the Aeon Below

Deep beneath the frozen ribs of the mountain lies the Cave of the Dead, where light dies and the air itself hums with mourning.

Those who enter rarely return sane...if they return at all.

Desperate to escape the relatives bleeding her dry, Dahlia joins an expedition into its depths, hoping to earn enough money to buy her freedom.

Instead, she reaches the cave's final chamber: a vast golden cathedral carved for forgotten gods, where a corpse stands vigil before a black monolith that thinks.

He calls himself Caelus.

Once a god, now fallen, Caelus has spent centuries bound as the barrier between the living world and the underworld.

When Dahlia accidentally touches the Black Salt Stone that anchors him to his prison, she forges a tether between their minds.

Now his voice follows her everywhere...ancient, mocking, impossible to silence.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Caelus is no longer alone.

For the first time in Dahlia's life, someone listens.

But Caelus's interest in her isn't kindness.

To awaken the body preserved beneath the mountain and break free of his prison, he must consume the soul of the woman bound to him.

Dahlia should be nothing more than a means to an end. Yet her stubborn humor, relentless greed, and refusal to yield begin to unravel something within him...something dangerously close to humanity.

As the dead whisper through the labyrinth below and ancient truths claw their way to the surface, Dahlia faces an impossible choice: trust the god destined to devour her, or destroy the only being who has ever truly understood her.

After all, the most dangerous thing in the Cave of the Dead isn't what waits in the darkness.

It's the voice that knows exactly how to reach her heart.

Early draft, being revised for publication elsewhere.

**Prologue**

The Fall Beneath the Sky

In the age before silence, when the world still trembled beneath the songs of its own creation, there lived a being named Caelus, born not of earth, but of the breath between stars.

His voice once stirred the firmament. His touch wove the delicate balance that held light and shadow apart.

He was one of the Celestials Above, guardian of the gates that sealed the underworld from the realm of the living. Yet unlike the others, Caelus heard what none of his kin dared acknowledge: the weeping beneath the earth.

Those cries called to him, a lament of souls denied peace and he, who had been shaped from compassion, pitied them.

When the others turned away, he descended.

He crossed the veil and walked willingly into darkness, bearing with him the light of the first dawn.

But compassion, among immortals, was treachery.

When Caelus opened the gates to offer mercy to the dead, he tore the fabric of the world.

He fell not because he hungered for power, nor because ambition poisoned his heart, but because he loved what he had been forbidden to love.

Light bled into places where light had never been meant to exist. Shadows took shape. Souls began to wander, hungry and endless, spilling their sorrow across the mortal realm.

The Celestials Above were forced to intervene.

They bound the breach with light and flame, and Caelus, the cause of it, was condemned.

"If you seek to bridge heaven and hell," decreed the Sovereign of the Above, "then be the bridge yourself."

Thus they tore his spirit from his body, chained his immortal essence to the wound he had created, and buried him within the deepest layer of the world, beneath stone, salt, and silence.

He became the Aeon Below.

Neither living nor dead, he was condemned to bear the cries he had once sought to comfort.

His flesh was sealed within a cathedral of darkness.

His voice was buried beneath centuries of earth.

And the world forgot him.

Mortals built homes and cities. They raised temples toward distant heavens, never knowing that beneath their feet a god still dreamed, endlessly awake and alone.

It was said that if one stood upon the right mountain at the hour of twilight, they could still hear faint murmurs beneath the soil.

Not the wailing of the damned.

But the breath of something divine, echoing through stone.

A song waiting for an answer.

Chapter One – The Rift Beneath the World

I used to think silence was safety.

That if I stayed quiet long enough, the world would forget to hurt me.

But silence doesn't make monsters go away.

It only teaches them to speak louder.

"Dahlia!"

The pounding on my door rattled the thin walls of my studio apartment hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

Aunt Lora's voice followed immediately after, shrill, nasal, and impossible to ignore.

"Dahlia! Open this door right now!"

I dragged a hand down my face and pulled my hoodie tighter around myself.

"It's seven in the morning," I muttered.

The pounding continued.

With a sigh, I unlocked the door.

"It's seven in the morning, Aunt Lora."

She swept inside without waiting for an invitation, bringing with her the overpowering scent of cheap powder and perfume.

Uncle Ren stumbled in after her, red-eyed and sour-faced, the stale smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.

He looked around my apartment with obvious disdain.

The kitchenette barely fit two people. The sofa had seen better days. My dining table doubled as my work desk.

"So this is where you waste your money?" he scoffed. "Tiny and useless. Just like your sense of respect."

I closed the door behind them.

