The crater spans a mile in diameter, its edges marred by uneven gashes and openings from which loose, red sand trickles into the darkness below.
Like waterfalls, Eli thinks. Red curtains dancing along invisible eddies.
Eli’s mother had warned her about the site. Most of the wandering tribes steered clear of it during their passage through the Red Dunes. The place was cursed, said the Elders. Tainted by echoes of eras passed. Every time she inquired about the scar, as the tribes called it, she would be hushed along like a youngling — privy of the knowledge she desired. Today, she had decided to seek out answers, gathering enough supplies to settle camp by the scar and investigate its mysteries.
Eli kneels on a mound of warm, red sand, right at the edge of one of the maws of the abyss. Her Chtara’s visor lets out a mechanical whirr as Eli’s eyes focus on the void below. A chill runs down her spine. The feeling that she’s being watched washes over her. She ventures a look back, towards the receding sun. The lights of the Ringed City twinkle like early stars to the north. The safety of the caravan — a thin line of smoke to the south — issues an unspoken warning. Come back, it pleads. But the jaws of the scar at her feet beckon. Lull her into a daze.
Eli can’t shake the thought that something living lies at the core of this darkness. She swears that the growing shadows shift below, unwilling to meet her gaze and part with their secrets.
“We’re getting closer,” says a whisper, startling Eli. “Clo…ser.”
Eli feels compelled to obey. To take a step towards the scar. Did she imagine this voice?
“Closer… Closer…” This time it is clearer than before. Its origin is unmistakable, blooming from the bottom of the scar.
“Hello?” she whispers, feeling silly. She is talking to the wind. The wind blows no response back. So Eli turns, finally shaken, gathering that if she were to head south now, the caravan would greet her just before the sun sets.
“We are… getting closer…” the darkness claims, its source unseen.
A low hum beneath Eli’s feet makes the red sand form concentric circles under her. Eli stumbles backward. She screams. Closer, the voice insists. One last time before Eli loses her footing. The red sands below her collapse and the scar swallows her whole.
The green hue of her Chtara’s visor cuts through the darkness below. Alloy walls loom above her in crooked, sinister shapes — spikes rising to the sky above. The light of stars is far, far above their sharp ends. She had been lucky enough to avoid a quick end at their mercy on her way down. Or perhaps unlucky, she corrects herself, realizing there is no way for her to surface. Even if she found a way to accomplish the feat, night had arrived, and the Red Dunes were not known for their mercy with travelers who ventured them past dusk.
Eli tries to stand, but a sharp pain runs like electricity up her right side. The sand had dampened her fall, but she was broken now in ways she wasn’t really equipped to understand. Her hand runs above her abdomen, where the cloth of her garments feels damp. Blood and sand and pain is all she finds. She has almost forgotten the voice, when it speaks again.
“Closer… getting closer.” The first word is buzzed with static, but the last two are loud and commanding.
Eli screams in pain. The (g)oldworld bounces her screams back to her. “Show yourself!”
The words echo down an infinite corridor.
The voice doesn’t respond, but its presence lingers in the silence. Then a blue hue of light blooms under Eli, faint and flickering. Dust particles rain like snow from above, as the sands shift with the gusts of the desert above. The trail of light inches ahead of her, struggling to exist when it ventures too far ahead of Eli.
It wants me to follow, Eli thinks.
Eli hesitates, mustering the strength to rise with her injuries. She manages to crawl to a nearby pillar of alloy and uses it to support the weight of her body. The light on the floor remains fixed.
CLOSER. The echo sings, and Eli obeys. She limps down the path laid by the dancing lights. Down a winding hall crushed under the weight of the desert above — but metal bents outwards, like an explosion had forced its way against it from within. The air grows heavier with every step as Eli steps CLOSER, as the voice commands. Until the hallways open towards a larger skylit chamber.
On the way she wonders, closer to what? But as she arrives in this room, the voice grows clearer and clearer. Eli feels an unnerving sense of devotion to it. The voice beckons closer, so she obeys. And when the light stops in the middle of this chamber, it is as if she understands what she must do without words being spoken. Eli digs — no — claws feverishly at the red sand. The pain is gone, replaced by a sudden desire to find the source of the voice. Lumps of red sand rain behind her as she plows downward.
CLOSER, the voice says.
“I know,” she replies, because she knows now that she is close to the source of the darkness. The Chtara’s visor glows with flashes of dazzling light, making her eyes water. Tears of joy, she thinks.
WE ARE GETTING CLOSER, NINEZ, she hears. But the voice is not coming from the darkest corners of the scar. No. The words are inside her skull. And she, Eli, is the prophet. God has spoken to her and from the depths of this abyss she will bring forth the news to her people.
Eli laughs.
Her hand meets sacred alloy and excitement fills every fiber of her being. Warmth trickles down her foot as the blood from her wounds pools at the base of her right heel. Eli sits, looking at her work with content. The artifact looks back at her, equally satisfied with her efforts. JOIN THEM — it whispers in her mind. So many voices whisper—
—JOIN THEM.
Eli bows before it — before them — in reverence. The base of her Chtara connects with a joyous clink to the alloy, as Eli finally joins them.
