Chapter 1: A Strange Discovery

We all know that even amidst the greatest evil, something good can come out of it. Finding that silver lining, or discovering a light in the darkest of places, for example. However, can it also be said, that in the most glorious moments of greatness, something terribly wrong happens because of that thing that once caused so much joy? That a critical disaster can arise from something that was thought to revolutionize the world for the better? Yet, you know what they say: “The yoke a man creates for himself by wrong-doing will breed hate in the kindliest nature”.

“For heaven's sake, what did they expect to find in these caverns? We've been mining here for nearly a week, and we still haven't managed to find a single trace of crystal. If I were running this stupid project, I would've called the whole thing off by now,” said a very grumpy and tired Greg Marcell, as he hacked away at a wall of limestone with his pickax.

Joseph Dorsey, who was operating the diamond-edged drill saw, replied, “Well, I admit I am growing tired of the long, sleepless days and nights of making little to no progress. But we have to be getting close to something, don't we?”

“I don't know, but the only thing that's keeping me from leaving these forsaken mines is the pay we're getting.” Greg looked down at his wristwatch. It read 9:17 PM, which meant the mining crew could pack up their gear soon for a few hours of rest before starting their alternating night shifts. Greg's shift ran from 2:00-4:30 AM, allowing him little time to sleep.

After gathering all of his equipment, Greg headed back to the workers' quarters. As he walked, he looked down other mining corridors, which were full of other workers gathering up the rest of their supplies. Almost all the corridors had made the same progress, not finding a single thing. Just then, the sound of rushed footsteps came from behind him, accompanied by a voice which belonged to his partner, Joseph.

“Hey! Greg! Hold up a minute.” Once Joseph had reached him, he asked, “What shift do you work tonight?”

Greg replied, “Shift B down in Corridor 13.”

“Well, it looks like we're working the same shift. That's what I had hoped. I heard from a guy back there that a group of workers thought they might've found something in Corridor 29.”

“Are you sure you overheard correctly? They really found something? Did they say what it was?”

“It wasn't much, it might not even be anything important. They just said that they struck a chunk of rock, and a trickle of translucent, purplish-colored liquid began to stream out in a thin line.”

“As peculiar as it is, it sure doesn't sound like anything great, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look later.” Finally, Greg and Joseph arrived at the workers' quarters. Greg made his way over to his bunk. He sat down on the mattress and shoved his pack under the bed frame. Taking a permanent marker, he crossed off the day, June 7th, 2018, on the calendar on the wall above his bed. It had now been exactly one full week since the mining project had started. He reached over to his side desk and pushed a button on a small, electric box. Numbers were holographically projected in midair that displayed the time. Turning a few knobs, and flipping several switches, Greg set the alarm to wake himself for his early morning shift.

He then reached under his bed and felt his fingers touch the surface of a small, wooden box. Pulling it out and setting it on his lap, he opened the hinged lid. In it lay a photograph which he took out to look at. Staring back at him were four pairs of eyes, one being his own. It was a family portrait. A tear splashed on the surface of the photograph as he gazed into the shining smiles and glimmering eyes of his wife and two sons. He missed his wife Darlene. He loved the way her wavy brown locks of hair shimmered in the summer sun. Her eyes were like crisp, cool pools of ocean water. Elijah and Hamlin, Greg's sons, smiled with joy. In the portrait, Greg's hand was upon his older son Elijah, while Hamlin, who was only nine was sitting in his wife's lap. Hamlin's eyes were like mirrored images of his own, which were a color of sharp emerald. After wiping his watering eyes, he put the photograph away. Finally, he slipped off his brown leather boots, and rested his head on the pillow. His eyelids slowly closed, and he fell peacefully asleep.

Jolts of electric shock woke him suddenly, sending pain to every nerve in his body. Wincing from the numbing discharge, Greg jumped from a bed, he knew was not the one he had fallen asleep in, just moments ago. He definitely didn't remember putting on the clothes he was now wearing either. Examining the room, Greg also realized he was not in the workers' quarters. This room was much different. He knew he must be dreaming, but everything just seemed all too real. Dozens of other men standing next to, what appeared to be, hovering mattresses, rubbed their arms and necks where they had also been shocked. His attention was suddenly drawn to the center of the unfamiliar room, where bits of matter and energy was collecting. A cold voice spoke from the swirling mass of energy.

“I, your noble leader, Xarius, have called an emergency search. You shall report to the south corridors immediately. Insubordination to my orders will be punishable by means of torture.” After the voice had invoked its message, a man stood where the growing mass of energy had once been. The man, who Greg assumed must be the owner of the voice, had a large, muscular body frame, wrapped in a black leather trench coat with lots of different pockets. He had a rough visage, and an eye patch that had a mechanical attachment with a red lens over one eye. His visible eye was like a piercing emerald that bore into the mind of whoever dared look into it. A vertical scar was distinctly prominent under his right eye. He waved for the group of workers in the room to follow him, with a silver, mechanical hand.

