Leo threw his phone into the right passage. It sailed end over end, screen still glowing, and the creature whipped around, drawn to the brighter, more frantic source. Mira dropped the match into the lantern’s wick.
Behind them, the crack in the earth sighed shut. And the pitch black, for now, was full again. Into pitch black
Light—real, roaring, daylight-mimicking light—filled the chamber. The creature shrieked across dimensions, unraveling like a ribbon of smoke. The tunnel walls cracked. The ceiling rained dust and roots. Leo threw his phone into the right passage
He chose left, because his left foot had gone numb, and he trusted pain more than instinct. The tunnel narrowed. His shoulders scraped against the walls. The roots overhead thickened into a tangled ceiling, and between them, he saw it: a faint, phosphorescent glow. Not daylight. Something cooler, greener, like the inside of a dying star. Behind them, the crack in the earth sighed shut