Silas clutched the obsidian hourglass. Its cool, smooth surface felt alien against his palm, yet a strange pull emanated from within. Smaller than his hand, it was a relic from a world that had forgotten such intricate craftsmanship. A subtle shimmer danced across the polished stone, hinting at depths beyond mere ornament.
He tilted the hourglass. Fine, crimson dust, unlike any saline particulate he had ever encountered, began its slow descent. It flowed with an unnerving grace, a miniature, ruby waterfall against the dark glass. Silas felt a faint tremor, an echo of nascent power, resonate within him as the last grain settled.
“What are you?” he murmured, a question to the empty air. “A key?”
He flipped the hourglass once more. The peculiar dust recommenced its journey. Its color was a profound, vital red, far richer than the pallid rust of the Expanse’s iron-rich plains. He had never seen such a hue in this bleached world.
Concentrating, Silas extended his will, a subtle tendril of his new dominion. He sought to coax the crystalline dust, to halt its fall, to bind it in place. The red dust merely continued its unhurried descent. No response. He tried again, pouring more focus, more of his burgeoning power into the attempt.
Still nothing. The grains flowed as if his touch meant nothing. Silas’s brow furrowed. Frustration coiled in his gut. Had Crake truly outwitted him, leaving him with a trinket in exchange for an Elder-Shard?
He shoved the hourglass into a pocket of his travel-worn tunic. It was a purchase, however unwelcome, and he wouldn’t discard it easily. A metallic tang of disappointment filled his mouth. This day had begun poorly, and a dark premonition settled over him.
---
Dust devils danced in the failing light as Silas pushed open the creaking door to his crude lodging. The air inside hung heavy, thick with the scent of stale brine and unwashed bodies. A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom near the cot.
A man stood waiting. Towering, with shoulders like crags of salt-rock and a face etched with scars. His sleeveless tunic revealed forearms corded with muscle, and a grimace that seemed permanently etched into his features. This was Kael, a brute who oversaw sections of Crake’s operations.
Their eyes met. Kael’s were flinty, devoid of warmth.
“You the new grunt?” Kael’s voice was a low growl, like grinding stone.
Silas nodded, a silent acknowledgment.
“Damn it, boy! Why weren’t you at the Salt-Mines this morning?” Kael’s voice cracked like a whip. “If you came to work, you should’ve been scrambling to the deep fractures. Why did I have to come sniffing you out?”
Silas started to speak. “No one told me where to report…”
Kael cut him off with a harsh bark of laughter. “Funny. Who’s gonna hold your hand? You signed on, you show up. That’s how it works here.” He stepped closer, crowding Silas. “Forget it. You’ll learn. Come on. Stop blathering.”
Kael was an old hand in Saltern, a piece of the brutal machinery that kept Crake’s enterprise running. He knew how to break newcomers, how to mold them into compliant laborers. Rookies like Silas were merely raw material, easily consumed.
Silas felt the weight of it then. The crushing reality of Saltern. Every interaction was a test, every face a potential threat. Crake, Kael, the hungry eyes of the market vendors — all sharks in a barren sea, circling for weakness. He couldn’t reveal his burgeoning abilities publicly, not yet. Defying Kael was an invitation to swift, brutal reprisal.
He hesitated. Kael’s face hardened. A fist, heavy as a hammer, slammed into Silas’s jaw. Silas reeled back, a gasp torn from his throat, stumbling against the rough wall.
Kael advanced, stomping down with a heavy boot. “Didn’t I tell you to follow, you worthless shard-picker?!” Each word was punctuated by a kick to Silas’s ribs, his legs.
Pain flared, a hot, blinding agony. But beneath it, a strange resilience hummed. His newly vitalized body absorbed the blows with a shocking, if still painful, grace. He could fight back, he knew. He could lash out, perhaps even hurt Kael. But it wasn't time. Not yet.
Silas curled into himself, protecting his head, enduring the storm. He focused on the pain, on the rage, letting it calcify into cold resolve. He would build his strength. Revenge could wait. It would be all the sweeter for the patience.
After a few more savage kicks, Kael’s assault subsided. “Make another fuss, or disobey me again,” Kael panted, “and you’ll die out here. Understand?”
He didn't wait for a response. “Then follow.” Kael turned and stomped out.
Silas pushed himself up, every muscle screaming. His face throbbed, a bruise already swelling on his cheek. His ribs ached with a dull, persistent thrum. Without his newfound resilience, he might have been broken beyond repair. He glared at Kael’s retreating back, a silent, venomous promise forming in his heart.
