsher than he meant to. The words hung between them, heavy, and he saw the flicker of pain in her eyes before she masked it. He turned away, staring down the ledge as it snaked along the ravine wall. “We’re wasting time. Move.”
Mira didn’t argue, but he felt her resentment burning at his back as they started along the ledge. The stone was uneven, slick with moisture, and more than once Torren’s boot skidded, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall. Below, the stream churned, darker now, the surface streaked with oily slicks that shimmered in the dim light. The air grew heavier, thick with the stench of decay, and Torren’s stomach churned. He’d smelled death before, too many times, but this was different—raw, primal, like the earth itself was rotting from the inside.
They rounded another bend, and the ledge widened into a small overhang, a shallow cave carved into the rock face. Torren stopped, squinting into the shadows. Something glinted at the back, half-buried in debris—metal, maybe, or glass. His gut told him to keep going, but curiosity gnawed at him. They needed anything they could scavenge, even if it was just a shard of something sharp to use as a weapon.
“Hold up,” he said, stepping into the cave. The air inside was stale, damp, the walls streaked with mineral deposits that glowed faintly, casting an eerie blue over the space. Mira lingered at the entrance, arms crossed, her posture tense.
“We don’t have time for detours,” she muttered, but her eyes flicked to the glint as well, betraying her own interest.
“Two seconds,” Torren said, crouching near the debris. He brushed aside a layer of dirt and broken stone, revealing a cracked visor, the kind built into old hazmat suits. It was scratched to hell, one edge melted as if exposed to extreme heat, but the frame was intact. Underneath, a faded insignia caught his eye—a circle bisected by a jagged line. He froze, his breath catching.
“What is it?” Mira’s voice was closer now, her shadow falling over him as she stepped inside.
“Survey corps,” he said quietly, tracing the insignia with a finger. “This is old gear. Pre-collapse. They were the first ones out here, mapping the zones after the storms started.” He straightened, holding the visor up to the faint light. “Means someone made it this far. And didn’t make it back.”
Mira’s face darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
“Never said it was.” Torren tucked the visor into his pack, the weight of it a small comfort against the uncertainty gnawing at him. He turned to leave, but a low rumble stopped him cold. It came from deeper in the cave, a vibration that traveled through the stone underfoot, growing into a sound like distant thunder. Dust sifted down from the ceiling, peppering his shoulders.
“Out. Now,” he snapped, pushing Mira toward the entrance. She didn’t need convincing, her boots scrambling over the uneven floor as they stumbled back onto the ledge. The rumble grew louder, the air vibrating with it, and Torren’s heart slammed against his ribs. He glanced back just as the cave’s interior shifted, the walls themselves seeming to ripple, as if something massive was moving behind them.
“Go, go, go!” he shouted, shoving Mira ahead of him along the ledge. The stone beneath them cracked, a jagged fissure splitting open, and a blast of hot, fetid air erupted from the cave. Torren’s lungs burned as he ran, the smell of sulfur and rot choking him. Behind them, the rumble became a roar, and he didn’t dare look back to see what was coming.
They rounded the next bend, the ledge narrowing again, and Torren’s boot caught on a loose rock. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, pain shooting through his palm as it scraped against the sharp stone. Mira was ahead, her silhouette framed against the dim light filtering down from the ravine’s edge above. She turned, her eyes wide with terror.
“Torren, it’s—” Her words cut off as the ground shuddered again, harder this time, and a sound like tearing metal echoed through the ravine. Torren pushed off the wall, forcing his legs to move, but the ledge was crumbling underfoot now, chunks of stone breaking away and plunging into the stream below. The water churned violently, dark shapes breaching the surface, slick and sinuous, their movements too deliberate to be natural.
He caught up to Mira just as she reached a wider section of the ledge, her hands braced against the rock face as she fought to keep her balance. The roar behind them was deafening now, a wall of sound that pressed against his eardrums. He risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Emerging from the cave’s mouth was a mass of writhing tendrils, thicker than the ones in the forest, their surfaces studded with bony protrusions that glinted like teeth. They moved as one, a single entity, dragging itself forward with a grotesque, lurching gait. The stone around it cracked and splintered, unable to bear the weight of whatever nightmare had awakened.
“Climb!” Torren shouted, pointing to a series of jagged outcrops leading up the ravine wall. Mira didn’t hesitate, her hands scrabbling for purchase as she hauled herself up. Torren followed, his boots slipping on the wet stone, every muscle screaming as he fought to keep up. Below, the tendrils reached the ledge, their tips splitting open to reveal glistening maws lined with barbs. One lashed out, striking the rock just beneath Torren’s foot, and the impact sent a shockwave through his leg.
