Chapter 1432: Story 1432: The Ground That Breathes

The plaza shifted again, not like stone breaking, but like the slow inhale of some buried colossus. Dust plumed upward with each pulse, coating Mira’s tongue in grit and metal. The cracks in the ground widened, spilling black vapor that curled like smoke in reverse—rising, then sinking back into the fissures, as though the earth itself were exhaling secrets.

The tendril above slithered down another few meters, its surface still crawling with molten Choir shapes that were being absorbed inch by inch. Their faces flickered briefly before melting into the mass, vanishing beneath the translucent membrane.

“Mira—!” Elena’s voice was sharp, urgent. She pointed toward the far edge of the plaza where one of the smaller fissures had already swallowed half a street. Beyond it, the skeletal frames of buildings leaned precariously toward the void.

They ran.

The ground underfoot was unpredictable—sometimes solid, sometimes giving like wet clay. Mira’s boots slid dangerously close to one of the cracks, and she saw something moving within. Not roots, not worms—fingers. Too many to count, stretching upward, flexing, as though testing the air before retreating into the dark.

The voice followed them, heavier now, echoing not from the sky but from below:

Child of the wound… the turning is near.

Mira’s breath hitched. It wasn’t just addressing her—it felt as if it was inside her steps, guiding them, leading her somewhere she hadn’t agreed to go.

Elena didn’t slow. She leapt over a shallow fissure, landing on a stretch of cracked pavement that immediately groaned under her weight. “We’re not going to outrun it!” she shouted. “We need cover!”

The tendril struck the plaza behind them, splintering the ground into jagged slabs. The impact sent Mira stumbling forward. She caught herself against a chunk of stone just as something erupted from one of the wider fissures ahead.

It wasn’t a tendril.

It was a face.

Pale and stretched like wet parchment, its features were warped, eyes set too far apart, mouth too wide. It rose only halfway out of the fissure, as though the rest of its body was anchored deep in the earth. The mouth moved, but the words weren’t spoken aloud—they were etched directly into her mind:

The sky bends for the hinge. The ground will open for the key.

Mira’s chest tightened. She wanted to deny it, to push the voice away, but her legs felt locked in place.

Elena grabbed her wrist hard enough to hurt. “Don’t look at it! MOVE!”

They veered toward a partially collapsed arcade on the plaza’s edge. The stone archways leaned dangerously, but it was the only shelter in sight. The tendril shifted course to follow, its tip dragging along the ground, carving a furrow that hissed with cold steam.

As they ducked into the shadows of the arcade, the face sank back into the fissure, vanishing like it had never been there. But the words it left behind still pulsed in Mira’s mind.

Outside, the tendril stopped moving—just for a moment—before curling upward again toward the sky.

And that was when Mira realized it wasn’t giving up.

It was calling something bigger.