The Song Beneath the Earth

Alana opened her eyes to the sound of locusts, their steady rhythm pulling her back from dreams. Dampness clung to her skin, dew beading on the grass and ferns around her. Cold seeped from the earth into her spine until she shivered. Just breathe, she thought, a small, silent command. Listen to the earth.

Above her, the sky deepened from violet to indigo. The first stars pricked through the veil of dusk, bright holes torn into paper. She stared, half-dazed, until they multiplied into a pattern that seemed both familiar and foreign, a tapestry she had never read but felt she should have known by heart. I have felt this before. I know this place. A memory of a song, long forgotten, hummed beneath the feeling.

Something warm radiated against her scalp. She reached up and found Sebastian curled like a crown across her head, his small body vibrating with purrs. Relief swept her — he had found her, as he always did. You always find me. The purr was a silent conversation, a language all their own. With his quiet presence, she was fully awake. The purrs were the only answer she needed.

When she sat up, Sebastian stretched long, claws splaying against the damp earth, his back arched. His green eyes caught the starlight as if it belonged to him. He settled before her, tail twitching, gaze intent.

Alana pressed her hand to her knee. Sebastian nudged against it, impatient. A laugh escaped her lips, but the sound felt brittle in the stillness, as if the night had no space for such a thing. Beyond him, shadows shifted. No human voice called. No owl winged through the branches. Only the locusts chanted, tireless and unyielding.

She rose, brushing damp grass from her skirt, and turned slowly. The trees stood close, their trunks black columns, their crowns a vaulted ceiling that let no moonlight through. She hugged her arms across her chest. For a moment she felt entirely alone, save for Sebastian’s silent watch.

Then a breeze lifted.

The grass bent low, bowing in waves that rippled outward. The trees shuddered, their leaves shaking loose a sound like a distant sea on an empty shore. The rhythm swelled, crested, fell again. Alana felt her body sway with it, caught in a tide she could not resist.

And beneath it all, something stirred.

A low, mournful note rose from the ground. It thrummed in her feet, climbed her legs, lodged deep in her belly. It was as if the soil itself had found a voice and was speaking in tones her body understood better than her mind.

Chimes followed, delicate, insistent, like drops of water striking a cavern pool. Then came harp strings, plucked by unseen fingers. The melody twined with the sorrow, soft and urgent, impossible to ignore.

Alana froze, her breath sharp. Gooseflesh rippled up her arms. The sound wrapped her like heat, filled her chest until her ribs ached. She wanted to cover her ears, but her hands stayed pressed to her knees, useless. Her heart answered before her mind did.

A voice surfaced last. Not words, not at first — sounds blurred, vowels rising and falling like the sea. And yet she knew what her heart heard: longing. Warning. Truth.

Above her, the stars flared brighter, and she had the uncanny sense they too were listening. They seemed to pulse with the rhythm.

Alana stepped forward, then again. Each movement pulled the melody deeper into her bones. Sebastian padded close, his purr joining, as if he too was caught in the current.

The grass grew tall around her, stems tugging at her hem. Burrs snagged and clung. Shrubs thickened into grasping hands. Branches snapped against her calves. Still she pressed on, drawn. Every leaf seemed to whisper her name in tones she could almost understand.

The shrubs yielded to trees — massive, ancient. Their roots writhed across the ground, forcing her to climb, stumble, steady herself. Between them slivered light: golden shards breaking through like windows flung open in a dark house.

Her breath came fast. Her heart drummed, half in dread, half in awe.

She pushed through the last curtain of branches and stumbled into a clearing.

A bonfire blazed in the center, so bright it turned the night to day. Its flames roared and writhed, but gave no smoke. The firelight sang, the earth’s sorrow now risen to an orchestra: harps and horns, flutes and chimes, all braided into a single endless song.

On the far side of the fire, a figure played a harp.