Immediately, the workers clicked on their heels and followed him, more out of fear than devoted loyalty. Not a word was spoken in question, but rather, they followed the man called Xarius in silence. As unfamiliar as the room was, the corridors he was being led through seemed somewhat familiar to Greg. He was full of questions, but he knew that now was not the time to ask. On the sides of the corridor were other large tunnels, but these were closed off by sheets of titanium and red lasers that ran horizontally. The man leading the group continued to march down the seemingly endless corridor.

Up ahead, Greg could see a tunnel on the left that was not barricaded. Here, Xarius turned, and his eyes began wandering the walls, left and right. His good eye gleamed with malicious determination. Finally, he came to an abrupt stop, and his lips curled into a smirkish grin. Greg, however, was puzzled by this, for out of all the tunnels in the big corridor, there was nothing here to find. He was simply staring at a wall of dirt. The only thing on the wall was a small wooden plaque that was covered in dust and cobwebs. Xarius walked up to the plaque and brushed it off which revealed golden letters that read:

Corridor 29

Greg felt his eyes widen, but made sure he did not make a sound. What were they doing here in Corridor 29?, he thought. If this was Corridor 29, then where was the entrance to the tunnel? Xarius then stepped forward towards the dirt wall, just to the right of the plaque. He placed his mechanical hand on the wall, moving it slowly along its surface. As he did this, a golden glow emanated from his silver fingertips, pulsing as if in rhythm with his own heartbeat. For a moment, the light given off by his mechanical hand became a constant glow, but resumed its pulsing after moving his hand further across the wall. Greg noticed this, and realized Xarius must have also, because he placed his hand back a few inches. Once again, his fingertips emitted a solid glow. Xarius smiled in some kind of evil delight.

He then turned to face the group of workers that had followed him. Greg was being pierced by the gaze of Xarius' emerald eye. Not noticing it before, Greg saw how strikingly familiar his eye looked. Remembering the family photograph he had pulled out just before falling asleep, he realized how similar Xarius' eye color was to his own eyes, as well as his younger son, Hamlin's. As his mind was beginning to feel penetrated by that fierce green glare, Greg's ears were filled with an alarmingly loud voice.

“Greg! Come on.” His body was shaking, and he whipped his head around the corridor, which was growing dark. No matter where he looked, he could not locate the voice. “Greg, let's go. Wake up, we're going to be late.” It was now becoming extremely difficult to see, as the last light from the corridor seemed to slip away.

His eyes sprang open, his pupils contracting in the regained light. Joseph was leaning over him, with a hand on his shoulder, the other holding a small flashlight. As his eyes became adjusted to the brightness of the flashlight, he realized he was lying on his bed in the workers' quarters.

“What time is it?” Greg asked, still waking up from the shock of his dream. It took a little while to calm back down, as he was drawn back to reality.

“It's nine after two. We'd better hope that Chief Norsch isn't patrolling the corridors to check on the shifts.”

“Yea, that'd be just our luck. Reckon he'd beat us over the head with a shovel, and then throw us out of the mines if he caught us 'skipping' our shift,” Greg said, half-jokingly. Joseph gave a small chuckle. After slipping on his boots, and filling his water canteen, he flung his equipment pack over his shoulder, and headed out with Joseph for Corridor 13, where they would start their shift.

They passed several other workers who had been relieved from their shifts. Others were

plunging their shovels into the previously dug holes. Still others struck their pickaxes on large boulders of limestone, creating smaller piles of rocks at their feet. Greg, barely able to concentrate on his surroundings, didn't noticed Joseph take a turn, and continued walking straight. Not focused at all on where he was heading, his mind vividly flashed the dream he had just recently been woken from. The large cloaked man, his vicious glare, the mechanical eye patch, and the wooden plaque with its golden writing. The letters seemed to be stamped in front of his eyes.

Trying to shake away the thought, he lifted his chin, and looked at where he was going. He noticed that Joseph was no longer with him. All that was in sight was a doorway leading into an empty tunnel. A plaque hung on the wall to the left, reading: Corridor 29. He felt his stomach lurch, as images of the mysterious man flashed in his mind. His heart was pounding against his chest, and breaths came in short gasps. Why had he been led to this exact spot? What had made him direct his feet to this very corridor? Greg thought. Feelings of both, fear and anxiety rushed through his chilled veins.

Greg inched his feet forward towards the dark entrance of the tunnel. The last shift must not have used this corridor, because none of the wall lamps were on. Holding his hand out to act as his eyes, he searched for some kind of switch or lever. He drew back his hand, as he felt his fingers touch an icy cool trickle of an unknown substance. The wet residue on the tips of his fingers sent a chilling rush up his arm. Hesitant at first, he resumed his search for some sort of light switch.

A sleek, metal lever met his grasp. Assuming this would turn on the lights, he pulled it down, and immediately had to shield his eyes. Brightness flooded the otherwise empty tunnel with an immense glow. With his eyes squinted, he lowered his hand and peered around the corridor through the tiny slits between his eyelids. Spotting the small stream of liquid running down the side of a limestone boulder, his eyes seemed to be glued to the source of the fluid. The substance was similar in appearance to water, except for the color, which was a light shade of purple. Just looking at it made his fingers tingle from when he had touched the crisp, cool line of aqueous material.

