Chapter 232

Cold. Bone-chilling cold, mixed with an indescribable stench of decay, as if accumulated over countless ages, like invisible tentacles wrapping around every inch of Lingna’s skin, trying to seep into her mouth and nose, dragging her into eternal silence.

She regained consciousness in this suffocating cold.

Agony surged through her body like a tide, especially from the severed right shoulder and her likely injured spine; every faint breath pulled sharp, burning pain through her chest. Before her was absolute, heart-stopping darkness, thick as a physical thing—no light visible, no sound audible, only her own faint, nearly inaudible heartbeat and labored gasps.

She was still alive. After falling from such a height, she was still alive?

She tried to move her fingers; luckily, her left hand still responded, though each movement brought searing pain as if nerves were tearing. Her right arm… only a hollow, crudely bandaged stump remained, sending waves of heat and twitching agony. Her lower body was almost entirely numb, only faintly sensing the cold, gritty ground pressed against her back.

Where am I?

She struggled to turn her only movable neck, trying to observe her surroundings, but the darkness swallowed everything. The air reeked of heavy mildew and rust, and something else… an extremely faint, peculiarly sweet, rotting-plant odor that made her nauseous.

“Sentry?” she tried to call in her mind, her voice hoarse even to her own ears.

No response. Only deathly silence. As if that ever-cold, yet at least present, electronic tone had vanished entirely. Was it due to distance? Or because… the fall caused damage?

Total isolation. Unprecedented fear coiled around her heart like a cold venomous snake.

She must not die here. Absolutely not.

Survival instinct forced her to calm down. She began slowly, carefully, probing her surroundings with her left hand. Beneath her was cold, damp ground littered with gravel and debris. Her fingers brushed against something hard, cold, rough-surfaced, with irregular edges—like… broken bone?

She forced herself not to recoil, continuing to explore. More fragments like these, varying in size, some very small… like… the skeletal remains of small creatures? Had this place once been a nest or a graveyard?

Besides bones, she touched tough, dry, leather-like sheets, and brittle, hollow rod-like objects long dead, crumbling at the slightest touch. Plant remnants? Deep underground?

As her exploration expanded, she realized she seemed to be lying in a narrow, constricted passage or fissure. On either side rose cold, rough walls, thickly coated with sticky moss (perhaps), stretching upward beyond her reach.

She had to leave this place. At least, find a relatively safe corner, perhaps with a faint glimmer of light.

Using her left elbow and her slightly responsive waist and abdomen, she dragged her completely paralyzed lower body forward like a wounded worm, inching painfully slow. Each movement required immense effort and endured excruciating pain; icy sweat mixed with blood soaked her already tattered clothing.

In darkness, time lost meaning. How long had passed? Minutes? Hours? Her fingertips finally touched a different texture—not rough rock or bone, but cold, smooth metal bearing unmistakable signs of artificial manufacture!

A wall?

She followed the metal wall, discovering it unnaturally smooth, even with regular grooves and interfaces. This was no natural formation! It was Ark structure! She was still inside the Ark—perhaps in some ancient, even forgotten, lower level!

This discovery injected a faint glimmer of hope. Artificial construction meant possible exits—or at least, useful items.

She continued crawling along the metal wall. The passage seemed slightly wider now, the debris thinner. After moving further, her left hand suddenly brushed empty air!

A corner? Or an entrance?

She cautiously reached into the void. Her fingers swept through air, then touched another cold metal wall. A right-angle turn.

Just as she prepared to turn, an extremely faint hiss—nearly drowned by her own breath—drifted from the darkness beyond the corner.

Not wind. More like… a leak? Or… the breathing of some creature?

Lingna instantly held her breath, muscles tensing, pain momentarily forgotten.

The hiss was faint, intermittent, seemingly distant. But in absolute silence, it was unnervingly clear.

What was it? A surviving subterranean creature? A defense system left by the Doctor? Or something worse?

She dared not move, straining her ears. Beyond the hiss, no other sound.

After hesitation, survival instinct overcame fear. Staying put meant certain death. She had to risk it.

With near-turtle slowness, she crept soundlessly around the corner.

Beyond the turn, the passage appeared more orderly. And far ahead, a faint, flickering, pale blue glow!

Light!

Though weak, in absolute darkness, that pale blue glow was a beacon—filling her with immense hope.

She crawled toward the light. The hiss seemed to originate from that direction, growing slightly clearer as she approached.

Along both sides of the passage, she spotted broken, long-dead wall lamps and embedded, dust-covered terminal interfaces. The air remained stale, but the peculiar sweet-rot odor had faded somewhat.

