Leon drove the tip of his blade deeper, using the weight of his body to force the edge downward. The soil parted with a wet crunch, and again, that hollow, unnatural ring echoed out. It wasn't just a buried stone. It resonated—alive, aware. Like something was listening.
"Help me clear it," Leon said, yanking his blade free.
Mira dropped to her knees beside him, scraping the earth with both hands. Tomas crouched, grimacing from the pain in his shoulder, but joined them anyway. The soil came away too easily, more like rotted cloth than dirt. Foul air hissed upward with every scoop, thick with decay and iron.
Minutes passed. Then their fingers struck it.
A surface, curved and slick.
Leon cleared more of the dirt away and stared.
It was a sphere.
Pale grey. Veined with faint red lines. The markings pulsed slightly, like a heartbeat. It was the size of a helmet and embedded directly beneath where the monolith had stood. Not carved. Not placed. Grown.
