Hanzo rolled onto his side and grabbed a fistful of sand. He held it in front of his eyes, watching the caked grains drop back into place.

  His peripheral adjusted to the small creature in the background, a soft yellow crab side walking into the roaring ocean.

  It was a constant sound that often soothed him into a deep sleep, sometimes better than the sleep he had on the cabin beds.

  He had to admit he was quite vulnerable out in the open like this, considering the growing number of enemies on this island.

  The natives were especially troublesome and just the thought of them prompted him to sit up and stroke the sand off his shoulder.

  He yawned and still felt comfortably drowsy.

  The black sword lay beside him, his shirt and dragon leather folded neatly on top of it.

  The large blade from the castle stood like a watchguard overlooking the vast ocean upon which not a single ship was ever to be seen.

  Hanzo watched with it, wondering, considering.

  He closed his eyes and felt the crashing waves in his ears, the sounds of the island seeping through until his mind was submerged in it.

  His muscles felt like the sand, gritty and abrasive from all the harrowing fighting and training. His bones, like the rocks on the island; hard, dark and stoic.

  He opened his eyes and narrowed them at the furthest lip of wave curling into a thin line of darkness.

  His brows seemed to collide in concentration as the weight of his environment began to settle like a crown upon the earth.

  It was the strangest feeling.

  He looked to the silver sky and searched for the gulls riding the breeze but he saw only the vague patterns of clouds calmly suspended above the island.

  He shook his head and put one knee up and grabbed his sword as he got to his feet, beating the remaining sand off of him.

  He armed himself, catching the holster around his waist allowing the hefty sword to settle appropriately.

  He set his clothing beside the giant monolith, glancing up at it as if checking for approval.

  With one last glance at the ocean, he turned and went off into the woods, beating the fat banana leaves out of his face.

  He emerged upon the encampment, expecting to see Uzai stirring up his porridge.

  The fire pit was empty, not a glint ember or even a wisp of smoke stirred in the black ashes.

  The cabins gathered under the whispering pines, huddled as if shrinking away in fear.

  Their position wasn’t unusual but Hanzo couldn’t help but squint at them.

  He moved closer until curiosity prompted him up one of the staircases and he looked through the peephole, seeing nothing but the glassy reflection of his own eyelashes.

  He formed his knuckles and knocked thrice, a dull thudding against solid timber.

  He backed away after a spell and moved elsewhere, checking each residence for signs of activity.

  The mess hall was empty but while he was at it, he strode past the bench rows and cut into the kitchen where he begun searching for a bite to eat.

  He found jars of cranberries, nuts and candies, popping the lids and shoveling out a few handfuls of each to mix and pop into his mouth.

  He searched the cabinets, finding jams, herbs, various spices and oats—including porridge—that he could help himself to.

  He wasn’t so hungry that he felt like cooking up much of anything but it was refreshing to see such a diverse selection and wondered why he hadn’t bothered to raid this place before.

  Aligned with the entrance into the kitchen was another access that led to a large set of doors.

  Two curvaceous handles were firmly nailed into place, fastened by an iron lock.

  Hanzo noted the drop in temperature as he approached and pushed the lock out of place, then grasped the handles.

  He anchored his heels and slowly pulled them apart, exposing himself to a draft chill of air sweeping across the floor in frosty clouds of mist.

  He released a breath of anticipation as he stared deep into nothing but a cold darkness.

  His gaze darted about, waiting for the familiar flicker of light but all he saw was a blur of shadow from the outdoors behind him.

  He let go of the iron handles and took a few strides into the chamber, glancing at the needles of frost gathering at the door frame like cobwebs.

  He moved further inside, barely able to make out the shelves of goods in the rather liminal space.

  The cold air swam around him, gradually seeping into his skin, clashing with the warmth of his flesh.

  The lad found his steps growing lighter, his shoulders hunched and his right hand closing around the hilt of his sword.

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  The fuzz of his shadow stretched deeper into the emptiness upon which his widening eyes searched for any semblance of familiarity but was granted none other than what lay behind him.

  The nutty medley in his left hand grew warm with perspiration as he clenched it and produced a cashew between his thumb and forefinger, then tossed it in his mouth.

  It helped keep him present. At least for the time being.

  Otherwise, he found himself wading through a chamber of utter mystery, too stunned to turn back.

  The ambiance reverberated through the invisible walls, distorting his depth of field.

  He heard the quiet crackle of dust under his boots, slowly turning into a crunch with each advance forward.

  His eyes adjusted to the dark, aided by a hint of emerald, allowing him to barely observe the rumpy walls belonging to some kind of cavernous outlet.

  Some kind of secret passage that had absolutely nothing to do with a walk-in.

  Hanzo paused and looked over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest.

  The doors were still open, a soft glow from the outside saturating the surrounding darkness, leaving a lasting impression.

