First, there was a flash. It was as if the mine held its breath for a moment.
And then—a scream.
It burst into Siren's ears with the fury of a blow, tearing him from sleep, leaving nothing but dust on his lips and a clenched jaw. The world around him trembled, the air vibrating, and the walls lived their own life—they sang, they screamed, they breathed.
He jerked upright, shaking his shoulders. His eyes, as always, did not catch color—only shapes, pulsations, delicate vibrations. The mine was a world of ash and silver. Where an ordinary person would have seen nothing but darkness, Siren could discern the smallest vibrations of magic, threads of ether, waiting to awaken.
The scream came again—now mixed with mad, muffled laughter. And following it—a jolt in the air. He felt the energy tighten—a string stretched within the wall, invisible but palpable. The ether was about to explode.
He ducked just in time—an instant before flames erupted in the neighboring tunnel, tearing from the body of someone already half-dead. A person? No. Just a vessel in which ore had found its path.
A wave of heat swept across the stone. The air smelled of blood and burned metal. Siren coughed but, not pausing, sprinted toward the exit.
The rebellion had flared up suddenly, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before someone cracked. Someone would burn from within. Someone would take the others with them. Today, it happened—and the mine responded.
He ran down the right tunnel, alongside old copper rails. Around the bend, a silhouette flashed—a guard with a charred torso, no arms. His body jerked—and Siren saw how an ore flash began to gather within the remains of the spine. He managed to leap behind a stone, pressed against it—and in a second, there was a snap, as though the air itself had torn loose.
Above the blast site, clumps of ash floated. They trembled—not from the heat, but from the magic clinging to the remnants of life. These tiny echoes of ether clung to everything around.
Siren moved on.
He felt the ore inside his body respond, but not like those who were already lost. No, faintly. Like a tooth on a cold day.
To the left—a passage lit by rhythmic flashes. He knew it wasn't light. It was a warning—the ore in the stones was preparing to explode. Someone had been trying to cast magic, but didn't know their limits and was consumed by the sudden explosion of their own flesh.
"Damn!" Rolling across the ground, he barely managed to leap aside, but the blast still grazed his back.
Looking at the remains of the ill-fated miner, Siren turned down another path—an old, narrow tunnel, long untouched by human feet. Dust lay in a uniform layer, indifferent to the chaos around it.
The path was narrow, almost like a crack, but Siren moved quickly. His vision helped—where others would have to feel their way, he saw the outlines, the tension, the anticipated surges of ether.
He froze and crouched, watching a faint pulse ahead.
The wall in the corner flared from within, cracking. But he was already to the side, pressed against a niche. The ether surge ripped into the void, missing him. He was lucky to see the precursor before it happened.
He moved forward again. The world grew quieter, and only the deep hum of the ore energy did not subside.
At the end of the corridor, Siren found a fork. To the left—an impassable passage, to the right—an old ventilation shaft. Too narrow, but possibly leading to an alternate route.
Gritting his teeth, Siren squeezed inside. Dust filled his mouth, his hands slipped off the walls, but he crawled.
Behind him, another crash sounded. Too strong for magic. As if the very stone was beginning to die.
But Siren didn't look back.
He crawled, how long or short it was, he couldn't say.
In the end, when his hands were already trembling, he slipped into another corridor. It was darker here but cleaner. No traces of the recent battle.
Siren leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Looking around, he found himself facing an endlessly long corridor, the end not visible.
He didn't know who had started these explosions, maybe it was an ether-infected soul, driven mad and losing control. Or maybe the ore had revolted against the miners who dared take it from the earth's depths.
He wasn't a strong user of ether, just as he wasn't one of the infected, burning his blood with ether in exchange for madness.
But the mine pushed him from behind.
With each passing hour—it grew stronger. The ether in the debris began to spark like the tension in the air before a storm.
The tunnel stretched endlessly. He walked, stumbled, stopped. Sometimes—he stood for a long time, listening. Sometimes—he walked quickly, almost running, when he felt the air behind him heating up.
Time lost its meaning. Maybe he'd been walking for an hour. Maybe ten. Sometimes, it seemed like he was stuck in the same turn. Other times, he felt like he was out. But the corridor around him didn't change. There were no rails, no reinforcements.
After what seemed like an eternity, when hunger and thirst clouded his thoughts, he finally found a source of water. A thin pool formed by underground waters.
He fell to his knees and drank, not thinking—his hands shook, his lips quivered. The water was cold, almost sweet.
He cupped the water in his hands and splashed his face. The coolness chased away the suffocating sense of dread in his heart. There were no ore granules, no ether in the water, he could tell with just a glance.
Quenching his thirst, Siren pressed his back against the wall. "Damn, this awful feeling, I wonder if Old Ke felt the same before he died?" The face of his probably only friend flickered in his mind. Pushing the negative thoughts away, Siren stood up. He could escape, following the faint winds along the walls. With that resolve, he moved forward.
Step by step, the walls became smooth, without a single crack.
It reached the point where Siren no longer recognized the mine in these corridors; it felt more like underground labyrinths, dug by monsters from the earth.
The corridors twisted. The walls bent in strange patterns, as if changing with every turn.
Suddenly, muffled voices rang ahead. Then, a short, heavy silence, broken by a dry snap, as if someone struck a stone with a knife.
Siren froze and tensed, listening to the voices.
"…we've passed here before," whispered a woman with a hoarse voice. "I definitely remember this junction."