He gritted his teeth, reaching for the next hold, his fingers digging into a narrow crevice. Mira was above him, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she pulled herself onto a wider outcrop. She turned, extending a hand down to him.
“Take it!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the chaos below. Torren stretched, his fingers brushing hers, but the rock under him shifted, a slab breaking free with a sickening crack. He dropped, his other hand catching a lower ledge just in time, his body slamming against the wall. Pain flared through his shoulder, but he held on, his boots dangling over the abyss.
“Torren!” Mira’s scream cut through the roar, her face pale as she leaned down, reaching for him again. Behind her, the ravine wall trembled, and a new sound joined the cacophony—a deep, resonant hum, like a voice too vast to comprehend, vibrating through the stone itself.
[To be continued in the second half of the episode.]
Torren’s grip on the ledge was slipping, his fingers raw and slick with sweat, the jagged stone biting into his palm. His boots scrambled for a foothold, finding nothing but crumbling rock that rained down into the ravine below. The hum grew louder, a bone-deep vibration that rattled his teeth, and the air thickened with a metallic tang he could taste on his tongue. Below, the mass of tendrils writhed, their barbs snapping like jaws, one of them coiling upward, reaching for his dangling legs. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the raw instinct to hold on.
“Damn it, Torren, grab my hand!” Mira’s voice was ragged, desperate, as she stretched further over the edge of the outcrop, her arm trembling with the strain. Her face was streaked with dirt, her dark eyes wide with a fear that mirrored his own. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the fire in his shoulder as he swung his free arm up, fingers brushing hers before finally clasping tight. Her grip was iron, and with a grunt, she hauled him up, both of them collapsing onto the narrow shelf of rock.
His chest heaved, each breath burning as he lay there, staring at the fractured stone above. The hum pulsed through the ravine, relentless, and the tendrils below thrashed, their movements frenzied now, as if sensing their prey had slipped away. But Torren knew it wasn’t over. The air felt heavier, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. Whatever was waking up in this cursed place wasn’t done with them yet.
“We can’t stop,” he rasped, pushing himself to his knees. His hands shook as he wiped blood from a gash on his palm, smearing it across his torn jacket. “That thing—it’s not gonna wait for us to catch our breath.”
Mira nodded, her jaw tight, but her eyes kept darting to the ravine wall behind him, where the stone seemed to shimmer, rippling like heat haze. “What the hell is that sound?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum. “It’s like… it’s inside my head.”
“Don’t think about it,” Torren snapped, forcing himself to stand. His legs felt like lead, every muscle screaming, but he couldn’t afford to falter. He scanned the outcrop, spotting a narrow path that snaked upward, barely wide enough for one person. It was steep, treacherous, the rock slick with moisture and streaked with rust-colored stains that looked too much like dried blood. But it was the only way out.
“Up there,” he said, pointing. “We climb until we’re out of this pit. Then we figure out what’s next.”
Mira didn’t argue, though her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she followed him to the base of the path. The first few steps were agony, the incline forcing them to lean forward, hands braced against the rough stone for balance. Pebbles skittered underfoot, tumbling down to splash into the churning stream below, where dark shapes still moved beneath the surface. Torren kept his eyes fixed ahead, refusing to look down, but he could feel the weight of something watching them, a presence that pressed against his skin like a cold wind.
The hum shifted, deepening into a rhythmic pulse, almost like a heartbeat. It synced with the ache in Torren’s chest, each thud making his vision blur at the edges. Beside him, Mira stumbled, her hand shooting out to grab his arm as she steadied herself. Her breathing was shallow, erratic, and when he glanced at her, her pupils were dilated, her gaze unfocused.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with concern he didn’t want to show.
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, blinking hard as if trying to clear her head. “It’s like… something’s pulling at me. Telling me to stop. To go back.”
“Don’t listen to it,” he growled, tightening his grip on her arm. “Whatever it is, it’s not your friend. Keep moving.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, but the uncertainty lingered in her eyes as they pressed on. The path grew narrower, the ravine walls closing in until they were barely a shoulder-width apart. The air here was damp, suffocating, thick with the scent of wet earth and decay. Torren’s boots slipped on a patch of moss, and he caught himself against the wall, his scraped palm stinging as it pressed into the stone. A low groan echoed from below, the sound of rock shifting, and his stomach twisted. They weren’t out of danger yet—not by a long shot.
They climbed for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. The light above grew stronger, a sickly gray filtering down through the canopy of the forest they’d escaped earlier. Torren’s arms trembled with the effort, his breath coming in sharp gasps, but the promise of open ground kept him going. Mira was silent behind him, her steps faltering more often now, her hands clawing at the rock as if fighting some unseen force pulling her backward.