  Like a silent farewell, Hanzo continued on through the hollow world, finding the ground giving way to a more uneven trek.

  He munched on his trail mix, appreciating the tang of cranberries awakening the flavor of sunflower seeds and cashews on his tongue.

  The crunch of his jaws were an act of defiance against the fear that slipped in with the cold air.

  He swallowed, pulling his sword and continued moving.

  The light of the gemstone wasn’t very bright by itself but its presence provided solace.

  His awe grew into a quiet confidence, gathering at his core with every step down the rocky decline slick with beads of moisture.

  After a lengthy traverse, the pitch black yielded to hints of flickering orange.

  Hanzo followed along the spacious cavern, eyes as wide as a cat on the verge of prey.

  He crept across the jutting slabs of stone and skipped distance with a few leaping strides.

  Streams of water trickled down the paths and droplets fell from the hidden stalactites above.

  The flickering ahead belonged to a large torch mounted above another set of doors which stood more imposing than the last.

  This set was boldly embossed with an unsettling amount of detail, fused into the wall of the cavern as if borne from it, wrought with cobwebs and sediment crawling up the bottom, the full iron gilded with rust.

  Hanzo approached with caution, phasing out of the gloom.

  He now held his glaive with two hands, stalking like a soldier on a mission as he observed the face of a raging lion sculpted before him.

  A fleeting sense of terror slipped through him, grazing the edge of his subconscious.

  He stood upright and soaked in the details before him, then honed in on the steel ring dangling from the dark lion’s mouth.

  He gulped, apprehension quaking in his bones as he took measured steps toward the behemoth, his lengthy shadow dancing behind him, the golden torch above rippling with excitement.

  He reached out, barely able to calm his breathing as he submitted his fingerprints to the cold, solid ring caked in what seemed like centuries of smudge and grime.

  His chest heaved as he grasped it and pulled—the first attempt feeble, the second a hard jerk that popped the lion's mouth open with a shuddering thud.

  Hanzo grinned and retreated several paces, watching the beast’s terrifying glare split and spread into a fleeting expression of confusion as the doors opened, a long trembling groan very much like that of a lion.

  Afterwards, all returned to an echoing silence.

  Hanzo basked in it for a moment or two, then marched forward and entered upon a vast two way corridor well lit with rows of torches on both ends.

  He glanced left and right, seeing no difference in either direction.

  There were no crates, digging tools or any instruments that would suggest a coal mining facility was nearby.

  Just one long, narrow railway stretching to infinity.

  Hanzo turned to his left where he felt a slight breeze that sent the torch flames fluttering.

  He peered as far as the eye could see but saw nothing but tunneling endlessness as if looking between two mirrors facing each other.

  Goosebumps raised the hairs on his skin as a distinct rattling sound crept up from behind.

  He spun around and noticed a small wooden cart rolling along the track, meandering stupidly as if it had nowhere else to go.

  Hanzo had no idea where it had come from, he’d heard nothing of it just a moment ago.

  He watched it creep along, gradually losing momentum until it stopped right in front of him with a final, rusty squeak.

  He stared at it, blinking incredulously.

  He gave a routine look-around for confirmation but it seemed there was only one thing left to do.

  He grasped the edge of the rail cart and gave it a little shake to test its sturdiness.

  The corners were coated in oily dust and little fragments of blackened metal.

  The wheels were all dented iron, the chassis hardly any different.

  It was not powered by anything but gravity as far as Hanzo could see but there was a single lever shooting up from the front right wheel, a brake of sorts.

  He tightened his grip and dropped his leg inside, then pulled the other in as he settled down on his rear and clutched his sword beside him.

  His breathing went in and out, the swelling of his chest at odds with the sporadic beating of his heart.

  He reached up and toggled the lever a few times to understand its function.

  He pulled it back and released it, then waited.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Before he could tamper with the device again, he heard the squeal of wood and metal.

  The wheels began to rotate, inching forward at tortoise speed until momentum was rebuilt from a place Hanzo had not the slightest clue.

  It was deeply unnerving and yet deeper still, fascinating beyond his wildest dreams.

  Once the cart gained a bit of speed, it entered a rhythmic state, carrying him along the rails.

  The breeze swept through his fro and allowed him to relax for a time, watching the torches slip by.

  He looked outside of the cart and saw duplicating shadows sweeping back and forth like oars in a river.

  Shortening and stretching. Stretching and shortening all the way down.

  He remembered his last ride; a hitchhike in the back of a rusty blue pickup on the way to the festival in Vallhan’s and compared the two.

  This time he didn’t know where he was or where he was going.

  With each flame glancing across his vision at gaining speed, he concentrated on the vanishing point straight ahead, squeezing the hilt of his sword, burying his mouth into his forearm.