"I will," Saguna said, stepping forward. "I know these tunnels from when we were children. We used to play down here during the hot season."
Before anyone could object, he grabbed the first rung and began his descent. The iron was cold beneath his hands, the air growing cooler with each step downward. The marks on his neck pulsed steadily, neither warning nor encouraging—simply acknowledging his proximity to the place where everything had changed twelve years ago.
"Stay close," he called up to the others as he reached the bottom of the shaft. "And watch your step. The floor is wet."
The tunnel was exactly as he remembered, yet completely different. The stone walls were the same, ancient and moss-covered, but now they glistened with a thin layer of what appeared to be frost despite the relatively warm air. The narrow passage extended in both directions, barely wide enough for them to walk single file.
As Radji and Osa reached the bottom, followed by Professor Nyala, Saguna ignited a small flame above his palm, illuminating their surroundings. The light revealed intricate patterns in the frost, not random as he'd first thought, but organized, almost like a script in some unknown language.
"What is this?" he whispered, studying the wall.
"Shadow script," Professor Nyala replied quietly. "Their communication. Their record."
"Can you read it?" Osa asked.
Professor Nyala's expression hardened. "Partially. It speaks of consumption. Of waiting. Of..." she hesitated, "...of the fire-marked one's return."
Saguna swallowed hard. "They knew I would come back."
"Perhaps," Professor Nyala acknowledged. "Or perhaps they refer to your sister."
Radji had been studying the patterns of frost more analytically. "There's a directional component to these markings. See how they all flow toward the village center?" He pointed to subtle changes in the patterns. "Like arrows."
"Or a current," Osa added. "Pulling everything in one direction."
Saguna felt the whispers stirring at the edges of his awareness, still indistinct but growing clearer with each step deeper into the tunnel network. Among them, he could occasionally distinguish Sahara's voice — stronger than the others, more focused.
Follow the cold to its heart, little brother. I wait where worlds meet.
"This way," he said, gesturing down the right-hand passage where, as Old Man Reza had instructed, a thin stream of water still flowed along a channel carved into the floor. "Toward the center."
They moved forward, Saguna at the point, Radji and Osa flanking him slightly behind. Professor Nyala brought up the rear, one hand raised with silver sigils providing additional light.
The tunnel wound through the earth beneath Teluk Jati, occasionally branching or opening into slightly wider chambers where multiple drainage channels converged. At each junction, they followed the flowing water, noting how the frost patterns grew denser, more elaborate.
After perhaps twenty minutes of careful progress, they reached a circular chamber larger than the others. Seven tunnels connected here, water from each feeding into a central pool that drained through a grate in the floor. The walls were covered entirely in frost patterns, so thick they appeared almost three-dimensional.
But what caught Saguna's attention wasn't the frost, it was what lay beneath it. The walls of this chamber were carved with familiar symbols, partially obscured but still recognizable.
"Ward sigils," Professor Nyala breathed, moving closer to examine them. "Ancient ones. Far older than Elder Reza's grandmother."
"This chamber isn't on the map," Radji observed, consulting his mental image of the tunnel network.
"No," Saguna agreed. "I don't remember this place from when we played here as children." He stepped toward the center of the room, where the pool of water was unnaturally still despite the streams feeding it. "Something feels wrong."
As if triggered by his words, the water in the pool began to ripple, but not from the inflowing streams. Something beneath the surface was moving.
Osa reacted instantly, drawing the water up and away from whatever lurked below. The liquid rose in a sphere, revealing what had been hidden — a small tear in reality at the bottom of the pool, black and pulsing, no larger than a hand's width.
"A breach," Professor Nyala said. "A minor one, but—"
Before she could finish, the tear expanded suddenly, doubling in size. The temperature in the chamber plummeted as shadow began to pour forth from the opening — not a fully formed entity, but raw darkness seeking shape.
"Back!" Saguna shouted, summoning fire to his hands. "Back to the tunnel!"
But even as they retreated, the tear continued to grow, shadow spilling outward across the chamber floor. And with it came the whispers, louder now, more voices, more urgent. Among them, Sahara's voice cut through with sudden clarity:
Too late, little brother. They knew you would come.