Finally, the path leveled out, spilling them onto a ridge overlooking the ravine. Torren collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as he gulped down air that tasted of pine and ash. The forest stretched out before them, an endless sea of twisted trunks and thorny undergrowth, the canopy swaying despite the still air. Behind them, the ravine yawned like a wound in the earth, its depths shrouded in shadow. The hum was fainter here, but still present, a constant undercurrent that buzzed at the base of his skull.
Mira dropped beside him, her hands braced on the ground, her head bowed as she fought to steady her breathing. “We made it,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “We actually made it.”
“Don’t get comfortable,” Torren muttered, scanning the tree line. His gut told him they weren’t safe, not by a long shot. The forest was too quiet, the kind of silence that hides something waiting to strike. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his legs, and offered Mira a hand. “We need to keep moving. Find somewhere defensible.”
She took his hand, letting him pull her up, but her eyes were distant, still haunted by whatever she’d felt in the ravine. “Where are we even going?” she asked, her voice small. “We’ve got no map, no signal, no supplies. We’re just… running.”
“We’re surviving,” he corrected, sharper than he meant to. “That’s all that matters right now. We figure out the rest when we’re not about to be torn apart.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue, falling into step behind him as they started along the ridge. The ground here was uneven, studded with roots that snaked across the path like veins, some of them twitching faintly as they passed. Torren kept his hand near his belt, where the remains of his wrench hung, useless as it was. Every rustle in the undergrowth made his shoulders tense, every shadow a potential threat. The forest was alive—he’d known that since the first tendril struck—but now it felt personal, like it was hunting them specifically, toying with them before the kill.
They walked for nearly an hour, the silence between them heavy, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional distant screech of something unseen in the canopy. The light was fading now, the gray sky darkening to a bruised purple, and Torren knew they couldn’t keep going much longer. They needed shelter, a place to rest, even if just for a few hours. His eyes scanned the terrain, finally settling on a cluster of boulders ahead, their jagged shapes forming a natural alcove against the ridge’s edge.
“There,” he said, pointing. “We hunker down, take turns keeping watch. Maybe we get lucky and nothing finds us till morning.”
Mira nodded, though her expression was grim. “Lucky,” she muttered under her breath, the word dripping with skepticism.
They reached the boulders, and Torren squeezed into the narrow space between them, the stone cold and rough against his back as he slid down to sit. Mira followed, her knees pulled to her chest, her data-pad clutched in her hands like a lifeline. Its screen was still dead, the faint scratches on its surface catching the last of the fading light. She stared at it, her fingers tracing the edge, and Torren saw the weight of everything they’d lost settle over her like a shroud.
“Kael’s team isn’t coming,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were right. If they were alive, we’d have heard something by now. A signal, a flare, anything.”
Torren didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the forest beyond the boulders. He didn’t want to rub salt in the wound, but he’d seen too much death to cling to false hope. “Yeah,” he said at last, his tone flat. “They’re gone. Same as most everyone else who came out here.”
She swallowed hard, her hands tightening around the data-pad. “Then why are we still fighting? What’s the point if we’re just gonna end up like them?”
He turned to look at her then, his jaw set. “Because giving up is worse. You stop fighting, you’re already dead. I’m not ready for that. Are you?”
Her eyes met his, searching, and for a moment, he thought she might argue. But then she shook her head, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “No. Not yet.”
“Good.” He leaned back against the stone, his body aching, and closed his eyes for just a second. “Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”
She didn’t protest, curling tighter into herself, her head resting on her knees. Torren stayed alert, his ears straining for any sound beyond the faint rustle of leaves. The forest was still too quiet, the kind of quiet that sets your teeth on edge. He gripped the broken wrench, its melted edge a poor excuse for a weapon, but better than nothing. His mind replayed the day’s events—the tendrils, the water that moved like it was alive, the hum that still lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He didn’t know what they were up against, not really, but he knew it wasn’t just nature gone wrong. It was something deeper, something ancient, and they’d barely scratched the surface.
Hours passed, or what felt like hours, the darkness deepening until the forest was a wall of black beyond the boulders. Torren’s eyes burned with fatigue, his body screaming for rest, but he didn’t dare let his guard down. Mira slept fitfully beside him, her breaths uneven, small whimpers escaping her lips as she twitched in her sleep. He didn’t wake her. She needed whatever scraps of rest she could get.
Then he heard it—a low, wet sound, like something dragging itself over damp ground. It came from the direction of the ravine, faint at first, but growing steadier, closer. Torren’s grip on the wrench tightened, his heart kicking into overdrive as he leaned forward, peering into the dark. He couldn’t see anything, not yet, but the air shifted, carrying a stench of rot and something sharper, like ozone after lightning.
