Day 11
I should've walked away from the fissure.
Sealed it. Covered it in dirt. Carved a warning in the trees: Do Not Return.
But I couldn't. That smell—the bitter, chemical trace of smoke—had embedded itself in my skin, like I'd breathed in a secret and it refused to let go.
There are fires in this world that burn long after the flame dies.
And something down there is still smoldering.
The world used to be filled with tools.
You needed light? Flip a switch. Needed warmth? Press a button. Wanted to breathe clean air, cook food, and run water? All effortless.
Now, I'm tying moss around the mouth of a clay jar and pretending it's a gas mask.
I'm soaking strips of fish gut in seal oil and wrapping them around driftwood for a torch.
I'm scavenging wax from dead insects to slow the burn rate.
This is what technology looks like when it has to be reinvented from memory.
I don't know what's waiting beneath the island. But I won't go in with nothing.
I reached the fissure just after noon.
The same airlessness as before, like the trees were holding their breath.
I anchored my paracord to a stone pillar I'd driven into the earth and notched it with chalk. My torch was already burning, casting faint halos of gold and blue. The smoke curled in odd directions, as if drawn down into the crack like water down a drain.
I didn't wait.
I lowered myself in.
The descent felt longer this time, even though I counted every meter. Four… five… six…
Then the weight in the air shifted, and I dropped through it like falling through a membrane.
The bottom was dry. Too dry. The air tasted like rust and burnt coins.
The stone beneath my boots wasn't natural. The walls are angled, deliberate. A corridor stretched ahead, just like before. But this time, I noticed the symbols—etched in spirals, slashes, and closed circles.
They weren't just decorative. They were placed at intervals like waypoints.
Some pulsed faintly when my torch got close. Others stayed cold.
I kept my back to the wall and moved slowly. Breathing through cloth, squinting through the flame light.
And then… I reached the door again.
It's not a door. Not anymore. It's a blast site—a containment.
Stone fused like glass. Burn marks climbing the walls like hands had been pressed against them—melted rings radiating outward, stopping perfectly at the hallway edges. Like whatever burned through here was intelligent—or imprisoned.
And then there were the bones.
Same position. Same decay. As if no time had passed.
I crouched and studied the body again. Skull fractured—spinal twist. Hand fused to the ground. Still no apparent cause of death—but the shape of their pain was evident.
They hadn't died in an accident.
They had fallen toward something.
Last time, I didn't examine the emblem.
This time I did.
It wasn't a badge. It was a seal, embedded in their chestplate like a lock. The metal was a strange alloy—cool to the touch, even near a heat source. When I pressed it, faint light spilled out of the spiral.
Not warm. Not bright. Just… awake.
The triangle. The spiral. The empty circle.
None of it made sense.
Except one thing: these weren't just symbols.
They were instructions.
Or warnings.
I stood up. My torch flickered.
Then the walls glowed.
The symbols began to pulse—first in sync, then in waves—one after another, like a heartbeat echoing down a tunnel. I heard a sound—soft at first, then rising.
Not screaming.
Singing.
A chorus made from tones no throat could form. Deep. Ancient. Mechanical and wet.
I stepped back. The floor vibrated beneath me.
Then came the voice.
"nseal—unlearn—undo."
Not in my ears. In my head. Like, thought had been injected.
My legs moved before I could think.
I ran.
Climbing up felt like pulling myself out of the mouth of a dream. My arms were shaking. The rope burned my hands. I didn't stop until my boots hit dirt and sunlight hit my eyes.
When I looked back…
The fissure had changed.
It was narrower. The walls were warmer. Steam rose like the earth had inhaled me and didn't appreciate the taste.
I collapsed beside my gear and stared at the sky.
Nothing followed me.
But something caught my attention.
Back at my shelter, I sketched everything. The glyphs. The symbols. The layout of the corridor. The direction of the pulses.
I started to realize… they weren't random.
The hallway was a key.
Each symbol is a code. Each pulse is a sequence. I don't have the language, but I can see the logic. Binary layered in a pattern.
This wasn't a cave.
This was a system.
And it had rebooted.
It's strange to realize the island isn't wild.
That all this forest and sand is just the skin of something older. Something designed. Maybe not by us. Maybe by people who saw the Fall coming and built downward while we built upward.
I wonder if the person who died down there triggered it—or tried to shut it down.
I wonder if they were alone when it happened.
Just like me.
I wanted answers. I got something else.
Something watching.
I'll stay above ground for now. Regroup. Study the pattern. Prepare a second torch design. Build a chalk trail system so I can track my way out more quickly if I need to go back.
But let the record show this:
I found it.I touched it.It woke up.
And now, it's not just survival anymore.
It's a countdown.