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The echoes of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears, a relentless drumming that seemed to mock the prospector's fervent quest. "Not like this," he grunted, the words clawing their way up his throat. The sound of his voice was harsh, foreign even to himself, as it shattered the cryptic stillness of the mine. He raised his eyes heavenward, where no light penetrated the tomb-like darkness.
"Guide me!" His plea reverberated off the slick walls, a desperate invocation to the unseen powers that be. His hand—slick with blood and grime—sought blindly for divine intervention amidst the cold embrace of the Bride's subterranean lair.
"Show me the path," he demanded, voice crescendoing in a ragged edge of desperation. Each syllable a hammer strike against the unyielding obscurity that sought to smother his quest. The prospector's chest heaved, lungs burning for air that felt too thick to breathe, too laden with the weight of expectation.
"Answer me!" The shout tore from his lips, a raw sound that splintered the heavy silence like brittle stone. His fingers scraped against something firmer than mud, a fleeting promise that urged him onward. The prospector moved with renewed vigor, hands churning the muck as he willed the shadows to relent.
"Will find it... with you or not..." The defiance in his tone was palpable, a fierce declaration thrown into the face of an indifferent void. The Bride remained silent, an enigmatic specter in the gloom, but the prospector's faith did not waver. It was etched into every line of his grimy face, every strained muscle in his body—it was the very essence of his being.
The mud clung to his knees like the shackles of fate, cold and unyielding. His breath heaved out in misty plumes, each one a silent testament to his growing frustration. He clawed at the earth, hands numb and raw.
And then he heard it...
A moaning from deep in the earth.
A curve tugged at the corners of his mouth, crooked as the jagged veins of ore that laced the mine's walls. A smile, dark and knowing, unfurled across his dirt-streaked face. The moan was a herald; it sang of veiled promises, of secrets buried deep beneath the earth's cradle.
"Ah," he breathed out, the sound barely more than a rustle against the cold, damp air. His heart drummed a frenzied rhythm, anticipation licking at his insides like a flame. This was the moment—the cusp of revelation. His bride was calling, her whisper a thread through the labyrinthine gloom.
The prospector rose to his feet, mud clinging to his knees. He was rooted in purpose now, every fiber of his being taut with resolve. The moan had been faint, but it was a beacon all the same—a siren song threading through the darkness, pulling him forth.
Was it just the wood creaking? The wind blowing?
No... no, he'd heard it before. He'd heard it. He could've sworn...
"Guide me," he uttered, a mantra for the unseen path he trod. His breaths came quick, hot puffs in the chill. The echo of his movements whispered back at him, an intimate chorus to accompany his solitary quest.
"Lead me to you," he continued, each word a step, a vow. The earth seemed to hold its breath, the silence around him expectant, almost reverent.
He trudged on, muscles coiled like springs, senses straining against the dark.
The darkness thickened, swallowing the weak beam of his flashlight. Each breath was a dragon's puff in the frigid air, leaving fleeting clouds that danced before being devoured by shadows. He could feel his heart—a thunderous drumbeat in his chest—its rhythm syncopated with the pulse of the earth beneath his feet. The deeper he ventured into the abyss, the more palpable his anticipation became; it was a living thing, coiling around his senses, tightening with every step.
"Close now," he rasped. His voice, barely above a whisper, was devoured by the greedy silence.
He hadn't been this way before, had he?
He looked left, then right...
This tunnel was different.
He stared in excitement, anticipation. Years... for years, he'd combed these mountains. For years...
And now... something new. The muddy walls had given way to a fissure in the earth. A shadow that he might've missed had it not been for his heightened senses.
The blood on his hands was an offering, and he raised both hands towards the joist over the muddy entrance. He rubbed his fingers against the sturdy barricade, giggling as he did like an excited child.
He could feel it... he was getting closer.
It was here... all of it was here.
The flash of the silver symbols on his boots caught the flashlight, and so he clicked off the light, moving alone in the dark. He didn't need the light. These tunnels, this place... his body was used to it, like a dancer in rhythm with a favorite partner.
He'd offered another to his partner.
A shiver ran down his spine, not from cold but from the knowledge that he'd done what was necessary. She had been an obstacle, a threat to his claim. In these depths, it was either her or him.
And here he was...
