Mira could feel the pulse now—not just in her chest, but beneath her feet.
It came from below.
Slow.
Steady.
Older than memory.
She stood at the mouth of the newly opened cavern, wind tugging at her long hair, skin shimmering faintly under the moonlight. Behind her, Frank Frownwater watched with unreadable eyes, his form more fluid than before—his body no longer fully of this world.
They had come to the edge of something vast.
And there was no turning back.
Inside the cave, the air was different.
Cooler.
Denser.
Like breathing water laced with dust and silence.
The tunnel stretched downward, its walls lined with symbols that pulsed softly as they passed. Mira's second pair of breasts burned with a dull ache, responding to something ancient buried deep within the earth.
Frank touched the wall beside them.
"These markings," he murmured. "They're not Veythari."
Mira tilted her head. "Then what are they?"
He didn't answer right away.
"They're older," he finally said. "Before even the First."
That sent a chill through her.
She had thought Quinta's return changed everything.
But maybe… it only opened the door for something else .
They reached a chamber unlike any they had seen before.
It was massive—so wide, the torchlight barely reached its edges. Towering columns of black stone rose like petrified trees, their surfaces carved with spirals and faces frozen in silent screams.
At the center of the room sat a pool of still, black water.
Not reflecting the ceiling above.
Reflecting something else.
Something deeper.
Mira stepped forward.
Kneeled.
Dipped her fingers into the surface.
And the vision struck her like a tidal wave.
She saw:
A time before the sea remembered names.
Before the stars were mapped by human eyes.
A world where beings walked the land—not born of fire or flesh, but of root and rhythm.
They did not speak in words.
They sang in pressure.
They moved like rivers carving stone.
Their bodies bore the shape.
Four moons on the chest.
Four hearts beating in harmony.
They lived among humans once.
Guided them.
Taught them.
Then vanished.
Buried.
Forgotten.
By design.
By fear.
By necessity.
And now…
Now they were waking up.
Mira gasped as she pulled her hand free.
Her breath came fast and shallow.
Frank caught her arm.
"What did you see?" he asked.
She looked at him, eyes wide.
"They were here first," she whispered. "Even before the Veythari."
Frank stiffened.
"They called themselves the Yrrathi ," she continued. "They left the surface when humankind began to rise. They knew what would happen if we grew too much. If we forgot too much."
She swallowed hard.
"They sealed themselves beneath the earth."
Frank stared at the pool.
"And now," he said slowly, "they remember us."
Back in Brinemere, the signs spread.
People began dreaming of roots growing beneath their beds.
Children spoke of voices coming from underground.
Farmers found strange growths in their fields—pale, pulsing things that vanished by morning.
And then came the disappearances.
Not many.
Just a few.
Men and women who wandered too far from the village paths.
Who went into the caves alone.
And never returned.
But when they were found…
They were changed.
Their skin cool and smooth like polished stone.
Their eyes hollow.
Their chests rising and falling in patterns that didn't match breath.
They weren't dead.
They weren't alive.
They were becoming something else.
Frank gathered the council again.
Mira stood beside him, her glow brighter than ever.
"The Yrrathi are returning," she said. "And they are not asking permission."
Elder Rellis, now gray-haired and weary, frowned.
"Are they like the Veythari?" he asked. "Can we live alongside them?"
Mira hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"No," she said softly. "They don't want peace."
Frank looked out over the gathered crowd.
"They want balance."
Rellis narrowed his eyes. "What's the difference?"
Frank answered without looking at him.
"Peace is between equals."
He turned to Mira.
"Balance is imposed."
That night, Mira dreamt again.
This time, she stood in the mirrored chamber beneath the world.
The mirror rippled.
And from the other side, a figure emerged.
Tall.
Humanoid.
But wrong.
Its limbs were too long.
Its eyes too wide.
Its chest bore four soft moons—but they did not glow.
They pulsed with darkness.
It stepped forward until it was inches from the glass.
And spoke.
"You carry the shape. But not yet the will."
Mira swallowed.
"Who are you?"
The being smiled.
"I am what comes next."
Then it raised a hand.
And pressed it against the mirror.
The surface cracked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
And then—
A sound.
Low.
Massive.
Coming from beneath the roots of the world.
Mira woke screaming.
Outside, the ground trembled.
Not violently.
But unmistakably.
Frank was already waiting at her door.
"You heard it," he said.
She nodded.
"It's beginning."
He looked toward the horizon.
"I know."
Behind them, the earth stirred.
Not in warning.
Not in welcome.
But in awakening.
And somewhere beneath the soil, in the deepest silence, the mirror cracked one final time.
And the Yrrathi stepped through.