Where warmth flickers, hunger waits. Where hunger whispers, rumor grows.
Haven Below
Morning never truly touched Haven Below — not the real kind. Instead, light strained through rusted vents and cracked maintenance shafts, pooling in pale puddles along the tunnel floors. To Eris, it always smelled faintly of metal and old rain, a scent that clung to every breath and permeated the very stone. The air itself was thick with it, a constant reminder of the fractured world above.
By dawn, Haven Below stirred awake, — a reluctant groan of awakening that slowly gathered momentum. Steam hissed through patched pipes like weary dragons, tracing ghostly patterns against the gloom. The faint, acrid smell of thin broth drifted past rusted scrap doors, a promise of meager warmth soon to be shared. The low murmur of waking voices mixed with the rhythmic clang of tools from distant workshops. Somewhere, old hinges squealed; somewhere else, someone cursed softly at a leaking valve. Life clung on in rust and whispers.
Eris and the siblings lived in a dwelling, a pocket carved deep into the earth, a defiant spark of life against the cold, dead world above. Within its confined space, every inch was utilized, walls shored up with salvaged timber and sheets of metal. An old heater, cobbled from bent pipes, hummed out thin heat that fought the chill gnawing at the stone. 'Emberlight,' a name whispered between blanket forts and bad dreams, was borrowed from the siblings' old secret-code games. It was a sturdy, self-made sanctuary where the ruin's chill could be held at bay, if only for a time — the last flicker in the dark, the last warmth in a cold world. It wasn't much, but it was their home.
Kaylah woke before the pipes hissed warm. A restless sleeper, she'd often rise before the others, a habit born of constant vigilance. Her vivid, flaming red hair, thick and coarse, was already pulled back from her face with a frayed strip of cloth. As she stepped softly over Myrah's sprawled arm, the little girl murmured something indistinct, a soft, sleepy sound, before burrowing deeper into Lisei's tangled blanket nest. Dreaming of a hearty meal, Lisei herself let out a small, contented sigh, oblivious. The chill of the stone floor seeped through Kaylah's thin soles, a familiar bite. Still, the needs of Haven Below never truly slept, and her tasks waited beyond this fragile warmth.
She paused for a moment by the makeshift heater, pressed her palms against its patched pipes to feel the warmth seeping into her skin — a small defiance against the cold waiting outside. For a heartbeat she pretended this scrap of warmth could last forever. But the ruin outside never slept, and neither did hunger. Then, she pushed that lie aside. There was always another mouth to feed, another fuse to mend, another day that needed stealing from the ruin's jaws. Quietly, she tugged her boots from under a crate, shrugged on her battered coat, and stepped toward the thoroughfare, leading to the main gate.
The main thoroughfare was an old subway artery, wide enough for three carts side by side — if carts still rolled here. Makeshift stalls hunched along the walls under patched tarps and stitched hides. Merchants traded bolts, bitter herbs, rusted relics. Kaylah slipped through — tired nods, a hush here, a rumor there. She passed two old women patching canvas scraps into privacy screens for families who carved homes into the tunnel's ribs. Everywhere, the marks of a people trying to coax life from a dead vein.
The tunnel throat narrowed to the Main Gate — not a gate at all, but a battered jaw of steel and mesh. A half-buried subway car braced across the passage, its shattered windows black with soot, welded mesh and scavenged doors sealing what the ruin would take if left open. Torches burned low in cracked glass lanterns nailed to posts, smudging the stone above with soot. Spear hafts leaned near a guards' bench where coats of stitched hide and scavenged armor hung drying on bent nails.
Two figures, half-wrapped in stitched hide and patchwork armor, stood sentry: one leaned on an old spear haft beside a collapsed doorway of the train car. Further down the passage, the quiet, measured tread of tribal guards on their early patrols added another layer to the waking sounds, a subtle reminder that even here, deep beneath the earth, vigilance was a constant companion.