After moving further, she saw the pale blue glow emanating from an open doorway in the side wall—like a hatch. The light came from within.

And the hiss became clearly identifiable—not biological breathing, but the rhythmic electrical hum of an aging device nearing power depletion.

She exhaled slightly, but vigilance remained. She slowly crawled to the open hatch and cautiously peered inside.

Inside was a small room, resembling an old maintenance chamber or storage closet. The interior was in disarray—tools and parts scattered everywhere, coated in thick dust. The pale blue glow came from a fallen, cracked terminal unit in the center, its screen still stubbornly flickering.

The terminal’s display was unstable, filled with static, but faintly visible were rolling fragments of ancient Elven script and blurred schematics. The hissing hum came from this nearly dead terminal.

No immediate danger seemed present.

Lingna exhaled, painfully crawled into the room, and leaned against the wall beside the door, catching her breath. Her gaze remained fixed on the flickering screen.

The image occasionally stabilized for an instant, revealing what appeared to be… an energy conduit layout? The labeled zone names were archaic and unfamiliar. Suddenly, the image shifted to a repeating, fragmented warning message:

【...Warning...Seventh Ecological Garden...‘Cradle’ Protocol...Unauthorized Access...Life Energy...Rapid Depletion...】【...Sealing Walls...Failed...‘They’...Awakened...】【...Request...Moon Goddess Protection...Purification...Required...Purification...】

Cradle! They!

Lingna’s heart lurched! Did this terminal record the events of the Seventh Ecological Garden disaster?!

She struggled to inch closer for a better look. But just then, the terminal screen flared violently, the image twisting into chaos—then, a faint, distorted, intermittent audio fragment crackled from the terminal’s broken speaker:

“...Can’t hold it...‘Hunger’ has infected the main root...Children...‘Cradle’ can’t stop it...” A desperate male Elven voice, drowned by explosions and a horrific sound like countless nails scraping metal. “...Must...execute Final Directive...activate ‘Deep Root Protocol’...send the ‘Seed’...to the ‘Sanctuary’...” A deeper, older, yet resolute female voice followed. “...No, Elder! That will seal this place forever! We’ll all...” “...It’s the only way! We cannot let ‘Hunger’ reach the ‘Sanctuary’! For the future...sacrifice is necessary...” The explosions swallowed the rest. Only the final words, the old voice screaming with its last breath, as if piercing time: “...Remember...the ‘Sanctuary’ lies beneath the ‘Hall of Echoes’...the ‘Key’...requires ‘Twin Light’...to...”

The recording ended abruptly.

The terminal screen flickered a few final times, then the pale blue glow vanished. The hissing hum ceased. The room plunged back into darkness, leaving only Lingna’s heavy breathing.

Deep Root Protocol? Sanctuary? Hall of Echoes? Key requires Twin Light?

These unfamiliar terms struck her mind like shards. The recording revealed far more than she imagined! The Elven survivors hadn’t merely resisted the disaster—they’d enacted a final plan, sending a thing called the “Seed” to a place called the “Sanctuary,” even sealing off the entire region! And to open that “Sanctuary,” a “Key” and “Twin Light” were needed?

She unconsciously “looked” at her empty right shoulder. The Key… was it referring to her? And what was the “Twin Light”? Ye Zi’s natural energy? Lin Mo’s primordial power? Or something else?

And the “Hunger” mentioned at the end—its description matched the crimson, all-consuming monster so precisely! Were they born from the contamination of the garden’s “main root”? Was their target the “Seed” and the “Sanctuary”?

The information overload made her already throbbing head spin.

But one thing was certain: she had stumbled upon clues about the ancient disaster and the Ark’s deepest secrets! And that “Sanctuary” might be a safer, more vital place than the outpost.

She must find it!

Yet the moment this thought arose, a sudden, non-terminal sound—light metal scraping—echoed from the darkness beyond the door!

Creak—

Soft, but piercing in the silence!

Lingna froze, heart stopping.

That sound… wasn’t natural. It was as if something… something wearing metal boots or having metal claws… was moving slowly, cautiously through the passage!

Had the Doctor’s cleaners followed her down? Or was there something else… already dwelling in these depths?

The scraping sound paused, then resumed—hesitant, as if judging direction—then unmistakably moved toward the room’s entrance!

Lingna held her breath, left hand clamped over her mouth, body pressed flat against the cold wall, not daring to move. Cold sweat soaked her back instantly.

Done for…