The creature's scream was terrifying. Chills ran down my spine, it sounded almost demonic. But there was nothing left to do except climb up and get out.
At the same timecrater surface
"Oi, push him harder!"
"Roooooahr!"
"Don't be scared, it's just a newborn, those bastards!"
A creature covered in black scales stood before them, with four powerful arms, a crocodile tail, and a head shaped like a cow's. It had no eyes, only smooth dark skin where they should have been.
Eight guards armed with spears, along with the shaman leader, fought to stop the monster's advance toward the crater. There was only one entrance, and if they could hold out until nightfall, their tribe would survive.
-Stab-stab-
"Don't stop! Stab him! They feel pain just like us!"
The shaman barked orders while the tribe's bravest warriors, trained since childhood, fought without hesitation.
Normally, a Ganmi would slaughter such a small group in seconds. But this was only a newborn. It hadn't yet collected a single soul.
That was precisely why it could approach the crater. This location wasn't chosen by accident. The shaman's rituals, carefully prepared for generations, kept the Ganmi at bay.
Hour after hour passed. Sweat dripped like rain.
As daylight faded, the lotus flowers within the crater began to glow with all their might.
-Wraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!-
The cow-headed monster, frustrated and wounded, curled up and retreated into the forest.
"Ha! Glory to the warriors of the tribe!"
"Victory!"
Cheers filled the air, but the shaman's eyes were fixed elsewhere. Something—or someone—was running toward him from the direction of the crater.
"Please help him!"
The young man's voice cracked with desperation. His clothes were torn and soaked with blood. His bare feet were flayed raw, his arms and legs covered in scratches. He looked as though he had crawled straight out from the depths of the pit.
-Huff...Huff-
his breathing is louder than ever
"...Mori?"
"Uncle! Please heal him, his leg looks terrible!"
Mori gently laid the boy on the ground. The child had already passed out from pain.
"Yeah, that doesn't look good. Oi! Erik, come here."
A monstrously tall warrior with green eyes and a scarred body stepped forward.
"Give me number four."
Without a word, Erik untied one of the pouches from his belt and handed it to the shaman.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to use this today," the shaman muttered. "You're lucky my warriors escaped unscathed."
He poured the pouch's contents onto the boy's leg. A strange golden light flowed from the shaman's hands, wrapping itself around the wound.
"Wantaro gu zemija ka..." Hertius!"
As the words left his mouth, the golden light sank into the boy's skin. His leg looked as if it had never been injured at all.
"That should be enough," the shaman said, breathing heavily. "Now then, what the hell were you doing to end up like this? Come here, Mori, I'll heal you too. And start talking."
"Yes, chief..."
Later, in the main tribe hall
-Mori's perspective-
"I can't believe that child survived so deep in the abyss... It's a miracle. And you went down to save him?" The shaman gave a tired laugh. "Admirable, but reckless as always, Mori."
Before he could continue, the child interrupted:
"B-but shaman, black lotus flowers are growing down there!"
The boy's voice trembled with awe.
"Hah, you too? Impossible. You must've eaten some mushrooms and imagined things."
"Mori! What are you teaching him?" the shaman snapped.
"Nothing, sir."
The meeting soon ended. Everyone returned to their duties, including me. I'd neglected my carving work for far too long.
Back in my hut, I passed by dozens of my old creations and sat down at my table. With my knife and the last piece of wood I had left, I began carving...
A spoon.
Not the most impressive thing I've ever made, but at least I'm useful.
The night passed in silence, filled with the rhythm of carving and the faint whispers that had haunted me since the abyss. The voices were getting louder now. I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were there.
Exhausted, I finally lay down to rest, haunted yet oddly content, thinking about the black lotus field and that strange, familiar darkness below.
The next morning, I went to return the spoons to Ragga.
"Ohhhh, Mori! You didn't show up yesterday, you have no idea how grateful I am for saving that little monster!"
"Don't wor-"
Before I could finish, Ragga pulled me closer.
"No, no, no, come here."
She handed me a new carving knife, its blade glimmered like obsidian. The glow in my green eyes said everything.
"You like it, huh? Haha! That knife belonged to my husband's grandfather. It'll serve you better than it ever could me."
Before I could thank her, Ragga hugged me tightly, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was the first time I'd seen her cry since her husband's death.
"...I don't know what I'd have done without you. Thank you."
Even her children stared in silence.
I stayed for breakfast, helping as always, while Rascal retold our adventure from the depths, his eyes wide, his voice trembling with both fear and wonder.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After breakfast, I went to Morga to get some vegetables, since I couldn't eat at Ragga's all the time.
After crossing a few bridges, I reached a small patch of arable land, which was rare in the crater. Strange plants grew everywhere, most of which we didn't normally eat.
Morga always liked exotic plants. I didn't see her anywhere, but at the far end, I spotted her parents.
Their faces were drawn and sad.
"Um… Tyrka and Rut, right?"
"Are you here for Morga? I'm sorry, but… she set off to the surface two days ago to search for seeds," Rut said hesitantly.
"And recently, a young Ganmi attacked our tribe… we fear she might already be…"
"That's enough, my dear. Don't force yourself," Tyrka interrupted him.
The news hit me like a hammer. I had thought no one had been hurt in the last incident, but apparently, not everyone had been so lucky.
…But why her? Anger and grief stirred in my chest, though I didn't let them show. I thanked them quietly and left Morga's hometown.
Helplessness and my own frustration followed me all the way home.
The rotting trees around me seemed alive, almost breathing, and I let myself accept that life in silence.
The voices weren't helping either.
Worse still, the next day, our little rascal told me he heard voices in his dreams too.
Could it be connected to the crater floor?
I didn't know, and for now, I didn't care. Morga's parents had decided to hold a funeral.
The souls of the dead would undergo the ritual, hoping they hadn't been devoured.
And I'm counting on it too
What else is left for us to do except hold on to hope...