Kaylah paused before the tunnel's exit where Eris' lean silhouette lingered near the last trickle of the silver vein, a familiar, comforting shape against the dim light. His dark brown hair, uneven at the ends, stuck flat against his forehead from the tunnel mist. His usually sharp greenish-gray hazel eyes—appear to change at times, held a flicker of that haunted look she knew so well. A faint, shimmering web, "the river's ghost" as Elder Rubio called it, pulsed beneath the pale skin of his wrist.
When he caught her watching, he only nodded. He rarely speaks when they are not alone. No words, but Kaylah knew what it meant: "I'm going up." And she knew, too, the unspoken question in his gaze: "Are you with me?" Eris offered a faint, tired smile, a brief flash of warmth in the cold light.
They were still too young for the real hunting crew — not strong enough to drag back the big kill, not yet trusted enough to lose. Eris' silver-veined flares were unpredictable. Kaylah's quick hands were more useful mending old comms and patching broken heaters than gutting wild things twice her weight. Elder Ruvio had said, "Let the bigger blades and steady backs take the big beasts. You two find the small mercies. Learn the ruin's whisper first."
But hunger didn't care about permission slips. So, they looked for scraps no one else bothered with — quick prey, forgotten corners, the soft pulse of survival where the ruin hadn't swallowed it whole. Scraps that mattered more than gold when the ruin rattled the pipes and the hunger crept in.
Eris and Kaylah stood like unmoving rock before the Main gate, immovable. The old guard stared at the two a bit longer before giving them a small, almost grudging nod, acknowledging their resolve to hunt for the much-needed food. They were too young to hunt, but he knew the two didn't care for permission. They were just there to give courtesy for their departure. The steel gate couldn't stop them; they knew secret passages big enough to crouch through and go out.
Past the outer barricade — makeshift spears crossed where a true gate should stand — a lone figure hammered a bent sheet of metal into place. Higher up, two scouts paced the ledge above a half-buried tower, eyes on the forest's shadowed edge. Haven Below was battered — but not blind.
A pair of older hunters passing by paused when they spotted Eris' shape in the half-light. One muttered under his breath to the other, just loud enough for Kaylah's sharp ears to catch: "That's the silver veins boy — watch him when the pipes flicker." A glance over a shoulder, a quick look away. They weren't sure what to do with him yet. Not quite trusted. Not quite ignored anymore.
As they passed the outer barricade, Joeren appeared, his eyes already narrowed with an unspoken grievance, lingered on Eris' wrist. "Don't let your gifts trip you up out there, Silver-Boy," he sneered, his voice low, laced with a venom that made the air crackle. "Some things are better left buried." It wasn't a warning; it was a promise. Marik, Joeren's older cousin, muttered loud enough for those who cared to listen, "River-Boy thinks he's better than the real hunters."
Eris and Kaylah ignored the two who cursed them behind. Bows resting easy across their shoulders, they walked to the old trail. They slipped through the outer gate. They would explore the edge of the forest. Before moving out, something tugged at him—the faint itch of eyes on his back. He turned. Only the hush of shattered glass and vines. But at the corner of his sight—a flicker of red, gone when he blinked. Just the ruin playing tricks, he thought. He spat into the dirt, shifted his bow, and moved on.
They always went together.
***
The Scrapyard Hunt: A Glimmer of Hope
Eris and Kaylah ascended a low, rocky knoll just beyond the outer gate. From its crest, a patchwork of desolation stretched before them—their designated hunting ground. They'd done this countless times, almost every day, scanning the barren landscape for any flicker of life. Still, a familiar, stubborn hope lingered — that today, they might find something better. Maybe, just maybe, a new beginning would unfold from this familiar routine.
Kaylah, ever the dreamer, let her gaze drift past the twisted skeletons of old-world vehicles. She pictured a house, a real one, like the elders sometimes spoke of—stories of a time before, perhaps true, perhaps mere echoes of longing.
