The underground railway had gone silent.
Where there had once been the steady hum of crystal engines and the faint vibration of steel through stone, there was only stillness. Dust hung in the air, thick enough to sting throats and burn eyes, swirling with each shallow breath the shinobi took. Lanterns embedded into the tunnel walls flickered weakly, their glow bending in the haze and casting warped shadows over the jagged wall of debris that now sealed the passage.
The collapse was total. Steel rails twisted into warped spirals, wooden supports shattered and splintered outward, and massive slabs of stone fused into black glass where heat had kissed the sand too quickly. The smell was strange, not smoke or fire, but something acrid and chemical that lingered faintly in every breath.
The deeper one looked into the ruin, the clearer it became that this was not a natural cave-in. The blast had sheared stone clean in some places and left subtle ripples in others, as if the force had been directed downward rather than outward. Sand, normally quick to reclaim whatever disturbed it, still lay in unnatural patterns. Smooth crescents swept outward from a single impact point like frozen waves.
Silence pressed in thicker than the dust. No drip of water. No distant clatter of tools. Only the occasional groan of strained rock somewhere overhead, an audible reminder that the collapse was not finished settling. Every movement risked dislodging more.
A handful of markers had been planted around the perimeter by the first response team, faintly glowing crystals stabbed into the ground at even intervals. They cast pale blue light in lieu of the failing lanterns, outlining the boundaries where it was safe to stand and where the ceiling threatened to give way. Beyond them, the jagged wall of fused rock and twisted metal loomed like the end of the world.
Somewhere past that wall, faint tremors pulsed irregularly. Barely perceptible at first, they grew clearer the longer one stood still. It was not the steady rhythm of a train or the distant rumble of machinery. It was something slower. Something heavier.
And faintly, too faintly for comfort, came the clicking.
It echoed from within the collapsed tunnel, soft and wet, bouncing unnaturally between jagged stone faces. Not constant, not patterned, but enough to raise the hair on the back of one’s neck. The sound carried an edge of wrongness that every shinobi here recognized instinctively. It was the sound of something alive. Something that did not belong.
The path forward was narrow and claustrophobic. The air was stale, the taste of dust clinging to every breath. Above, faint trickles of sand fell from cracks in the ceiling. The deeper teams pressed toward the rubble, the more the weight of the underground settled around them, a quiet reminder that they were one bad vibration away from sharing the same fate as the railroad.
Behind them, the faint glow of the mobile village’s lights barely reached this far. Ahead, only blue marker crystals lit the way. The air was heavy and still, waiting.
The silence did not last. Somewhere deep in the wreckage, the clicking began again, closer this time.
Where there had once been the steady hum of crystal engines and the faint vibration of steel through stone, there was only stillness. Dust hung in the air, thick enough to sting throats and burn eyes, swirling with each shallow breath the shinobi took. Lanterns embedded into the tunnel walls flickered weakly, their glow bending in the haze and casting warped shadows over the jagged wall of debris that now sealed the passage.
The collapse was total. Steel rails twisted into warped spirals, wooden supports shattered and splintered outward, and massive slabs of stone fused into black glass where heat had kissed the sand too quickly. The smell was strange, not smoke or fire, but something acrid and chemical that lingered faintly in every breath.
The deeper one looked into the ruin, the clearer it became that this was not a natural cave-in. The blast had sheared stone clean in some places and left subtle ripples in others, as if the force had been directed downward rather than outward. Sand, normally quick to reclaim whatever disturbed it, still lay in unnatural patterns. Smooth crescents swept outward from a single impact point like frozen waves.
Silence pressed in thicker than the dust. No drip of water. No distant clatter of tools. Only the occasional groan of strained rock somewhere overhead, an audible reminder that the collapse was not finished settling. Every movement risked dislodging more.
A handful of markers had been planted around the perimeter by the first response team, faintly glowing crystals stabbed into the ground at even intervals. They cast pale blue light in lieu of the failing lanterns, outlining the boundaries where it was safe to stand and where the ceiling threatened to give way. Beyond them, the jagged wall of fused rock and twisted metal loomed like the end of the world.
Somewhere past that wall, faint tremors pulsed irregularly. Barely perceptible at first, they grew clearer the longer one stood still. It was not the steady rhythm of a train or the distant rumble of machinery. It was something slower. Something heavier.
And faintly, too faintly for comfort, came the clicking.
It echoed from within the collapsed tunnel, soft and wet, bouncing unnaturally between jagged stone faces. Not constant, not patterned, but enough to raise the hair on the back of one’s neck. The sound carried an edge of wrongness that every shinobi here recognized instinctively. It was the sound of something alive. Something that did not belong.
The path forward was narrow and claustrophobic. The air was stale, the taste of dust clinging to every breath. Above, faint trickles of sand fell from cracks in the ceiling. The deeper teams pressed toward the rubble, the more the weight of the underground settled around them, a quiet reminder that they were one bad vibration away from sharing the same fate as the railroad.
Behind them, the faint glow of the mobile village’s lights barely reached this far. Ahead, only blue marker crystals lit the way. The air was heavy and still, waiting.
The silence did not last. Somewhere deep in the wreckage, the clicking began again, closer this time.