"Good morning to you, too," I said dryly. "What do you want?"

Aunt Lora lifted her chin.

"Money."

Of course.

"Your cousin needs tuition," she continued. "And your uncle's sick again."

I stared at her.

"My cousin is twenty-eight."

"He can't find work."

"And your husband is only sick when he runs out of beer."

Uncle Ren's face darkened.

Aunt Lora sucked in a sharp breath.

"Watch your mouth, Dahlia," she snapped. "After everything we've done for you—after your father died, we took you in—"

I laughed, a short, humorless sound.

"After my father died," I said evenly, "you took his house."

They went silent.

"And his savings."

Aunt Lora's expression stiffened.

"You don't get to rewrite the story just because you've told the lie long enough."

For a moment, all she could do was stare...then outrage twisted her face.

"You ungrateful brat!"

"I already sent you five hundred last week."

I crossed my arms.

"You think money grows in my kitchen sink? I work twelve-hour shifts. I barely eat decent food."

I looked between them.

"If you want more money, get jobs."

Uncle Ren surged forward.

The movement was sudden enough that instinct took over before thought could catch up.

His hand lifted.

And for the first time in years...I didn't freeze.

My fist connected with his jaw.

The crack echoed through the apartment.

He staggered backward, eyes wide with disbelief, clutching his face as his beer belly quivered beneath his stained shirt.

Shock flashed across his features.

I had hit back.

Aunt Lora shrieked.

"You dare raise your hand against your elders?!"

I met her gaze.

"Try me."

With a furious cry, she snatched up the nearest vase and swung it toward my head.

I caught her wrist midair and her eyes widened.

I twisted it just enough.

The vase slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor.

The sharp sound rang through the apartment.

For several seconds, no one moved.

I stepped closer.

Close enough for Aunt Lora to see that my hands weren't shaking.

Close enough for her to understand that something had changed.

"You've taken enough from me," I said quietly.

"If either of you ever steps foot in my apartment again, I'll hand every piece of evidence I have to the police."

I tilted my head.

"Your scams. The forged signatures. The money you siphoned from my father's accounts."

I held her stare.

"Now get out."

Aunt Lora's lips trembled.

"You..." Her voice cracked. "You monster."

I glanced at the shattered vase scattered across the floor then back at her.

"Maybe."

I opened the door.

"But at least I pay my bills."

They stumbled into the hallway, muttering curses and threats over their shoulders.

I shut the door behind them.

At last, the apartment fell silent.

For a long moment, I stood there with my forehead resting against the wood.

Then I exhaled, my hands trembled, not from fear. But from something raw and electric that coursed beneath my skin.

It was relief.

For the first time in my life, I had stopped asking monsters to be kinder.

I had simply shown them my teeth.

By the time I got to work, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and bruised knuckles.

My boss yelled about missed deadlines.

My coworkers whispered when they thought I couldn't hear them.

I smiled through it all.

I was used to surviving... that was my only talent.

When night fell, the city felt... wrong.

It became still, too quiet.

Even the usual chorus of traffic seemed muted beneath the low, heavy sky pressing down over the rooftops.

I had just drifted into that hazy space between waking and sleep when the floor beneath my bed trembled.

The windows rattled, a picture frame tipped sideways.

I cracked one eye open.

A minor earthquake, I thought.

Nothing new.

I rolled over, pulled my blanket higher, and let the steady hum of the fan lull me back to sleep.

I didn't know that while I dreamed, the earth beyond the city was splitting apart.

That somewhere beyond the mountain ridge, stone was opening like flesh.

A wound was being carved into the world.

Dark and ancient, almost alive.

By morning, the street outside had descended into chaos.

Ambulances blocked intersections.

Police tape cut across sidewalks.

People gathered in anxious clusters, drawn toward disaster like moths to flame.

I saw stretchers being loaded into emergency vehicles.

There're people with surprisingly pale faces, trembling hands and eyes wide open but disturbingly empty.

"What happened?" I asked the woman standing beside me.

She looked at me as though she couldn't quite believe I hadn't heard.

"The mountain..." Her voice shook. "It opened."

I frowned.

"What do you mean, opened?"

"A cave appeared overnight." She hugged herself tightly. "Some men went inside before the authorities arrived."

Her gaze drifted toward the stretchers.

"They didn't even make it halfway."

"What happened to them?"

"They came back screaming."

A chill slipped beneath my skin.

"One of them said something was calling to them from the dark."

I stared at her.

"Calling?"

She nodded.

"They said it spoke."

Her expression twisted.

"It begged."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"And then it screamed."

Around us, people murmured prayers beneath their breath.