In her wandering mind, there's a table laden with a hearty meal, a storage filled to bursting with fascinating things to tinker with. And books. Not the few, brittle pages they'd salvaged and hoarded, but whole volumes filled with happy tales, magical in their minds, stories that would make children truly happy. Not that they complained about the adventures they concocted themselves, but another kind of magic would be welcome, beyond the endless hunt for rabbits. She imagined Eris then, no longer mysterious or burdened by the silver light in his veins, but a grown man, his face soft with a constant, contented smile.
Eris, by her side, wasn't prone to such elaborate daydreams. He was a creature of stark reality, though a quiet hope for a better life was a constant, dull ache within him. He didn't envision a bright future like Kaylah; he just yearned for a life less relentlessly difficult. His hazel eyes, quick and restless, skimmed the ragged hunting ground, searching the shadows for what might lie beyond.
First, he looked south, back towards the great, gaping tunnel mouth of Haven Below, where the mountain cliff rose sheer and unyielding. Then, to the west, where the land climbed into jagged rock, a broken railroad track vanishing into the impassable chasm of the deeper gorge. Nothing there but emptiness. His gaze then slid eastward, over the sprawling scrapyard, a grotesque museum of corroded metal and inexplicable machines. This was the scavengers' domain, picked clean by Kaylah and others like her, but far beyond, rumor spoke of a small, ruined city. It was a place guarded by packs of glass-backs, a wasteland no one dared enter.
Finally, he turned north. Here, the land opened into a desolate plain, dotted with skeletal trees and hardy shrubs. Beyond, a shallower gorge, less daunting than its western twin, invited passage. A second railroad trail snaked down into its depths, hinting at a path forward. He knew the river snaked through that gorge's bottom, its current vanishing beneath cracked earth, its course a mystery.
And beyond that northern gorge, the shadows of a vast forest loomed, promising both game and peril, leading, rumor said, to a ruined city grander than any other. Elder Ruvio was said to have crossed that very land, perhaps still did so in secret, the very place where he'd found them.
A subtle shift in the air, a whisper that wasn't wind, made Eris pause. His silver hummed low in his wrist, a familiar thrum that usually signaled danger, but this was different—a prickle of awareness rather than alarm. It felt... like a distant echo. He focused, his gaze narrowing on a cluster of petrified trees at the far northern edge of their hunting ground, near the lip of the shallower gorge. He scanned the familiar terrain. Nothing. Yet, the hum persisted, a faint, almost melodic vibration.
He turned to Kaylah, who was still lost in her reverie, a wisp of a smile on her lips. He didn't speak, just nudged her with his elbow.
"Anything?" she murmured, snapping back to the present, her eyes immediately sharp, scanning.
Eris shook his head slowly, still looking north. "Just a feeling," he said, his voice low, almost to himself. "Something out of place. Further out." His gaze lingered on the distant, shadowed line of the forest beyond the northern gorge. It was too far for a small hunt, too dangerous for today. But the feeling, that faint, unusual resonance, sparked a different kind of hunger within him, one for knowledge, for answers. He marked the spot in his mind. Perhaps next time. For now, small mercies.
***
The Hunt for "Small Mercies"
Eris moved as if this part of the scrub land were an extension of his own skin, his bow resting easy across one shoulder, steps soft and deliberate on crumbling sprawling roots and vines. His lean build, still that of a boy but with a wiry strength hinting at what was to come, made him almost disappear into the shadows. Thin white scars, like brambles, crisscrossed his arms and knees — old reminders of climbs and falls.
Kaylah followed close behind, her scavenging knife strapped securely to her thigh, eyes ceaselessly sweeping every shadowed corner. Their hunt wasn't just for meat; it was for anything Haven Below could consume. Their gaze constantly scanned for edible roots pushing through cracks in the rocks where scrub land now lies, the faint green of a hardy plant that promised a bitter but vital nutrient, or scattered scraps of metal and wire that might be hammered into tools or bartered for favors.
Another day, another empty belly," she murmured, her voice a low rasp against the pre-dawn quiet. A puff of visible breath escaped her lips. "The children's ribs are showing more with each passing day. We need a good hunt today, River-Boy. A really good one." She nudged his shoulder gently, feeling the tautness of his muscles beneath his worn tunic. "Don't trip over your own feet today. We can't afford a sprain. You're too valuable for that."