Alana halted, struck dumb. The creature’s face shifted and blurred: a child’s innocence, an old man’s scowl, a fairy’s delicate glow, a youth’s pride, an elder’s calm. Skin smoothed, cracked, shone, darkened, gleamed. No form lasted more than a breath.

Her stomach lurched. Awe and terror tangled inside her.

At her feet, a cushion appeared, feathers spilling. She lowered herself without thought, the fire’s heat brushing her face.

The figure stilled its hands. Slowly, it chose a form: hair long and shimmering like molten gold, eyes green and piercing, skin translucent, colors coursing beneath as if rivers flowed under glass.

When it spoke, its voice was music made word.

“I am Time. I am Eternal. There is nothing in past, present, or future I do not see. I know each soul’s path and purpose. I am the Keeper of Mysteries. I am Life and Death. I am joy and sorrow. I am pleasure and pain.”

The fire flared, sparks spiraling into the stars.

“I am Light,” it intoned. “I am Darkness. I am thirst and hunger. I am Water and Earth.”

Alana’s throat tightened. “Why am I here?”

The being’s eyes glimmered. “What do you seek?”

“I seek nothing,” she said too quickly, the lie cutting her tongue.

“What do you desire?”

Her voice cracked. “I… I want to go home.”

“There is something more.”

Its skin deepened, hair burning ember-red. “You would not have heard my call if you weren’t ready.”

Her pulse quickened. “I don’t understand. I fell asleep in the meadow. When I woke, the path was gone. Then I heard your song.”

“My song calls only those whose hearts are prepared.”

The ground thrummed with bass notes. The trees leaned inward, their crowns bowing, leaves whispering like conspirators. The stars above shimmered violently, as if straining.

“I want to go home,” Alana pleaded. “Show me the way.”

The being’s voice softened. “Your path is long and treacherous.”

“It cannot be. I walked here this morning.”

“Your home lies beyond many journeys. Each trial will unmake and remake you.”

Her chest tightened. She turned to the fire, searching for sense in its blaze. Flames leapt with the harp’s unseen strings, tongues of fire echoing the melody. She pressed her palms to her knees, grounding herself, but the earth pulsed with the same rhythm.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

The being tilted its head, hair flickering gold, eyes steady. “You will.”

The music swelled. Flutes keened, horns thundered, harps cascaded. The sound pressed into her bones, relentless. She felt herself sinking, as though the ground itself wanted to claim her.

Pain bloomed in her chest, unbearable, grief without cause. Tears burned hot and spilled down her face. She gasped, “It isn’t fair.”

The being did not answer. The song itself replied, weaving joy and sorrow into one inescapable thread.

Her heart shattered. She felt it, splintering like glass. The orchard of her memory, the laughter of her childhood, every innocent moment—torn free. She folded into herself, sobbing, trembling, undone.

Sebastian brushed against her arm, his purr steady, a single thread in the chaos. His warmth was real, but even it could not lift the weight.

Alana collapsed onto her side, tears soaking the soil. The stars overhead wheeled, brighter than she had ever seen, their cold eyes unblinking. The trees bent, their groans like voices. The earth cradled her, heavy and unyielding, folding her into its memory.

At last, exhaustion claimed her. Her sobs slowed to hiccups, then silence.

When she woke, the clearing was empty.

The fire had vanished. No harp remained. The trees stood still, their leaves quivering faintly as if sighing. The ground was damp beneath her cheek, but no cushion lay there.

Only the echo of music lingered. It pulsed in her wrists, hummed in her ribs, whispered in the spaces between breaths.

Sebastian sat close, tail wrapped around his paws, green eyes calm and knowing.

Alana pushed herself upright. Dizzy, she pressed her palms to the ground. It answered with a faint throb, as if the song had sunk into its roots.

Between the trees, a faint silver path shimmered. She rose, legs unsteady, and followed. Each step felt heavier, yet truer, as though the unreal had given her new weight.

The world looked unchanged—locusts still sang, stars still burned—but Alana knew she would never walk it lightly again.