Others hurried away.

Fear moved through the crowd like a living thing but beneath my unease, something else stirred.

Curiosity, it burned through my apprehension like fire through fog.

Then my eyes caught a man in a gray coat hurried past, a clipboard tucked beneath one arm.

A researcher, I guessed.

I caught his sleeve before he could disappear into the crowd.

"Hey."

He looked startled.

"You're with the investigation team, right?"

He hesitated.

"We're assisting, yes."

"So what's going on in that cave?"

He glanced around before lowering his voice.

"We don't know."

"That's comforting."

His expression tightened.

"It's not a normal cave."

"It appeared overnight. Our equipment is malfunctioning near the entrance."

He adjusted his glasses.

"High resonance."

"And magnetic interference."

He hesitated.

"It's almost as if..."

He stopped himself.

"As if what?"

His eyes shifted toward the distant mountain.

"...as if it's alive."

I let out a low whistle.

"Creepy."

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket.

"So what happens to people who go inside?"

"They lose their minds."

His answer came too quickly.

"Or they come back..." He swallowed. "...different."

I tilted my head.

"Different how?"

"We don't know yet."

I considered that for all of three seconds, then I smirked.

"Sounds fun."

He blinked at me.

"...You're not serious."

I looked him dead in the eye.

"I'm dead serious."

I pointed toward the mountain.

"You hiring?"

His mouth opened, then closed.

"You want to volunteer?"

"Depends."

I shrugged.

"What's the pay?"

He stared at me for several long seconds.

Finally, he said, "Three hundred thousand dollars."

I stopped breathing.

"If you reach the deepest accessible point and bring back usable data," he continued, "you'll receive the full amount."

He hesitated.

"If you choose to remain with the research team afterward, there will be additional compensation."

Three hundred thousand dollars.

Enough to buy a house in the city.

Enough to never answer Aunt Lora's calls again.

Enough to stop surviving and finally start living.

Something tightened in my chest, it's ambition and finally, freedom.

Maybe even peace.

Slowly, I smiled.

"When do we start?"

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't stop thinking about the cave.

About the men who had returned screaming.

About the voice that had called to them from the dark.

And about the mystery hidden beneath it all.

Three hundred thousand dollars.

People said monsters lived in the dark.

Maybe they did.

But I'd spent my whole life surviving monsters that smiled across dinner tables, stole from the grieving, and called themselves family.

I'd survived them all.

At least the monsters beneath the earth may have the decency not to pretend they loved you.

I closed my eyes and listened to the city breathing beyond my window.

Chapter Two – The Wailing Below

I used to think silence was my comfort.

Now I know it's only the space before something terrible begins.

The research camp sprawled across the foot of the mountain like a wound stitched together in haste.

White tents crowded the clearing, cables snaked through the mud. Portable generators groaned beneath the weight of too many machines.

Above the cave entrance, drones hovered in the mist, their blinking red lights resembling watchful eyes.

And reporters clustered near the barricades.

I caught fragments of conversation as I passed.

"Magnetic resonance..."

"Acute hallucinations..."

"Mass psychological trauma..."

Nobody sounded certain and nobody sounded brave.

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and stared at the mountain.

Honestly? It didn't look like much.

It looks just like a jagged opening carved into the stone.

Although dark, and heavy like an eye refusing to blink.

"You really think you can handle this?"

I glanced over.

Dr. Vellan stood beside a folding table littered with equipment logs and consent forms.

He wore clean shoes and pressed shirt.

The kind of man who looked like he'd never made a reckless decision in his life.

His gaze drifted toward the guitar case strapped across my back.

His eyebrows climbed.

"You can't seriously be bringing that inside."

I looked over my shoulder at the case.

"It's my weapon."

A few younger researchers nearby snorted upon hearing my answer.

"Weapon?" one of them echoed. "Against what? Ghosts?"

I adjusted the strap.

"Against whatever's waiting."

They laughed even more, I shrugged.

"A gun won't stop a sound."

I rested my hand against the worn surface of the guitar case.

"But maybe a song can."

That made them speechless, as if they somehow realized something as their laughter eventually faded.

Dr. Vellan can't help but to stared at me, while the others exchanged uncertain looks.

I wasn't sure if they stopped because they thought I was joking...or because they couldn't tell that I wasn't.

Truthfully, neither could I.

I didn't know why I'd brought it, I just knew I couldn't leave it behind.

It had belonged to my father, after all.

When everything else had been taken from me, his house, his savings, the pieces of a life that should have been ours, the guitar had remained.

Sure it is a little battered now, and slightly out of tune yet it still stubbornly intact just like me.

