The sound faded as slowly as it had risen
a long, wounded moan dissolving into the morning air. But the trembling did not leave Lucas's bones. It stayed there, humming like an unwelcome truth.
Elizabeth clutched his coat, her breath shallow, eyes wide with the echo of something she should never have heard.
"Lucas…" she whispered. "It wasn't just noise. I know what I heard."
He steadied her shoulders. "Elizabeth. Look at me."
She lifted her gaze, trembling.
"You're safe," he said. "We're all safe."
But even he didn't believe it.
The ground settling under their feet made a soft groan, like the earth sighing. Dust drifted from the ridge above.
Ana cried. The younger child whimpered.
Ana's father struggled to stand.
The teenager held both children against him, face pale.
"We have to go," Lucas ordered. "Now."
Elizabeth swallowed, voice cracked.
"It said 'Not yet.' Lucas… it said it."
He gently cupped her cheek.
"I believe you. But we move first, understand?"
Slowly, Elizabeth nodded.
They traveled southeast, sticking close to the ridge where the ground felt firmer. The crack in the earth behind them continued to emit faint curls of steam, as if something deep below breathed unevenly.
The air changed denser, colder.
Even the wind seemed hesitant.
Elizabeth walked beside Lucas, closer than earlier, her fingers brushing his arm unconsciously every few steps.
"Lucas," she whispered, "have you ever felt the world… aware of you?"
He scanned the horizon, eyes sharp. "The world doesn't see us."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Then what was that voice?"
Lucas didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
They entered a district once filled with gardens. Now it was a graveyard of twisted fences and shattered statues. But here and there, life pushed through—small bursts of green, stubborn against desolation.
Elizabeth's pace slowed.
"What is it?" Lucas asked.
She knelt beside a fractured stone fountain, brushing away soot with her sleeves. Beneath the ash, a faint carving emerged two hands carved together in prayer.
A memorial once.
A warning now.
Elizabeth traced the stone.
"It feels… warm."
Lucas knelt beside her. "From the tremor."
"No," she whispered. "From below."
Lucas pressed his palm to the stone.
Warm.
Too warm.
"Lucas," she said softly, "something beneath us is alive."
He stared at her.
"You think we're standing on a creature?"
"No. Not a thing."
She hesitated.
"A presence."
Lucas let out a sharp breath. "Elizabeth"
"I know how it sounds." Her voice was steady. "But when the ground shook, it didn't feel like destruction. It felt like… awakening."
"And the voice?"
Elizabeth swallowed, eyes distant.
"It wasn't a command. It wasn't a warning. It was like"
She shut her eyes tightly. "like grief."
Lucas felt a coldness settle under his skin.
Something grieving beneath a city of ruins.
He didn't want to think about what it meant.
The group halted at a collapsed garden wall. The teenager pointed down the path.
"People."
Lucas narrowed his eyes.
In the distance shadows.
Figures.
Moving slowly through the smoke.
"Stay back," Lucas whispered, raising the iron rod.
Elizabeth took his arm gently.
"What if they're just survivors?"
"What if they're not?"
She met his gaze steadily.
"Then I will stand with you. But we should not assume fear before truth."
It was the kind of sentence only she could say without sounding naive.
Lucas clenched his jaw. "Fine. But stay behind me."
They approached cautiously.
The shadows grew clearer four individuals:
a woman with torn clothing,
a man holding a blanket-wrapped bundle,
a girl limping,
and a younger boy dragging a suitcase.
Survivors.
Exhausted.
Starving.
Lost.
Elizabeth stepped forward.
"We're not soldiers," she called gently. "We can help."
The woman collapsed into sobs. "Please please don't leave us"
Elizabeth held her like someone who had known her for years.
Lucas sighed softly behind her.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course you'd gather more."
But the warmth in his voice betrayed his annoyance.
He didn't mind.
Not really.
Not when she was the one doing it.
The newly formed group paused inside an old greenhouse where sunlight filtered through shattered glass like fractured halos. The air was damp and warm.
Elizabeth tended to the injured girl. The glass cuts on her leg were deep, but not infected yet.
Lucas helped the man open the blanket-wrapped bundle.
A baby.
Thin.
Barely breathing.
"Please," the man whispered. "He hasn't cried since yesterday."
Elizabeth joined instantly. "Let me hold him."
She cradled the baby gently, humming a soft melody one Lucas recognized from her prayer the night before. The baby stirred weakly. A tiny sound escaped his lips.
Not quite a cry.
But life.
Tears filled the father's eyes.
"Thank you… thank you…"
Elizabeth smiled softly. "He listened. Let him rest."
Lucas leaned against a pillar, watching her.
She didn't see him.
And somehow that made it easier to look at her.
To see the way her hands trembled with tenderness.
The way her eyes softened with mercy.
The way her voice wrapped around the broken like light around shadow.
He didn't understand how anyone could be so gentle after so much loss.
He didn't understand why she hadn't collapsed yet.
He didn't understand why she was the only piece of this dying world that felt unmistakably alive.
Maybe he didn't want to understand.
Later, as the group rested, Lucas and Elizabeth stepped outside together. The greenhouse sat on a rise overlooking the smoldering southern district. Smoke veiled the horizon like faded memories.
"Lucas," she said quietly, "when I heard the voice… it wasn't just sound. It was… presence."
Lucas rubbed his temples. "And you think it spoke to you."
"Yes."
"Why you?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she held out her hand.
The soil on the ground vibrated faintly.
Lucas stepped back. "Elizabeth.!"
"It's okay," she whispered. "It won't hurt me."
"How do you know that?"
She lowered her hand. The trembling stopped.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But it felt… familiar."
"Familiar?" Lucas echoed. "Elizabeth, that doesn't make any sense.."
She turned to him sharply. "Neither does surviving two firestorms!"
Lucas froze.
She softened. "Lucas… I don't understand it. But something beneath this city is alive. Wounded. Angry. Or mourning."
"And talking," Lucas muttered.
"And talking," she whispered. "To me."
Lucas pulled her closer suddenly, gripping her shoulders.
"Elizabeth… what if it's dangerous?"
Her eyes glistened.
"Everything is dangerous now."
He held her gaze.
Breath mingled.
Silence thickened between them.
"Then stay near me," he said quietly. "Always."
Elizabeth's lips parted.
A tremble passed through her.
"Lucas…"
He wanted to say something then
something real,
something he had buried under ash and grief.
But before he could.
The ground shook again.
This time sharper.
Shorter.
More like a knock.
Elizabeth gasped.
"Lucas.."
"I know," he said, pulling her back as dust fell around them. "Let's get everyone out of here."
But before they moved.
Elizabeth grabbed his sleeve.
"Listen," she whispered.
Lucas froze.
The hum rose again.
Soft.
Low.
But unmistakably alive.
It curled around the roots beneath the earth, wound through the broken stones, seeped through the cracks like breath.
Lucas felt it in his chest.
In his bones.
In his teeth.
A whisper.
Not a word.
Not yet.
But a presence
calling,
calling,
calling.
Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears.
"It's asking for something," she whispered. "Lucas… it's not trying to hurt us. It's trying to be heard."
Lucas swallowed hard.
"What does it want, Elizabeth?"
Her breath trembled.
Then, with a voice barely audible
"It wants… someone to answer."
The tremor rolled beneath their feet.
The whisper swelled again.
And Lucas realized,
with a fear deeper than any soldier, flame, or bullet.
whatever lived beneath the city
no longer slept.
It was waking.
And it was calling her.