The map led them north—through low valleys and quiet forests until the ground turned to jagged stone and steep ridges. The Earth Shrine wasn't hidden underground like the Water Shrine. It stood exposed atop a granite rise, worn by time but unyielding.
Like it had chosen not to fall.
The air was heavier here.
Owen felt it first—not as pressure, but as resistance. Every step toward the shrine felt like walking through mud, like the very mountain was pushing back.
No one else noticed.
He didn't mention it.
The shrine's entrance was framed by two cracked stone arches, one broken cleanly at the base, the other barely standing. Inside, the chamber was simple—pillars of rock circled a stone disc etched with intricate geometric patterns. Unlike the others, this place didn't feel sacred.
It felt built.
Functional. Stable. Unbreakable.
Just like Owen.
He didn't speak as the others explored.
Marin took pictures. Cyrus kicked a loose rock, muttering about how "shrines never just do anything cool." Emma was quiet, thoughtful.
Rai knelt near the center.
Something about the symmetry of the design pulled at him, like deja vu traced into stone. His fingers hovered over a single rune at the center of the spiral—etched deeper than the rest.
The moment he touched it, Owen froze.
His knees buckled.
Everyone turned.
"Owen?" Rai stood quickly.
Owen didn't answer.
He was staring straight ahead—at something only he could see.
Owen's Vision
Not a dream.
A feeling.
A weight crashing down from every angle. Like mountains collapsing. Like buildings crumbling under their own pride.
He saw figures—not people, not gods. Just... builders.
And in the center of them all stood a boy, too young for war, holding up the ceiling of the world with bloody hands.
A voice. Calm. Unforgiving:
"We must do it for him."
When Owen came to, his palms were pressed into the stone floor. Small cracks spiraled outward from where he'd braced himself—like the shrine had leaned on him, and he had held it.
"Are you okay?" Emma asked gently.
He nodded. "I'm fine."
No one questioned it. Because somehow, that was enough.
Aftermath
Back at campus, the group took over a study room, covering the whiteboard with their notes and shrine scans. Marin outlined patterns. Emma traced connections. Ronald joked about cult vibes.
But Rai noticed it.
Ronald never made eye contact anymore. And he always asked where they were going, not why.
That night, Rai walked Emma home.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—but it was heavy.
"You've been different," she said suddenly. "Since the shrines."
Rai nodded. "So have you."
"I don't want to lose what we had before all this," she said quietly.
"Did we ever have something?" he asked. Not unkindly—just... honest.
She didn't answer.
Just smiled, like it hurt a little.
"I think we were always headed here," she whispered.
Elsewhere, Cyrus and Marin bickered as they reviewed shrine footage on Rai's cracked laptop.
"This is nonsense," Marin said. "We're chasing ghosts."
"You're the one digging through ruins like it's a history fetish," Cyrus shot back.
She rolled her eyes. "At least I contribute something useful."
He laughed. "And here I was worried you didn't care."
"I don't."
"Sure."
They sat in silence a moment too long.
Then Marin muttered, "You didn't even flinch when I nearly fell off that cliff."
"You'd be surprised what I notice," he said, not looking up.
Owen stood near the window, arms crossed, watching everyone quietly.
Rai looked over at him.
"You alright?"
Owen nodded. "If something comes… I'll hold the front."
Simple. Steady.
And Rai knew he meant it.
Ronald was the last to leave that night.
He lingered, fingers tapping lightly against the spiral drawn on the whiteboard.
His smile never quite reached his eyes.
And when he thought no one was watching, he snapped a quick picture of the board with his phone before slipping it into his pocket.