Genesis Vale's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Genesis followed the pond's perimeter and found what she was looking for on the far side — a waystone taller than her head, half-buried in permafrost. Ice-blue crystals jutted from its surface like frozen fingers. She cleared snow from its base with her knife. Carved names covered the stone, stacked in columns. Thirty-two names. She counted twice to be sure. The cairns marked nine travelers. The fragment's skull warnings came from three different hands. But thirty-two people had signed this stone before walking toward the caves. She traced the oldest carving at the bottom — the letters worn almost smooth. Years old, maybe more. Someone had been attempting this delivery for a very long time. Genesis pulled out her notebook and copied every name, every date she could make out. The pattern was clear once she saw it written down. Clusters of attempts separated by months of silence. Three people would try, then no one for half a year, then five more. The dead man wasn't a lone messenger. He was the latest in a long line of failures. She added a new page to her notes: "Delivery route — crystal caves. Minimum 32 previous attempts. Zero confirmed returns." The fragment in her jacket suddenly felt heavier. Someone wanted this map completed badly enough to keep sending people to die for it. Movement near the cave entrance caught her eye. A purple rucksack sat propped against a rock formation, just visible through the frost. Genesis approached it carefully. The fabric was stiff with cold but not rotted. Recent, then. She opened the main compartment and found supplies packed for a week-long journey — dried food, a bedroll, flint. At the bottom, wrapped in oilcloth, she found a journal. The last entry was dated three weeks ago. "If I don't return, tell my sister the map was real. Someone needs to know what's inside." No signature. Genesis checked the waystone again and found the matching name near the top — carved shallow, like the person had been in a hurry. She stood and looked east toward the caves. The cult had taught her that repeated tragedy proved divine judgment. She'd learned the opposite was true — repeated tragedy proved someone wasn't learning from their mistakes. But this was different. Thirty-two people hadn't stumbled into danger by accident. They'd walked toward it on purpose, carrying the same torn map, and not one had walked back out. Genesis made her decision then. She wouldn't just map the entry points. She'd find out what happened to them. Not because finishing the map would prove her right about dangerous territory. Because thirty-two people deserved better than another name carved on a stone that no one read.