"Just try to keep up, Scrap-Girl." He glanced at her, a knowing glint in his eyes, a shared weariness.
Kaylah flicked his shoulder, quick and sharp. "Fast doesn't matter, Rabbit-chaser, if you can't gut what you catch."
Beneath her shove, Eris felt the ghost of her hand trembling—the same tremor she hid when the lamps flickered out. He never said a word. Some things you pretended not to see so you could keep believing.
Eris snorted, nudging her elbow with his own. "Says Trap-hands — who'd rather fix dead lamps than skin rabbits."
This playful jab, born of shared hardship, was their constant, quiet affirmation. In the ruin, these small, sharp words were their truest tether, a fragile warmth against the endless cold. It was why, no matter how many times the elders warned him, no matter how much the whispers followed him, he would always wait for her. And he knew, a truth as solid as the rock beneath them, that when the river inside him pulsed with cold fury, it was her touch he craved, a whisper of calm in the storm."
He felt the familiar, dull ache in his own belly, but deeper, a burning resolve coiled there. It wasn't just about food today. It was about finding something more...He would learn to control the river inside him, to truly bend it to his will—a resolve fueled by every hollow cough and gaunt face in Haven Below.
His thought was focused on the Elder's teaching. The old man of stone and shadows, had taught them how to hunt in this desolate world—where gnarled roots swallowed the bones of rusted metal, and silent dangers lurked in every whisper of wind. He'd taught Eris to listen: to the faint hiss of wind through broken glass, to the hushed scrape of claws on stone, and to the unsettling tremor in his own veins that sometimes reached for something other, something not quite human. Elder Ruvio called it 'the song of buried waters,' a power that could both give and take, a piece of the ruin that lived inside him.
"You listen," Elder Ruvio had always murmured, his eyes ancient and knowing. "But you must also learn to ask. The river holds more than just currents. It holds memory. And secrets." Eris had never fully understood what the elder meant by 'asking,' but the phrase had settled in his mind, a persistent, half-formed question waiting for an answer. Was it a riddle? A method? A key to unlocking the power he barely understood?
Eris listened now. Their steps tuned to every fractured echo. His senses were stretched thin, searching for any sign of life, no matter how small. A flicker of movement. The faint splash of water. A distant rustle beneath a half-buried, skeletal car. He knelt, his gaze sharp, tracing the disturbed soil. Small prints. A hare, perhaps, or if they were truly lucky, two. But they'd take anything—a fat, slow frog from a cracked water pipe, the flutter of a sparrow in a crumbling wall, even the slither of a lizard sunning itself on hot metal. Their meager rations in Haven Below were dwindling.
Kaylah, ever vigilant, glanced instinctively at the ragged hills, always watching for the black shadows that slithered and writhed when the harsh sun struck too bright, revealing too much. Her sharp, greenish-gray eyes eyes, almost black — sharp as a scavenger's blade, always flicking to small details. They held a peculiar, depth-less quality, as if they'd seen too much of the ruin's true face, distinct from the duller gazes of others.
Eris shifted his weight, a subtle tremor in the cracked earth beneath his worn boots. He could feel it, a faint vibration that wasn't just the wind or the distant hum of Haven Below. It was the frantic, skittering pulse of a rabbit, hidden somewhere in the sparse scrub between him and the gorge's edge.
Karla moved like a shadow beside him, her quick eyes scanning the skeletal remains of a rusted bus, its frame a cage against the pale sky. "Left," she mouthed, her fingers signing a tight circle. "Closer to the drop."
They fanned out, silent, practiced. This wasn't the thrill of a big game hunt, but the desperate, patient art of "small mercies." The air was cold, tasting of metal and damp stone, a constant reminder of their grim world. Here, every twitch of an ear, every disturbed pebble, meant the difference between a meager meal and another night of gnawing hunger.
