The Shattered Crowns

Mirak held his breath as he took in the sight before him. Resin—vast veins of it—spread out across the cavern walls, glowing faintly in the dimness like threads of molten glass.

Lock whistled softly, the sound barely audible over the cavern's silence. "Look at that," he whispered. "Resin. It's everywhere. Right under our noses."

Even the Watcher, normally cold and detached, stood frozen in stunned silence. His pale eyes reflected the faint luminescence as he craned his neck to take it all in. The resin stretched far, threading itself along the rock like veins of liquid treasure.

"If that chunk of resin back there could buy a building," Lock murmured, "then this could buy... a castle. Maybe two."

Mirak said nothing. He couldn't tear his gaze away.

The pull of the Atta hit him suddenly, sharper and heavier than before. It wasn't the gentle, tempting song he had felt earlier. This wasn't an intoxicating call that begged him to descend—it was something far more brutal.

This pull gnawed at him like teeth, burrowing into the edges of his skull. It pounded in his mind, biting and scraping as if it wanted to rip him apart from the inside. Mirak staggered, clutching his head as he dropped to one knee. His nerves screamed in protest.

It clung to him, this force, dragging him into a haze of pain. His breath came out in gasps, his fingers digging into his temples as if he could claw the sensation free.

"Mirak," Lock's voice broke through, soft but steady. A hand gripped his shoulder, anchoring him. The haze thinned slightly, though the pain lingered like a dull roar behind his eyes.

Mirak grunted and forced himself to push the sensation down. When his vision cleared, he found Lock staring at him with concern. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Mirak muttered, though his voice was hoarse. He stood unsteadily, blinking hard to shake the lingering fog.

Lock frowned but let it drop. "We need to find an exit. The Watcher's gone. He slipped off while you were out of it, and if he's down here alone, he won't last long."

Mirak nodded, though his mind was still clouded. The Watcher was nowhere to be seen—no sign of his pale face or his usual sharp commands.

Glancing once more at the cavern, Mirak couldn't help but feel uneasy. The resin cast faint pools of blue light over the space, but the deeper shadows remained restless, moving as if alive. He pulled a resin prism from his pocket, its surface rough and jagged from previous use. It pulsed faintly with stored Atta, emitting just enough light to push back the dark.

As they pressed on, their feet clinking softly against the polished marble floors of the ancient mines, Mirak strained his ears. At first, he heard nothing but the echo of their footsteps and their own ragged breaths. But then a faint sound reached him—a soft hissing, subtle but insistent, like air escaping from a crack.

He froze, his senses heightening. The sound felt familiar, though he couldn't place it.

"What is it?" Lock asked, his voice low.

Mirak didn't answer. He felt the pull again, harsher this time, tugging at him from below. His balance faltered, and he nearly stumbled. Lock caught his arm, steadying him with one hand while keeping the other on his knife.

The light of Mirak's resin prism washed over a shadowed corner of the cavern, revealing something that made his blood run cold.

"What is that?" Lock hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Mirak lifted a trembling finger to his lips, signaling silence.

"A Karnen," he whispered finally, the word barely audible. It was a name that needed no explanation—or so he thought.

The creature stood motionless, its armored carapace glinting faintly in the resin's glow. But this one looked different from the Karnen Mirak had encountered before. Its body was sleeker, its design closer to that of a Shifter. The carapace wasn't the usual dark black but a shimmering azure, almost like the scales of a deep-sea creature.

Eggs—massive, jagged, and armored—lay clustered at the creature's side. They glimmered faintly, their surfaces ridged with natural defenses. Mirak's stomach churned. He could only pray to the gods that the creature remained dormant.

"We need to leave," he whispered urgently.

Lock didn't argue. Together, they backed away carefully, their movements slow and deliberate, avoiding even the faintest sound.

But then a voice shattered the stillness.

"It seems this will be the last we meet. A shame—I'll have to find a new translator."

Mirak stiffened. The Watcher stood near the faintly glowing frame of an ancient doorway. A self-satisfied grin curled across his face as he casually tossed a few resin flakes between his hands.

"You see," he continued in Kavish, "when exploring the ancestor mines, there's one crucial thing to know—"

Mirak's eyes darted upward, and his breath caught.

