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The walls begin to transform, no longer raw stone but sculpted. As the tunnel continues to shift from natural to something made it also widens. Soon it’s wide enough the three of us walk side by side. Z’leni holds the torch ahead, illuminating the path. Then I notice it. The flickering light flashes off the wall strangely and I stop, walking over to inspect it.

“Bring the light, please,” I say, as I stand before the wall.

It’s a mural. Faded, but still powerful. Swirling colors faded and cracked with age, yet unmistakable. He brings the torch closer. Even in its current state, parts of the mural sparkle, sending tiny rainbows dancing through the air.

Gently, afraid it might destroy it, I rub my hand across it, swiping away layers of dust and dirt. The partially clean swatch reveals a massive serpentine creature, wreathed in fire and coiled beneath a mountain.

Emboldened that it didn’t wipe away I swipe again, cleaning more of it until I can see that there are cities burning above the serpent filled with tiny figures who are fleeing in panic. I reach out, tracing a trembling finger along the arcs of flame.

“The Paluga,” Z’leni says, his voice soft.

“I thought it was a story,” I say. “A myth.”

Ryatuv steps closer, his gaze locked on the creature’s massive eye.

“It’s real. My people have forgotten what it is, but we know it was real. It is the world ender. The bringer of the new age,” Z’leni says.

It’s almost too much to process. A fire-born beast beneath the earth, larger than any living thing should be. I look again at the mural, at the ruins, the bodies, the rising plumes of smoke, and my stomach twists.

“It looks like a zemlja,” Ryatuv says, his voice barely a whisper. “But wreathed in fire.”

“We’re not prepared for this,” I whisper. “No one is.”

Z’leni’s expression darkens.

“The Shaman doesn’t know. I’d bet my life he’s only been using the Urr’ki myths to manipulate the people. Twisting fear into mindless devotion and despair,” Z’leni says, ending with a dark growl, low in his throat.

“Then we show them the truth,” Ryatuv says, crossing his arms which makes his biceps bulge.

The way he says it makes something hot spark low in my belly. They’re staring at me, both with that same stubborn certainty that we’re somehow going to do this. Self-assured that we’ll survive. And I don’t know why, but that causes tears to fill my eyes. Swallowing hard, I blink them away.

We continue and now I see that there are more murals along all of the walls. Some show people bowing before the creature, others they stand defiant, their arms raised with fire blooming in their palms. Resistance. Sacrifice. A war long forgotten.

I touch a mural where a woman stands in the center, her arms outstretched between two armies, one Urr’ki and the other Zmaj, both reaching toward her with open hands. Peace. Unity. Or maybe hope. Something flickers in my chest.

“This was always possible,” I murmur. “If they saw what was coming, maybe they tried.”

“Then it’s up to us now,” Z’leni says, at my side as he runs a hand through his dark hair.

This is ridiculous, isn’t it? Three people in the dark, running from a collapsing world, daring to think we can change it.

And yet... somehow, I believe.

In them.

In us.

Eventually, we reach a massive chamber. The ceiling stretches so high it disappears into shadow. Ruins of what once must have been grand buildings fill the space. Wide streets, once paved and smooth, now cracked and broken. The buildings are little more than a few scattered walls and piles of rubble. Collapsed from both neglect and age.

The street is mostly clear, though, and easily traversed. As we walk, looking around at the ruined grandeur, the heat continues to rise. Sweat covers my body making my clothes stick. It’s a whole new reason for it to be hard to breathe. Every inhale feels like I’m trying to swallow something thick and viscous, but it’s the air.

“This was the capital…once,” Z’leni says.

“A long time ago?” Ryatuv asks.

“Before your kind came down here too,” Z’leni says angrily. “You drove us from the surface but that wasn’t enough, was it? You couldn’t leave us alone even after we retreated, giving the warmth of Tajss to you.”

Ryatuv huffs angrily, slapping the ground with his tail. He looks at Z’leni, over the top of my head, and hisses, low and dangerous. He rustles his wings as his hands ball into fists, but then he relaxes them on his own.