Back from the Mines
Nikopol - May 10, 2594
Narrated by Vira
The darkness of the mines pressed down on us, a weight heavier than the stone above. The sound of rushing water echoed through the tunnels, and with it came our worst discovery. Isolde and Yelena waded through the icy flood to pull Konrad’s broken body from beneath the surface. His limbs twisted unnaturally, his young face frozen in agony. He had drowned conscious. I couldn’t bring myself to look too long—his suffering mirrored so many others under Ivan’s rule. Yelena, though, bore the weight in silence. I saw the cracks forming in her resolve. She’s taken too much loss, and now it’s written on her face like a scar that will never fade.
As we moved deeper, the air grew heavier, pressing into our lungs like an unseen hand. Isolde’s sharp gaze found something strange in the water—a pulsing, rhythmic motion. At first, it was a curiosity, but as Friedrich inspected it hours later, the truth became clear. “The mine was alive. Its heartbeat resonated through the stone, its veins coursing with something more sinister than water.” I told them there wasn’t enough oxygen in the tunnels, but no one seemed to listen. They talked nonsense, their voices tinged with delirium, and for a moment, I wondered if I was the mad one.
Friedrick said nothing as we trudged forward, but his eyes told a story of dread. I could see his scientific mind working, trying to rationalise the irrational. But there was no explanation that could soothe the unease spreading through us.
When we reached the ore, gold gleamed against the darkness, but it was a cruel prize. Beside it, flesh clung to the rock, unnatural and obscene. I tried to warn Valantyna, but she touched it before I could stop her. The change was immediate. Her face went slack, her mouth hung open, and from her throat came a voice that wasn’t hers: “Will you all join me?”
Chaos followed. Isolde held Valantyna steady while Sasha and Detina pulled me back, my pickaxe poised to strike. Eventually, Valantyna returned to herself, sobbing and shaking. Friedrick, ever the fool, thought he could gather a sample. The mine punished his arrogance, and he screamed as the flesh consumed him for a moment. He won’t speak of what he saw, but the terror in his eyes says enough.
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The climb back to the surface was gruelling, the air growing colder with every step. By the time we emerged, a blizzard had claimed the land, its icy claws tearing at our weary bodies. Sleep was no solace. Valantyna and Friedrick thrashed in their dreams, their murmurs filled with the creature’s presence. The mine wasn’t done with them—or with us.
When the city walls finally rose on the horizon, I felt no relief. Nikopol is a cage, its bars forged by Ivan’s greed. Quarantine awaited us, another layer of oppression atop the horrors we endured. Isolde sent her report to Commando Prime, but Ivan, the coward, refused to face her. He hides behind his guards, his conspiracies, his lies. I see through him. I know what he is, and I know what must be done.
Sacha pried into my past, asking questions about the Streltsy and their massacre. I saw his curiosity as a threat. My husband’s death during that so-called peaceful protest is a wound I will never let heal. He asked too much, and I pushed him away. Trust is a luxury I cannot afford—not now.
Friedrick sat in the corner, writing his letter, his shoulders hunched with the weight of loss. Perhaps he wrote to Konrad’s father, a futile attempt to put his guilt into words. But words won’t save Nikopol. Only action will.
