The Sludge-Mine stank of wet iron and rot, but this time the smell carried something worse—movement in the walls. Hao Wei crouched over a patch of Dusk-Dew, black streaks crawling across its surface like ink spilled in water. His Glutton-Leech shivered in his stomach, pain slicing through the hunger.
Feng Zhen hovered over a copper gauge, muttering numbers too precise to matter. The essence in the mine was thin—dirty—and every inhalation burned their apertures. Lu Di mirrored Hao Wei's movements with a pickaxe, blind mimicry, yet somehow effective.
"Three veins, widening," Hao Wei muttered. Not a warning, just a statement. He dropped his hand and adjusted his grip on the stolen Year-Stones from the last Exhale. Every second counted; the walls were alive, and the Scar was hungry.
A low rumble rolled through the mine. Dusk-Dew trembled in the ceiling, shedding tiny shards of crystallized essence. Hao Wei could feel the pull in his chest, the Aperture inside him tugging, fighting against the draft that wanted to suck him dry. The black veins weren't just discoloration—they were the Scar's pulse, awakening.
Feng Zhen's voice cut through the tension. "If the pressure drops another 0.15%, the—" He froze, eyes wide. Numbers meant nothing here.
Lu Di swung again, following orders he didn't understand, ignoring the quiver of the mine that could snap bones in a heartbeat.
Hao Wei didn't hesitate. A fissure opened near the back, a rival Sifter trapped beneath a falling rock. He paused just long enough to consider: their quota was ten Year-Stones tonight, or they were dead. The man's life had no value beyond what he could carry. Hao Wei yanked the pouch from the Sifter's hand as the world exhaled.
Air screamed through the tunnels. Apertures strained. Glutton-Leech shrieked, contracting violently. The mine tried to pull them apart. Hao Wei ignored the pain, dragging Lu Di and Feng Zhen behind him. The walls flared black, dust spinning into crystallized shards.
They reached the Safety Seal just as the mine collapsed into a vacuum of frozen essence. Behind them, the world's appetite was satisfied. In front of them, the Scar remained, always hungry, always calculating the debt owed.
Hao Wei counted the Year-Stones, fingers blackened. Ten. Barely enough. Survival was not victory—it was just a pause.
And the Scar was already waiting for the next Exhale.