*You, Kael. I will kill you.*
Kael showed no concern for Silas’s injuries. In the Salt-Mines, laborers were expendable. Tools to be used, broken, and discarded when their utility expired.
---
They arrived at the yawning maw of the Salt-Mines. Jagged crystalline teeth lined the entrance, reflecting the dimming light in a thousand fractured gleams. A small, hunched figure, another miner, waited at the entrance.
Kael gestured with his chin. “Equip him.”
The miner, his face a mask of weary resignation, handed Silas a brine-hardened crystal pick, heavy and sharp. A helmet with a lumen-shard fixed to its front. A thick, dust-proof satchel. “Cost of the pick and rations will be deducted from your earnings,” the miner mumbled, avoiding Kael’s gaze. “Fill the satchel with Elder-Shards when you find them.”
“That’s it?” Silas asked, his voice rough. “No instructions on… how to mine?”
“Damn it!” Kael’s roar echoed in the entrance. “Need I teach you how to strike a wall with a pick? Just hit it. That’s all.”
The hunched miner flinched, retreating a step. Kael was known as the ‘Tyrant of the Fractures,’ his violence a constant threat. Miners walked in fear of him.
Silas felt a surge of disbelief. They were just throwing people into the earth, untaught, unprepared. It was a death sentence masquerading as labor.
“Hey! Toss this grunt into Fracture 729.” Kael jabbed a finger towards a dark opening. “No more blathering. Get him in there.”
The hunched miner moved quickly, seizing Silas’s arm. Silas was pulled along, down into the swallowing dark.
Kael’s voice echoed behind them, colder than the deepest brine. “You, grunt! Don’t even think of crawling out before you’ve pulled a full satchel of Elder-Shards. Remember what I said.”
A burning knot tightened in Silas’s chest.
*That son of a bitch…*
He renewed his vow, sharpening it to a fine point. Kael would pay. He understood the Salt-Mines now. No allies. Only predators. Weakness meant consumption. Every shadow, every face, a potential threat. He blamed himself for his momentary lapse in vigilance, for believing in a fair exchange in a world stripped bare.
Silas strengthened his resolve, walking deeper into the salt-laced earth. Even at the beginning, the fracture was incredibly narrow, carved by human desperation, not machinery. Dust hung thick in the air, a constant companion.
The hunched miner spoke, his voice barely a whisper above the grit. “Consider yourself lucky. Kael lost everything at the Crystal Pits last night. He’s in a foul mood.”
“There are gambling dens here?”
“Everything’s here. Crystalline hooch, dream-dust. Best to stay clear. You end up working just to make others rich.” The miner had been here for five cycles. All who’d started with him were either crippled or buried beneath the salt. “If you want to survive, to save enough to leave this place, stay sharp.”
“What kind of fracture is 729?” Silas asked. A cold dread had begun to seep into him. He knew, instinctively, Kael had sent him somewhere especially dangerous.
He briefly considered escape. But the Crystalline Expanse stretched endlessly, a lethal expanse of salt and wind-scoured rock. He’d desiccate and die before he found water.
*First, I need to understand my abilities.* He hadn't yet explored the full extent of his power. He needed solitude, a chance to test his limits, to strategize. Only then could he plan.
Crossroads appeared in the dim light. The miner pointed. “Red arrows mark the descent, deeper into the earth’s heart. Blue arrows lead back to the surface. Always follow the blue when you leave. Remember that.”
They had descended hundreds of meters, the air growing colder, heavier. Finally, the miner stopped.
“This is Fracture 729.”
Silas looked into the opening the miner indicated. Absolute darkness swallowed the lumen-shard’s light, a void that seemed to breathe.
“Just go in there and begin. Mind yourself.”
“I have a bad feeling about this place,” Silas admitted.
“Four others have met ill fortune inside. Be careful.”
“Ill fortune?”
“They died. No one knows how. Everyone assigned to 729 has gone in and not come out. That’s why Kael sent a newcomer like you.”
Silas stared, incredulous. The miner met his gaze, a fleeting look of pity and guilt. He was just another cog in the brutal machine. There was nothing he could do.
“I hope you come out whole,” the miner said, his voice raw. Then he turned and shuffled towards his own allotted fracture.
Silas stood alone, staring into the abyss of Fracture 729. *Everyone who went in there died? He sent me here deliberately? Because he lost his damn gambling money?*
His anger, cooled to a glacial calm, intensified. “Park Manho,” he whispered, the name a chilling promise against the encroaching dark. “You will definitely die by my hands. I swear it.”