I took their clothes because leaving them behind felt like leaving proof, and proof was something that always came back to hunt you when you least expected it. The miner's jacket was rough and smelled like old sweat, dust, and iron, and when I pulled it over my shoulders it felt heavier than it should have, not because of the fabric but because of what it meant, because wearing it meant pretending to be someone I wasn't while walking straight into a place that wanted me dead. I wrapped the cloth tighter around my face, hiding my eyes, my mouth, everything that could give me away, and when I looked down at myself, I barely recognized the shape staring back, just another short figure swallowed by gear too big for him.
The entrance to the mine breathed like a living thing.
Cold air flowed out in slow waves, carrying the sound of metal striking stone, the deep, repeating clangs echoing upward from far below, mixing with rough voices and tired shouts that never fully stopped. Every step I took inside made the light thinner, weaker, until the world became nothing but shadows, torches, and the dull glow of crystals embedded in the walls like frozen stars.
The deeper I went, the more people I saw.
Men covered in dust, shoulders hunched, backs bent, hands rough and bleeding, swinging pickaxes again and again like machines that had forgotten how to stop. No one looked at me for long. No one cared. In a place like this, everyone minded their own survival first.
Then I saw him.
He was crouched low, half hidden behind a broken wall of stone, his pickaxe frozen mid-air, eyes wide, breath shallow. In his hand, catching the torchlight, was a diamond, small but perfect, glowing softly like it didn't belong underground. For a moment, he just stared at it, like he was afraid it might disappear if he blinked.
I waited for him to shout.
To celebrate.
To call others.
He didn't.
Instead, his fingers closed around it fast, desperate, and he shoved it into his pocket like it burned. His eyes darted around, sharp and scared, and when he noticed me watching, his face tightened. He didn't say a word. He turned and ran, boots slamming against stone, disappearing into the tunnels like a shadow that knew how to survive.
I kept walking.
The air grew heavier the deeper I went, thicker with dust and something else I couldn't name, something old that pressed against my skin and made my chest feel tight. The sounds changed too, less shouting, fewer tools, more silence between echoes, until finally the tunnel opened into a wide chamber.
That was where the altar stood.
It was carved directly into the stone, massive and cracked, covered in symbols worn smooth by time and belief. Even before I read the words etched into it, my body reacted, every instinct screaming at me to turn around, to leave, to pretend I had never seen this place.
**The Altar of Brave Honor.**
My legs trembled.
Not from weakness, but from fear so deep it felt like it came from somewhere older than thought.
I stood there breathing hard, heart pounding, and for the first time since stepping onto this island, I truly thought, *I could die here*. Not maybe. Not someday. Here. Now. This altar didn't feel like a test meant to be passed. It felt like a line meant to be crossed only once.
"I think I will die," I whispered, my voice barely louder than the dust falling from the ceiling.
My hands shook as I stepped closer.
I didn't back away.
I pressed my palm against the stone and dragged a finger across my skin, the pain sharp and real, blood welling up and dripping down onto the altar's surface. The moment it touched, the symbols flared bright, blinding white, and the ground screamed.
The explosion came instantly.
Not a warning. Not a build-up. Just power tearing outward, stone shattering, air ripping apart, sound crushing everything else. I was thrown back, slammed hard into the ground, my ears ringing so loud it felt like the world had gone silent.
When I forced myself up, coughing dust and blood, I realized something was wrong.
The tunnels were gone.
Collapsed.
Blocked.
Buried.
No exits.
No light from above.
No escape.
Shouts erupted around me, panicked and furious, echoing through the trapped mine like the cries of animals caught in a burning cage. Torches waved wildly. Shadows jumped across broken stone.
"They're trapped us!"
"Who did this?!"
"Find them!"
Hands grabbed me, shoved me, yanked the cloth from my face. When they saw me clearly, really saw me, their anger twisted into something darker.
"A kid?"
"You're telling me a kid did this?"
"He's the culprit!"
There were hundreds of them. Faces packed tight. Weapons raised. Fear turned sharp and violent.
I knew I couldn't stay. I knew I couldn't explain. I knew time itself was my enemy.
So I moved.
Fast.
Precise.
I struck the ones in front of me, not to kill, never to kill, only to stop, to blind, to drop them long enough to move forward. Bodies fell. Groans filled the air. I kept walking, breathing hard, eyes scanning, calculating paths, counting steps.
Then the tunnel opened into a crossing.
And my chest sank.
They were all there.
Miners filled the space wall to wall, blocking every direction, faces twisted with rage and fear, weapons raised, ready to tear me apart.
I stopped.
There was no path through this.
No time left.
Then an old man stepped forward.
He was small, hunched, hair thin and white, clothes worn so badly they looked like they might fall apart. His eyes, though, were clear and steady, and when he spoke, the noise around him died.
"Are you the one who caused this?" he asked calmly.
I met his gaze.
"Yes," I said.
The kick came instantly.
I raised my arm to block, and the impact exploded through me like a cannon, the force ripping through my guard, slamming me backward, smashing my body into the rock behind me so hard the stone cracked and collapsed. My arm burned red, pain roaring through my bones.
I barely stayed standing.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"He's still up?"
The old man didn't look surprised.
I rushed him, drawing my fist back and driving it straight toward his chest with everything I had.
He blocked it easily.
Then he released something invisible.
It felt like being hit by air turned solid, the force slamming into me from the side, throwing me through the tunnel floor and down into darkness. I crashed hard into the soil below, the impact carving a massive hole nearly ten meters deep.
I lay there, coughing blood, staring upward.
Then my fear returned.
He jumped down after me.
Wrong move.
I was already smiling.
When his fist shot toward my head, I dodged just enough to feel the wind of it, nearly caught his neck, missed by inches, and kicked him the same way he had kicked me earlier, sending him flying back.
The moment I looked up, another invisible force slammed into me again, deeper, harder, stretching the hole wider, longer.
My body screamed. This man was unbelievable. A miner peeked down to check on me, eyes wide in shock. I grabbed him, threw him aside, used the movement to disappear into shadow. The old man followed, stepping forward without caution.
I struck from behind. My fist connected with his back, then his head, then again and again, my movements fast and relentless. His body finally gave in, collapsing, consciousness slipping away, the punches leaves a crater. The miners looked at the crater covered by dust. When the smoke cleared, they saw me
I stood there, shaking, bleeding, breathing.
Still alive.