Eris hunkered down behind a collapsed section of reinforced concrete, barely large enough to conceal him. The silver hummed low in his wrist, a soft current, not a flare. He focused it, pushing the subtle kinetic perception outwards, feeling the ground, the vibrations, the tiny shift of air currents. There. A flash of white fur against the dull grey of a broken pipe. The rabbit was old, wary, no doubt accustomed to the desperate hunters from Haven Below.
Kaylah was already circling, her form blending with the rust-colored wreckage. She carried a lightweight net, crafted from salvaged comms wire, taut and ready. Ari adjusted his grip on his bow, the scavenged arrows fletched with scraps of leather. He wouldn't aim for a killing shot, not yet. Just a distraction, a nudge.
The hum in his wrist intensified, a familiar warmth spreading. He drew the bowstring taut, notching an arrow. The energy flowed, familiar yet ever-dangerous, ready to amplify the smallest motion. He wouldn't risk a full flare here, not with Kaylah so close to the gorge. He breathed, controlled the pulse, and released.
The arrow whistled, not at the rabbit, but a foot to its right, striking a loose piece of corrugated metal with a sharp clatter. The rabbit bolted, a grey streak across the desolate ground, right into the path Kaylah had anticipated. The net sprung, a glint of wire, and then the muffled thud as the small creature was caught.
Kaylah moved quickly, a swift, practiced motion. She held up the trapped rabbit, a grim but triumphant smile on her dust-smudged face. "Another one for Emberlight," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the wind that carried the scent of metal and desperation.
Eris nodded, the hum in his wrist slowly fading. One rabbit. A small mercy indeed. But enough for tonight, enough to keep the embers of home flickering a little longer.
"Rabbit's enough," she said, her voice soft, tinged with a weariness that belied her years. Her gaze drifted over the ruined cityscape, vast and unforgiving. "...Today, anyway."
Eris nodded; his eyes fixed on the distant, broken skyline that swallowed their secrets whole. "One day," he murmured, the words not a wish, but a vow he spoke as much to himself as to her, "we won't have to scrape. One day, we'll find more than just enough."
Kaylah's snort was soft, a breath of cold air, but there was no cynicism in it, only grim resolve. "Right, Eris," pulling a stray burr from the hare's ear. "One day, you'll gut beasts that could feed Haven for a month." She met his gaze, her own eyes holding a fierce, quiet fire, "And I'll fix more than just scraps, River-Boy. I'll build things that truly last, things that keep the ruin from ever creeping in again."
Their breath misted between them, ghost-white against the ruin's hush. Then they rose together, their small prize dangling from Eris' grip — a fragile promise pulled from the bones of the old world, a stepping stone to a future they swore to claim.
And below, Haven waited, hungry as ever.
As they turned back towards the tunnel mouth, a fleeting flicker of movement caught his eye high on the cliff face to their left, gone as quickly as it appeared. Just the ruin, playing tricks. Or maybe not.
***
Home's Warmth
Back home, warmth waited like a half-remembered dream half-buried under stone and rust.
The moment Eris and Kaylah stepped through the improvised door—a patchwork of scavenged sheet metal and hinges more squeak than swing—a chorus of delighted squeals erupted from Kaylah's sisters at the sight of fresh game. Lisei, a blur of boundless energy, her vivid red hair catching the dim light, danced barefoot on the cold stone floor, chanting, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!" Her bright, curious green eyes, wide with an unyielding spark of wonder, constantly absorbed the secrets of their underground world.
Not to be outdone, little Myrah, with her own soft, dreaming pools of muted green eyes and a shock of bright red hair, had already scrambled halfway up a rusted pipe bolted to the wall, crowing her victory as Queen of Dinner. Kaylah, with the weary grace of an older sibling, snagged Myrah by the ankle before gravity could claim its due, planting her back on solid ground with a look that clearly stated, "You're not quite unbreakable yet, little one."
Behind them, a pair of older clan folk paused at the door frame, peering past the warm flicker of a scavenged oil lamp. One of them nudged the other—a low, half-whispered exchange. "Silver vein's boy brought meat? Maybe that shine's worth something after all." Then gone again, feet shuffling down the passage. Little rumors, seeds planted in the hush.