Suddenly, movement beyond the safety fence caught my attention.

I froze when I saw who was it, it was Aunt Lora.

Her hair was pinned neatly in place and her smile was sweet enough to rot teeth.

She stood beside a reporter, dabbing at dry eyes as though she were already rehearsing for an interview.

She's acting like a grieving aunt, portraying like the worried family member.

But I'm not dead yet, you're too excited.

The woman who had demanded grocery money while wearing jewelry bought with my father's inheritance, she really is trying to boil my blood.

Then my gaze shifted, if Aunt Lora was here then his good-for-nothing husband must be here as well.

The corner of my lips lifted into an smug smirk. Uncle Ren stood beside Aunt Lora, he met my eyes across the crowd.

His bruised jaw tightened, the corner of his mouth curled upward.

Understanding settled heavily in my stomach.

So that's how it is.

If I died down there, they would cry for the cameras.

Of course, they would talk about family, as if they even considered me one even once.

And afterward, they'd collect whatever compensation my death left behind.

For a moment, I imagined the look on Aunt Lora's face if I walked back out of that cave alive.

The thought almost made me smile.

"You'll have to wait," I murmured beneath my breath.

I tightened my grip on the guitar case.

We entered the cave at noon, or at least, that's what time it was outside.

Inside, time felt different.

The first thing that hit me wasn't the darkness...it was the sound.

A low hum vibrated through the air, so faint I almost thought I imagined it. It wasn't loud enough to understand, but it settled beneath my skin anyway, like standing too close to a speaker and feeling the bass in your bones.

The cave walls were damp, the stone slick beneath our gloved hands.

My flashlight barely cut through the darkness ahead before the black swallowed it whole.

"Keep formation!" Dr. Vellan called. "Everyone check your comms."

So we did, static crackled through the headsets.

"Comms are good."

"Copy."

"Still here."

The replies came one after another, a little too fast, but despite that, I could still sense their tense breathing.

I stayed near the back of the group.

My fingers brushed against the strings of my guitar.

Honestly, I still didn't know why I'd brought the guitar.

Maybe it was fear, not of the cave, exactly.

But the kind of fear that made you think about stupid things at the worst possible time.

If I didn't make it out of here alive, then at least my guitar wouldn't end up getting wrecked by my aunt and uncle while they fought over whatever I left behind.

And since I'd already carried the thing all the way up the mountain, I might as well play something.

I wasn't being superstitious nor was a genius.

But if those whispers, that mourning, were really just sound, some kind of frequency messing with people's heads then maybe another sound could interfere with it.

Counter it and disrupt it.

Or maybe I was just making things up so I'd have an excuse not to panic.

Either way, sitting around screaming didn't seem very productive.

Besides...I was curious about what was hiding down here.

And if this place really was as ancient and strange as everyone claimed, then who knew?

Maybe there were treasures buried beneath all this creepy underground nightmare nonsense.

I plucked a single note then another, soft and steady.

A quiet rhythm against the hum filling the cave.

I know it maybe was ridiculous or was insane. But for me personally, I needed this sound.

I needed something familiar to remind me where I ended and the darkness began.

"Why the hell are you playing that?"

Kai glanced back at me, his voice lowered beneath the echo of our footsteps.

He looked to be around my age, though his nervous energy made him seem younger.

I shrugged.

"To keep us from losing our minds."

He snorted.

"You really think music's going to help?"

"No idea."

I plucked another string.

"But if this place starts whispering sweet nothings in my ear, I'd like to have something louder to listen to."

Kai let out a shaky laugh.

"You think this is some kind of horror movie?"

"Maybe."

I glanced ahead into the endless darkness, I can't help but gulped whatever saliva I had.

"You'd better hope I'm right."

His laughter died quickly.

After that, no one else spoke.

The deeper we walked, the louder the hum beneath the earth seemed to become.

As if something far below had noticed we were there and was listening back.

