The mornings in Ashen Valley always began with work. Sunlight pierced through the dust haze, illuminating the base brightly.

  Jake Riley crouched beside a captured mining machine, holding his polished wrench, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was humming an old tune from who-knows-where, occasionally tapping the machine with his wrench, producing a crisp “clang-clang” sound. A few children, recently rescued from the mining zone, gathered around him, their eyes wide as if watching a street performer.

  “Hey, kids, watch closely—this thing’s called a ‘cylinder.’ If it’s busted, you give it a couple of taps.” Jake grinned, tapping harder. “Hear that? Sounds as crisp as you munching on biscuits—means it’s probably fine.” The kids burst into giggles, and one of the bolder ones mimicked him, picking up a rock to tap along.

  Not far off, Tara leaned against a damaged metal plate, wiping her steel blade, her gaze occasionally flicking toward Jake. She let out a humph, speaking lazily, “Stop messing around over there—if you break it, I’m not fixing it. This place is chaotic enough without you adding more trouble.” Though her tone was sharp, the corner of her mouth curled slightly—she wasn’t really angry.

  Jake didn’t even look up, retorting, “Oh, Blade Queen, you’ve polished that steel of yours into a mirror—aren’t you afraid of blinding me? If you’ve got time to spare, why not go teach the newbies how to fight instead of always making me fix the stuff they break?”

  Tara sneered, about to fire back, when Rebecca Shaw walked over with a few documents in her arms, interrupting their daily bickering. She spoke softly, “Stop arguing. These are the supply lists I organized yesterday. We’ve got a third of our fuel left, food for two weeks, but we need to keep up with weapon maintenance, or we’ll be in trouble for the next operation.”

  She handed the documents to Ethan, who was standing in the shadow of the Dawn, staring at the distant horizon in deep thought.

  Ethan took the papers, glancing over them with a frown. “Less than I expected. We need to find a way to resupply.” He looked up at Jake. “Can that mining machine be used once it’s fixed? We need to dig up some resources ourselves.”

  Jake brushed the dust off his hands and stood. “Eighty percent chance it’ll run. Give me a day and some lubricant, and it’ll be good to go. This old thing’s sturdy—like me, tough as nails.” He winked, making the kids laugh again.

  Nick Torres approached from the other side of the camp, carrying a freshly cleaned pulse gun. He stood with the rigid posture of a soldier who never relaxed, though his face held a rare hint of ease. He glanced at Jake, saying calmly, “If you’re really that tough, you wouldn’t have lost to me last night.”

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  “Hey!” Jake’s eyes widened, feigning outrage. “You cheated! I was drunk, and you’ve got the nerve to bring it up?” He turned to Ethan, throwing his hands up. “Ethan, you be the judge—isn’t this guy asking for a beating?”

  Ethan shook his head helplessly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Both of you, settle down. Nick, since you’ve cleaned the guns, go train the new recruits—don’t let them point the barrels at themselves again next time.”

  Nick nodded, but before walking off, he glanced at Tara and said in a low voice, “You should check on the recruits too, instead of always watching Jake.” Tara rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

  As the sun set, the miners began wrapping up their work. Ethan and Nick were in the control center, discussing the next steps, marking defensive points at Post on the map. The day’s tasks were nearly complete, and the base settled into a quiet evening.

  McCollum, one of the most senior miner leaders in Ashen Valley, was in his sixties and had witnessed the rise and fall of the mining zone. His skin was rough as tree bark, but his eyes remained sharp. That day, he was leading a few new miners to inspect the equipment in the B-3 underground tunnel.

  “This tunnel was built fifteen years ago,” McCollum’s voice echoed in the narrow passage. “Federation Corp hoped to find rare minerals here, but it turned out to be just ordinary iron ore, so they abandoned it.”

  A young miner named Mason glanced around nervously. “I heard this place is haunted?”

  McCollum burst into laughter. “Hehehe, that’s just young folks with overactive imaginations. This old man’s been here long enough to have seen more ‘ghosts’ than you’ve had meals.”

  They reached the deeper part of the tunnel, checking the support structures and drainage systems. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed from further down: “Aaaahhh—!”

  The young miners’ faces turned pale. Mason grabbed his companion’s arm. “D-did you hear that?”

  Another miner stammered, “It… it’s someone screaming!”

  McCollum frowned, gesturing for everyone to quiet down. “It’s probably just the air pressure in the pipes. You all wait here—I’ll go check ahead.”

  The young miners exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare disobey McCollum’s orders. After more than ten minutes with no sound, they started to worry.

  “Old McCollum? Are you okay?” Mason called out cautiously, his voice echoing in the tunnel, but there was no response.

  “We need to go find him,” one miner said, mustering his courage. “What if something happened?”

  The group steeled themselves and moved forward, their flashlight beams trembling in the darkness. As they rounded a corner, they nearly jumped—McCollum was standing there, looking perfectly fine.

  “What’s wrong?” McCollum asked, puzzled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “We… we heard a scream,” Mason said, still shaken. “We’re so glad you’re okay!”

  McCollum laughed heartily, patting his shoulder. “What did I tell you? Just an illusion. This old place has a lot of pipes—when the airflow passes through, it sounds like someone screaming. Come on, we’re done with the inspection. Let’s head back and report.”