Eris, meanwhile, took to the makeshift table—a testament to ingenuity, crafted from old oil drums hammered flat—to clean their meager catch. He worked the blade steady through fur and sinew, each stroke clean and measured, just the way Elder Ruvio had taught: Don't waste meat. Don't waste motion."
Beside him, Kaylah bent over the old iron pot, stirring the thin broth with a splintered wooden ladle. She added pinches of brittle herbs—dry mint and pale roots that Lisei had bartered from a passing scavenger only yesterday. Her quick fingers—Spark-Finger, a name dubbed by Aris when he felt bold enough to tease her—hovered over the flame, adjusting the heat by nudging the old valve she'd coaxed back from rust-death two winters ago.
Back in the hush of the burrow, Eris sat cross-legged near Lisei's feet. The lingering scent of roasted meat, a rare luxury, still perfumed the air. Lisei draped her tattered map across Eris' knee, a jumble of eager babble about new tunnels discovered and fascinating, broken machines they could surely fix, her small fingers tracing paths only she could see. Myrah, meanwhile, curled into Kaylah's side, her small voice a persistent, soft plea for a story.
So, Eris gave them one—a low, soft tale about the legendary Ghost Buck of the Upper Wastes.
Eris described its antlers, like twisted rebar, and its coat, the color of twilight and shadow, how it moved without a whisper, leading hunters on impossible chases, always just beyond reach. But he told them of the one tracker, a woman named Jannah, who finally found its hidden spring, a place where clear water bubbled up from poisoned earth, and how, by understanding its hunger, she lured the impossible beast into a snare woven from moonlit vines, providing enough meat to feed her clan through the longest winter.
As Eris spoke the name, Jannah, a strange, half-formed image flashed through his mind—the quiet girl Ruvio had brought back long ago, the one who watched him from the shadows, Luna. He didn't know if the tales were true, or if there was any connection at all. He just knew the feeling was unsettling. The sisters drifted off between giggles and soft yawns, their heads growing heavy on Kaylah's lap, their breaths evening out into the quiet hum of sleep.
They ate with their legs tangled under blankets and crates, knees bumping, laughter slipping out between mouthfuls of broth too thin to count as feast but rich enough to feel like one. Myrah clutched her prize bone like a scepter, declaring herself Queen of Tomorrow's Soup before nodding off against Kaylah's shoulder. Lisei, refusing to admit defeat, tried to build a small fort out of scavenged cans, occasionally peeking out to make sure the "monster of hunger" hadn't snuck in to steal her share.
The air, thick with the scent of roasted meat and wood smoke, vibrated with a rare, collective sigh of contentment. For these few hours, the crushing weight of their world eased, replaced by the simple warmth of belonging.
Kaylah's fingers, light as a whisper, brushed Ari's wrist when the faint light under his skin trembled again, a restless ghost.
"One day," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the gentle sounds of the sleeping girls, "you'll learn to hold it without breaking yourself."
Eris only smiled—a flicker of teeth in the dim light, of old scars mended into something stronger, tougher. He offered no words, only the quiet understanding that passed between them.
Later, when the last of the embers glowed like tired eyes in the communal pit, Kaylah found herself watching Eris. He had finally succumbed to exhaustion, head lolling slightly to one side, his breath soft and even in sleep. The faint silver pulse beneath the skin of his wrist was barely visible now, a quiet rhythm. Her fingers instinctively reached out, hovering just above his skin, then drew back. A silent promise tightened around her heart: Even the ruin can't have you yet. It was a fierce, quiet moment, a small defiance against the overwhelming threats of their world.
A sudden, sharp clang echoed from the main thoroughfare, cutting through the night's hush. It was followed by the frantic, panicked shouts of men, a sound Kaylah had heard only once before, the night they were found. The clamor grew louder, closer—a storm of fear and alarm. It was the frantic, unmistakable beat of an emergency. Kaylah's heart leaped into her throat.
Something had gone wrong at the gates.