Considering what Joseph had told him earlier about the findings in this corridor, Greg wasn't sure what to think. However, he decided he might as well not waste his time staring at the strange substance, but rather get some work done. He didn't know what to expect to find, but pulled out his shovel, and stood next to the boulders. Deciding for now that the watery trickle was just a strange oddity, Greg dug the end of his shovel into the soft dirt. He dumped the useless soil into a small pile, then delved further into the earth. The sound of metal striking the dirt created a tedious rhythm. All the while, thoughts of his dream were assailing his mind like a horde of angry bees.

After battling the siege of thoughts that had beset his attention, Greg heaved another mound of dirt upon the now large pile of earth. Accordingly, no real progress had been made since he had started. Out of tired frustration, he chucked his shovel over his aching shoulder. He heard it hit the boulders, but he did not expect the sound it produced. A soft melodic chime rung in his ears. For as long as he had been a miner, Greg had never struck a rock that gave off such a sound. The sweet tonality soothed his stressed mind. It slowly faded into silence, but the reverberation was still tangible in the air.

A voice interrupted the peaceful serenity that seemed to alert Greg's contemplation. “Greg! Are you down here? Hello?” It was Joseph. Greg wondered what had taken him so long to come look for him.

“I'm in here. Down in Corridor 29,” Greg called back. Joseph's head peered around the corner of the entrance. Relief swept over his face as he walked into the tunnel. “Finally realized I was gone?”

“I hadn't noticed at first, but after I took that turn, I soon realized you were gone. I was going to go back looking for you, but Chief Norsch came out of a tunnel to my left.”

“How'd you manage to explain why you were so late to your shift?”

“I just told him that Rodney Stewart sent me back to grab a diagram of the caverns. He bought the story, but followed me back to Corridor 13 to monitor our progress.”

“Did he ask why I wasn't there?” Greg knew that the Chief carried a roster of who worked each shift. Surely he had noticed his absence.

“I told him you weren't feeling well, so you stayed in the workers' quarters,” Joseph answered with a smile.

“Just like a good friend would,” Greg said, grinning. “I've got plenty to show you though. You know that thing you were talking about earlier, about what those workers had found? I think it might be something important.”

“What do you mean?” Joseph replied, anxious to hear more on the subject. Greg walked over to the boulder, his shovel gripped in his right hand, signaling with his free hand for Joseph to watch and listen closely. He then took the head of the shovel, and struck the side of the limestone. Once again, the pure note filled the air, swimming like silk around their ears. Greg saw Joseph's eyes widen, as he gazed around the air as if he were looking for angels playing harps and other heavenly instruments. “That was amazing!” he exclaimed.

“What do you reckon we do? Take a pickax to it, and see what's inside?” Greg asked. Joseph was as dazed by this mysterious conundrum as he was.

“I suppose, I mean, whatever is in that rock ought to be worth finding. Surely it's not just hollow. Even a hollow stone wouldn't produce such a sound.” After agreeing to the task, Greg replaced his shovel with a pickax, and stood over the boulder. Joseph was directly across from him. Their eyes stared into the others, waiting for the other to give the notion to start. Greg lowered his eyes first, swung his pickax over his shoulder, then sent it down upon the rock. Joseph did likewise, and created a small depression on the opposite side of the boulder.

The rock was slowly being demolished, as the two men took alternating turns striking the surface of the limestone rock. With each blow, the trickle of translucent, purple liquid gained more force as it poured out of the side of the rock. His hands began to blister from the handle's abrasive motion on the tenderized skin of his palm. Sweat rolled down his face, and stung his eyes. Taking a small break, he opened his canteen. The cool water felt soothing on his dry, parched throat. He wiped his brow on the sleeve of his shirt. By now, the current flowing from the boulder had now collected into a fair-sized pool on the ground.

“That's some tough limestone, eh, Greg?” Joseph said, tiredly. “Doesn't want to even crack.” Greg nodded, as he took another gulp of water. Checking his watch, they still had twenty-four minutes left in their shift.

“Well, we still have less than thirty minutes to see if all this work was worth it.” Greg replied. “We'd better get back to work, before the next shift starts in case they have a group that's scheduled to work down here.” They both grabbed their pickaxes, and set back to the grueling task.

Once again, the repetitive process of hammering the surface of the limestone boulders began. Hoping that it would not take much longer, Greg put more strength behind his strikes. With each blow upon the stone, the ringing tone resounded in the tunnel, ricocheting from the walls, and buzzing around their ears. It became more and more clear, as it filled the air around them. The liquid was now rushing forth from the rock at a steady pace. The iron upon steel was just audible over the sound of the music-like note.

Greg sent a crashing force upon the indented surface at which he had been striking. The top of the boulder came crumbling down, along with tiny shards of purplish crystal. He covered his eyes with his arm, as the sharp pieces darted from where his pickax had made contact with the boulder. The purplish liquid flowed past the rim of what was left of the limestone. Glinting from the inside of the cracked boulder, was a surface made entirely of crystal. Greg's eyes met Joseph's, both in complete awe. His jaw was ajar, but no words seemed to come forth. What on earth is the chief going to think when he sees this?, he thought.