I closed my eyes, and tried to remain plausible.

~~~🦋

A kilometer in, the first scream cut through the static.

It wasn't from the cave but from one of us.

"Mika!" someone shouted.

I spun around and saw Mika had dropped to her knees.

Her hands were clamped over the sides of her helmet as she shook violently.

"Stop whispering!" she screamed.

Her voice begun to crack.

Everyone froze.

But no one had said a word?

"Stop it! Stop—!"

"Mika, look at me," Dr. Vellan ordered, moving toward her. "Stay calm."

She didn't seem to hear him, her eyes darted wildly through the darkness.

"They won't shut up," she sobbed. "Please... please make them stop."

Just as before anyone could reach her, she lunged sideways, hitting the damp wall with her head.

The impact echoed through the tunnel.

The sound of bones breaking and her helmet hitting the ground.

The sound made my stomach twist.

"Mika!"

Her flashlight rolled across the cave floor before flickering out.

Darkness rushed into the space it left behind.

"Sedative!" Dr. Vellan barked. "Now!"

Someone fumbled through their pack, another dropped the injector.

Their hands shook, as people started talking over each other, citing silent prayers.

"It's the stress—"

"Get her restrained!"

"But she hit her head—"

Behind me, Kai suddenly stopped moving.

"Kai?" I called out to him.

He stared ahead, his face had gone pale.

Beside him, Juno's breathing also turned shallow and uneven.

My gaze caught Arelai slowly lowered the scanner in her hands.

Their pupils were blown wide, bloodshots meanwhile the hum around us grew louder.

At first, I'd thought it was just a sound.

Just background noise or cave acoustics.

Now I wasn't so sure.

The mourns that was at first, were just whispers now, it as if blaming us for trespassing their domain with such conviction.

It settled beneath my skin.

The grief and desperation were like carving itself into my mind.

A sorrow so deep it felt less like hearing and more like remembering something I'd never lived through.

The mountain mourned, I could feel it in my bones.

My pulse stumbled, faster than ever before.

For one horrible second, my heartbeat didn't feel like mine.

Then, a metallic clatter echoed through the cave, one of the researchers had dropped his tablet.

Then he started laughing wildly, wrong and shaking. He dug his fingers into his own chest as if trying to claw something out.

"They're crying," he gasped between broken laughs as tears streamed down his face.

"Why are they crying?"

His voice rose into a scream.

"Make them stop!"

Around me, people crumpled one by one, each digging through their heads, scratching their skins as if trying to get rid whatever were controlling them.

The sedatives and prayers didn't work.

Nothing worked.

"Fall back!" Dr. Vellan shouted.

The command cracked through the chaos.

"We're retreating! Move!"

They stumbled toward the entrance, some dragging others, some remained sobbing and some too frightened to look back.

I should have gone with them.

I should have listened.

Instead, I stood there.

Because beneath the panic...

Beneath the screaming...

There was something else.

A sound not of mourns, it reached toward my ears.

Not a voice but more like a vibration brushing against the edges of my thoughts.

Impossibly familiar, it called to me without words, without sound neither breath.

*Dahlia*.

I stopped breathing.

It didn't feel like the mourns from the cave, it felt older and lonelier.

I tightened my grip on my guitar.

Then, while everyone else ran, I walked deeper into the darkness.

The further I walked, the quieter it became.

There's no longer the mourns, or whispers that distorted the minds of my companions.

Just the sound of my own breathing and the occasional pluck of guitar strings beneath my fingers.

I hadn't even realized I was playing, the melody came on its own.

A lullaby my mother used to hum when I was little, before hospital bills and funeral flowers and relatives who smiled while taking everything you had.

I couldn't remember the lyrics anymore, just the tune.

It drifted through the darkness, soft and familiar.

And strangely...the cave seemed to settle.

The pressure pressing against my skull eased, the cold loosened its grip.

Even the endless hum faded back, as if listening.

I stopped when I noticed something ahead, something there is shimmering.

I narrowed my eyes.

At first, I thought it was metal or glass being reflected by my faint light of my flashlight.

No, the surface was too smooth and too perfect.

My flashlight swept upward.

Stone arches emerged from the dark, tall and ornate.

It looked less like a cave and more like the entrance to an underground cathedral.

My heart kicked against my ribs.

"Okay," I whispered.

"That's not concerning at all."

The air felt different here, it's heavier.

It carried the sharp scent of salt and something else I couldn't name.

And beneath the silence...I could still hear it.

The weeping, begging... the mourning.

It didn't come from ahead of me or behind me, it came from everywhere.

I tightened my grip on the guitar.

"Alright, old man," I muttered into the darkness. "Whoever you are, you're not scaring me."

For a second, nothing happened, then the sound shifted.

I was startled upon hearing it again, but it's still faint.

It sounded different and ancient almost like...

I frowned.

"...Was that a laugh?"

The cave fell silent again, I stopped walking.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

Something had changed, I couldn't hear it, couldn't see it.

But I knew.

The same way you know when someone is staring at you from across a crowded room.

Something in the dark had noticed me.

Every sensible part of me said to turn around.

Go back and find the others, pretend none of this had happened.

Instead, I adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder.

"...Three hundred thousand dollars," I reminded myself.

Then I took another step forward, there's nothing going to stop me from making that money mine.