A Karnen clung to the ceiling above the Watcher, its spindly legs gripping the rock with terrifying precision. This one looked more familiar than the first—its blackened armor thick and brutal, its scythe-like arms swaying menacingly as it prepared to strike.

The Watcher kept talking, oblivious.

"...only the strongest make it out alive," he gloated. "The Publici who return to the surface are killed, their findings confiscated. A perfect system, really. And as for you two—"

"Move, Lock!" Mirak hissed.

"Way ahead of you," Lock muttered, his eyes scanning the room for a route.

"...you'll die here, and I'll become the hero who survived the ancestor mines!" the Watcher continued, stepping backward toward the Karnen's waiting claws.

The creature struck. Its scythes swung down in a blur, slicing through the air with a shrill hiss. The Watcher's scream was cut short, his body crumpling as the Karnen descended upon him.

The sound was deafening—teeth clanking, hisses reverberating through the cavern as more Karnen stirred.

Mirak grabbed Lock, pulling him forward. "Run!"

They sprinted across the marble floor, the faint light of Mirak's resin crystal barely illuminating their path. The pull surged again, its grip tightening until Mirak thought his skull might split open.

The light spilled over another Karnen—this one even larger than the first. Two bone-like tusks jutted from its maw, their edges sharp enough to cut steel. It lunged at them, its scythe-arms slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Lock shoved Mirak to the ground, and the Karnen flew over them, narrowly missing its target. It turned, rearing up for another strike, its scythes raised high.

Lock stepped forward, raising his dull knife in a desperate attempt to parry. The blade shattered against the Karnen's carapace, but the moment of impact bought them a few precious seconds.

Mirak staggered to his feet, clutching the resin crystal in his hand. He forced himself to focus, channeling the Atta stored within. The energy resisted him, writhing like a living thing, but he pushed harder, ignoring the searing pain that burned through his scars.

The Karnen lunged again, its tusks gleaming. This time, it collided with an invisible wall—a shimmering barrier of Atta. It screeched in frustration, its scythes slashing futilely against the shield.

Mirak wheezed under the strain, his vision swimming. Blood trickled from his nose, but he held firm.

Lock didn't hesitate. He rushed to Mirak's side, throwing the other man's arm over his shoulder. "Let's go!"

Mirak dropped the shield, and the two stumbled forward. Behind them, the Karnen thrashed, its cries echoing as more of its kind stirred in the shadows.

The pull grew stronger as they descended, dragging Mirak deeper into the haze. His vision blurred, the world reduced to a swirl of pain and instinct. He barely registered Lock's voice calling to him over the roar in his head.

When his vision cleared, they were in a room unlike anything he had ever seen.

The chamber glowed with an otherworldly light, steam hissing softly from strange lantern-like objects along the walls. Everything seemed to hum, a faint purple haze washing over the space.

In the center of the room was a massive circular pool, its surface rippling faintly with energy. Twined threads of light stretched from the pool, spinning into intricate patterns that reached into the far corners of the chamber.

Mirak stared, understanding dawning on him. The threads weren't just patterns—they were connections. He could feel them, each one vibrating faintly in response to his presence.

He reached out, his hand trembling. With a simple flick of his wrist, the threads shifted, forming a barrier over the chamber's entrance. The pounding of the Karnen outside grew louder, but the shield held.

Mirak flexed his fingers, stunned by what he had done.

"I bought us some time," he said, his voice shaking.

Lock's expression was a mix of awe and fear. "What the hell is this?"

"I don't know," Mirak admitted. "It's... the pull. I just followed it."

The Karnen slammed against the barrier again, their screeches growing louder. Mirak's hand trembled as he struggled to hold the shield. The tusked Karnen from before pierced a small section, its scythe-arm forcing a crack in the wall of Atta.

"We're out of time," Mirak said, his voice tight.

Lock's eyes darted to the pool in the center of the room. "What about that?"

"It's our only chance," Mirak said. "Jump in."

Lock hesitated. "You first."

Mirak met his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Lock nodded.

"Then go," Mirak urged.

Lock hesitated for only a moment longer before leaping into the pool. The Karnen broke through the barrier as Mirak dropped his hand, and the horde surged forward.

With a final push, Mirak threw himself into the swirling depths of the Atta.