"And then? You want to go back to the dead end? Or walk into another trap?"
"I'm telling you, you're leading us in circles! Maybe it's time to stop pretending you know everything?"
"Shut up, both of you," said a third, deep voice. "You can hear more than you think here."
Siren stepped forward, hiding behind the wall. Peering into the darkness, he saw several figures sitting around a lantern.
One—stocky, with short hair and glasses on his nose. His face was focused, motionless as he studied a map.
The second—angular, stocky, in a dark cloak with a tear on the shoulder—held a heavy blade, tracing his fingers over its edge.
The woman in a faded cloak with a long hood stood slightly behind, wrapping her arms around herself. A thin dagger hung from her belt, with a faint trace of ether emanating from it.
Suddenly, the man in glasses looked up and frowned. His face changed, and something appeared that revealed his concern. The strangers felt it. Without a word, they tensed, ready for any movement.
The man in glasses quickly waved his hand. A moment later, his wand flashed brightly, and a magical charge passed through the air, leaving a sparkling arc behind. Siren instantly noticed the fluctuations in the ether and instinctively dodged the magical strike.
He was forced to step out of the shadows, feeling the invisible threat intensifying. Meanwhile, the figures had already started moving, preparing to face him.
The stocky man in a uniform took half a step forward and suddenly drew his blade. Almost instantly, it was at Siren's head. In the darkness, Siren saw the metal gleam in his hand. Instinctively, he raised his arms to defend against the strike. The chains wrapped around his arms trembled, taking the blow. Before he could understand what was happening, he felt the cold wind on his skin.
Siren was thrown backward, and the chains fell to the stone with a loud clatter, making a powerful noise. He landed on his back, unable to breathe the expelled air. The man approached him and pressed his foot to his chest. The imposing figure was like a stone statue, and the heavy blade's tip was aimed directly at his neck.
"One move and you're dead," he said in a gruff voice, with an undertone of anxiety masked by cold confidence.
The woman with the dagger and the mage with the wand, from which lines of ether sparkled, moved closer, surrounding Siren.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
Siren felt the blade pressing against his neck and exhaled with difficulty, trying to stay calm.
"I'm from the mines," he said, struggling to find the words. "There was an accident. I ran here, trying to escape."
The stocky man leaned closer, his eyes carefully studying every detail. The pressure on his chest increased, and Siren felt how the air struggled to pass through his lungs.
"So, you worked in the mines, and there was an accident?" his voice became even more suspicious. "Where did this happen? How did you even get here?"
The woman, watching the scene, frowned and turned to the mage.
"Was there a mine nearby?" she asked, clearly worried.
The mage adjusted his glasses and paused for a moment.
"The mine was supposed to be abandoned due to the risk of collapse," he said. "No one in their right mind would work there. And these chains..." He kicked the shackles lying on the ground. "This guy was obviously a slave. Someone must have been using people as labor."
The stocky man looked at Siren closely, his gaze becoming more suspicious.
"Are you a slave?" he asked, adding slight pressure to Siren's chest.
Siren, barely holding back his emotions, exhaled.
"Get your foot off me."
The man only smirked, but his face remained serious.
"You're too bold for a slave," he said. "Seems like you're not familiar with the situation you're in."
Siren remained silent, gritting his teeth, trying to push the foot away.
The mage, watching the situation, spoke up:
"Be careful, Rude. If he worked in the mines, he might be infected with the ore."
The stocky man, named Rude, grimaced in irritation and removed his foot, but still kicked Siren in the ribs. Siren cried out in pain but maintained his composure, continuing to glare at his "interrogators" with hatred.
"Why didn't you say right away that you were infected?" Rude muttered, shaking his head.
Siren, gritting his teeth, struggled to breathe and raised his gaze, still filled with determination.
The mage continued:
"These mines are far from here. How did you manage to get to this place?"
Siren remained silent, unwilling to answer.
Rude lost his patience again and kicked him in the stomach, causing Siren to recoil. The blows rained down without interruption, leaving painful marks on his body.
"Answer me! How did you get here?" Rude yelled, giving him no chance to respond. Each strike sounded like hammer blows on metal.
Siren felt his strength fading, but he couldn't give up. His strength was leaving him, and his face burned from the pain. Every movement was becoming more difficult.
At that moment, the mage intervened again.
"Rude, enough!" His voice was quiet, but there was power behind it. He approached and stopped Rude, grabbing his arm. "We won't get anything out of him if he dies right now. Your methods won't help."
Rude, breathing heavily, stepped back but still held hatred in his eyes.
"He's infected, and you want to talk to him?" His voice was full of contempt, but he still stepped back.
The woman with the dagger, who had been silent until then, now looked at him with disapproval.
"Please, don't do that again, Rude. You know that if he dies, the ore could break out and infect us. We need to figure out what to do with him."
Siren tried to catch his breath, feeling his body ache with every movement. He was going to say something, but he could barely squeeze out a few words.
"…Go to hell… and die!"
The mage, hearing this, frowned. His eyes started to sparkle, and he pulled a wand from his sleeve.
"It would be better if we just left him here, but the labyrinth is full of traps. We could use him as a living shield or cannon fodder."
The woman looked at Siren closely and, without saying a word, took a step back.
Siren was still recovering, looking at his opponents. He knew the situation was dangerous, but he had no choice. If he had to work with them, he would. But he was still not willing to be anyone's pawn.