Chapter 42: The Unquiet Earth
The work began at dawn. Graxian stone-cutters arrived, their sledges loaded with rough-hewn blackstone blocks. The sound of their hammers and chisels was a new, determined rhythm replacing the memory of battle. The Blue-Skin wood-shapers worked alongside them, using their magic to fuse the stone blocks together at a molecular level, creating a seamless, incredibly strong wall. The new gate would be a single, massive slab of reinforced stone, counterweighted to swing open only for friends.
Alistair threw himself into the labor. The physical strain was a welcome distraction from the thoughts circling in his mind like vultures. He hauled stone until his muscles burned, trying to outrun the memory of green eyes and shattered timber.
But he couldn't outrun the land itself.
As he worked, his Admin senses, attuned to the subtle flows of the planet, picked up a new disturbance. It wasn't the screaming agony of the direct attack, nor the slow, creeping sickness of the northern crags. This was different. A dissonant hum, faint but persistent, like a string on a musical instrument that was slightly out of tune.
He tried to ignore it, focusing on setting another block in place. But the hum grew, vibrating up through the soles of his feet. It was coming from the east. From the direction Varg had retreated.
That evening, he stood on the newly rebuilt section of the wall, looking out over the darkening jungle. The hum was a constant, low-level irritant in the back of his skull. He closed his eyes, extending his senses, trying to pinpoint the source.
The image that formed in his mind was not of a place, but of a process. He felt the corrupting energy of the blight no longer just festering or spreading aimlessly. He felt it *focusing*. It was being channeled, directed with a purpose that was chillingly intelligent. It was digging, boring deep into the bedrock, seeking something.
"Thora," he said, his voice tight. She joined him on the wall, her presence a quiet comfort. "Can you feel that?"
She closed her eyes, her hunter's senses reaching out. After a moment, she shook her head. "I feel only the jungle. The fear of the small creatures. The land is... wary. But I feel no specific threat."
Of course she couldn't. This was too deep, too fundamental. This was a sickness in the planet's bones.
"It's Varg," Alistair whispered. "He's not just hiding. He's not just building another army. He's doing something else. Something deeper."
He tried to push his consciousness further, to understand what the blight was searching for in the deep rock. But the moment he probed too close to the source of the hum, a wall of pure, malevolent awareness slammed into him. It was Varg's consciousness, fused with the blight, and it felt his touch.
A single, psychic word echoed back to him, carried on a wave of hate so pure it was like a physical blow:
MINE.
Alistair staggered back from the wall, his head pounding as if he'd been struck. He clutched the stone parapet, his knuckles white.
"What is it?" Thora asked, her hand on his arm.
"He's looking for something," Alistair gasped, the echo of that hateful word still ringing in his mind. "Something deep underground. And he knows that I know."
The cold realization settled over him. The battle for the surface, for the walls and the people, was only one front. Varg was opening a second, far more terrifying front. A war for the very heart of the planet.
The unquiet earth was not just scared. It was being mined. And whatever Varg was digging for, it would be the end of everything.