The Whispering Ruins
It wasn’t until he reached the city ruins that he saw the first signs of rot and rebirth. Towering obelisks carved with indecipherable glyphs had been overtaken by twisting vines that glowed faintly under the alien moons. Their thick stems seemed to breathe, inhaling the carbon-heavy air of Egrexia and expelling droplets of pure, clean moisture. Beneath the stones lay fragments of what Ryv recognized as crystalline technology—humming machines that still reached faintly for some long-dead network of guidance.
Ryv knelt again, now at the edge of what had once been a plaza, and studied the faintly bioluminescent canopy of the vine-like plants overtaking this ancient space. A memory bubbled to the surface: the Councilmasters proposing a controversial theory that these plants were bioengineered by the Ancient Ones to “heal” the land. He’d dismissed it at the time as desperation. He had his orders: locate artifacts for extraction. Confirm the council’s prophecy that the Altarstones were not relics of salvation but warnings to leave ruins untouched.
“And yet…” he murmured aloud. The pulse of the artifact in his hands seemed almost alive now, thrumming like a heartbeat. Its power surged through his body, tugging his attention to a temple in the distance. It loomed like the jagged bones of some great behemoth rising from the earth. Refusing to give it a name, he strapped the stone firmly to his pack and trekked forward.
The Builders' Legacy
The temple engulfed him with its silence. Though ancient winds screeched through deep crevices in its walls, Ryv could hear nothing but his own breathing and the increasingly loud pulse of the Altarstone. Inside, statues lined the walls—massive figures holding orbs that danced with contained storms of energy. The figures’ faces were deliberately left blank; sculptures of emptiness standing watch.
Every step forward revealed more glyphs carved directly into the temple’s walls. Ryv couldn’t read them, but scattered shapes began to coalesce into patterns. They told stories of a race so advanced it seemed like sorcery to modern builders. A race that captured energy from stars themselves, that moved continents like a sculptor molding clay, and built cities made not from stone but self-healing microbes. A race that disappeared in a blink of cosmic time.
When he reached the altar at the center of the temple, Ryv froze. The Altarstone was no longer pulsing—now glowing brightly—and the light it cast seemed almost organic, bathing the room in emerald hues that made the glyphs shimmer as though breathing. His hands shook as he set the Altarstone into a recess on the altar. Energy coursed up the walls and into the ceiling, bathing the entire temple in an otherworldly glow. Centuries-old dust fell away from machinery buried in the structure, which groaned and creaked to life once more.
And then he heard it: a resonant, unified voice, filling the chamber with words not spoken aloud but etched directly into his consciousness. “We built for eternity. You build for collapse.”
The images returned, stabbing into his mind. He saw Egrexia transformed—not scorched, not crumbling, but alive, thriving. It was not destruction the stones had called for but cooperation: not artifacts of the past to hoard but tools for creation. His people had failed to heed those lessons, and now the planet languished. The temple grew brighter. The air, once heavy with decay and despair, filled with a purity Ryv had never known before. The vines renewed themselves, creeping up the altar with urgency. They enveloped the Altarstone, feeding off its light, and for the briefest moment, Ryv felt the possibility: rebirth.
The Decision
Ryv scrambled back, trembling with the enormity of revelation. The glowing temple cast a stark binary choice in his mind. If the council knew this truth, they would exploit its power. The council had always sought control, not salvation. But if he destroyed the Altarstones, this knowledge would be lost, dooming Egrexia to slow death by entropy.
The voice echoed once more. “To build means to trust. To rebuild means to yield. Choose.”
Ryv breathed deeply. He could hear the hiss of the council’s transport approaching the temple behind him, dust swirling from their craft’s descent. Clutching his decision, he turned toward the unseen horizon, carrying with him the first step of an uncertain path ahead.
For the first time in years, Ryv dared to hope.
Genre: Science Adventure
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Can Algae Solutions Help with the Climate Crisis? 🌿
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
1 comment