“Mira,” he hissed, nudging her shoulder. She jolted awake, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment before snapping to him.
“What? What is it?” Her voice was thick with sleep, but the fear was already creeping back in.
“Something’s coming. Get ready to move.” He kept his voice low, barely a whisper, as he eased himself into a crouch, every muscle tense. The dragging sound grew louder, joined by a faint, rhythmic tapping, like claws against stone. Torren’s throat went dry. He knew that sound—or something close to it. It was the same cadence as the tendrils, the same deliberate malice.
Mira scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she clutched the data-pad, though it was useless now. “Where?” she whispered, her eyes darting to the darkness.
“Ravine side. Stay behind me.” Torren edged forward, just enough to peer around the boulder’s edge. The ridge was empty, or seemed to be, but the shadows moved, shifting in ways that defied the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy. Then he saw it—a glint, low to the ground, like wet glass catching the light. It moved, slithering along the ridge, followed by another, then another. Not tendrils this time, but something smaller, segmented, their bodies clicking as they scuttled forward.
“Back,” he breathed, retreating into the alcove, his heart slamming against his ribs. “We’re not alone.”
Mira’s breath hitched, her body pressing against the stone as if she could disappear into it. “What are they?”
“Don’t know. Don’t wanna find out.” Torren’s mind raced, weighing their options. They could run, but the forest was a maze of threats, and in the dark, they’d be blind. They could fight, but with what? A broken wrench against whatever was crawling toward them? His eyes flicked to the narrow gap between the boulders, barely wide enough to squeeze through. It led to a drop-off, a steep slope down the other side of the ridge. Dangerous, but maybe their only shot.
“Through there,” he said, jerking his head toward the gap. “We slide down, hope we don’t break our necks. Better than staying here.”
She nodded, her face pale but set, and they moved as one, Torren leading the way. The gap was tight, the stone scraping against his sides as he forced himself through, his boots skidding on loose gravel. Behind him, Mira grunted with effort, her smaller frame slipping through easier. The clicking grew louder, closer, and Torren’s skin crawled as he emerged on the other side, the slope yawning below them, steep and treacherous.
“Go!” he barked, shoving Mira forward. She half-slid, half-fell, her hands clawing at the ground to slow her descent. Torren followed, the gravel giving way under his weight, his body tumbling as he fought to keep control. Pain flared in his knee as it struck a rock, but he bit back a curse, focusing on the bottom, where the slope leveled out into dense undergrowth.
They hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop in a tangle of thorns and dirt. Torren’s chest burned as he gasped for air, his hands scraping against the earth as he pushed himself up. Mira was beside him, her face scratched and bleeding, but alive. Above, on the ridge, the clicking turned into a skittering cacophony, dozens of shapes spilling over the edge, their segmented bodies glinting as they descended with unnatural speed.
“Run!” Torren shouted, hauling Mira to her feet. They stumbled into the forest, branches snagging at their clothes, the undergrowth slowing their pace. Behind them, the creatures fanned out, their movements eerily coordinated, cutting off escape routes with a precision that spoke of intelligence. Torren’s mind screamed at him to think, to find a way out, but panic clawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Ahead, the trees thinned, opening into a small clearing. In the center stood a structure—ancient, crumbling, its stone walls overtaken by vines that pulsed faintly, as if alive. It was no natural formation, but a ruin, a remnant of a time before the earth turned on humanity. Torren didn’t have time to question it. The creatures were closing in, their clicks echoing like a death knell.
“Inside!” he yelled, dragging Mira toward the ruin’s shadowed entrance. They stumbled over the threshold, the air inside cold and musty, the walls etched with faded symbols that seemed to shimmer in the dark. Torren spun, bracing himself against the stone, ready to fight with whatever he had left.
But the creatures didn’t follow. They stopped at the edge of the clearing, their bodies quivering, as if held back by some unseen barrier. Their segmented heads tilted, dozens of glassy eyes fixed on the ruin, and a new sound rose from them—a low, keening wail that sent a shiver down Torren’s spine.
“What… what’s happening?” Mira whispered, her voice trembling as she pressed against the wall beside him.
“I don’t know,” Torren muttered, his eyes locked on the creatures. The wail grew louder, joined by a tremor in the ground, a vibration that traveled up through the stone beneath their feet. The symbols on the walls flared, a sickly green light pulsing in time with the tremor, and Torren’s blood ran cold as he realized they weren’t alone in the ruin.
From the darkness deeper within, a shadow moved—massive, formless, its edges shifting like smoke. Two points of light flickered within it, like eyes, locking onto them with a gaze that felt ancient, hungry, and impossibly aware.