The Prophet

The first three days were a blur of surreal luxury.

Elias Thorne was not a simple miner. He was a zealot who had dug too deep and found something that broke his mind. He told Mercy the story as he fed her peeled grapes with his own fingers, his eyes never leaving her face.

"The world above is fallen," Elias said, his voice a melodic baritone. "Sodom and Gomorrah. Thieves and liars. I came here to find purity. I struck the vein five years ago. The Motherlode. God’s own rib."

He gestured to the glittering walls. "I realized then. This wasn't for spending. This wasn't for commerce. This was a temple. The Tabernacle."

Mercy ate the grapes, her mind racing. He was crazy. Certifiably, dangerously insane. But he was also rich.

"It’s beautiful, Elias," she lied, touching his hand. His skin was hot, dry. "But surely... surely God wants us to share this beauty? To see the world?"

Elias frowned, pulling his hand away. "The world? Why would we go back to the mud when we have heaven?"

He stood up and walked to a massive wardrobe. He pulled out a gown of heavy emerald velvet, embroidered with gold thread.

"Put this on," he commanded. "The silk is too thin. You are trembling."

He was right. Mercy was cold, though the cavern was heated by unseen vents from the depths of the earth. The air was thick, heavy, and tasted metallic.

Mercy dressed. She let him brush her hair. It took hours. He counted the strokes. *One hundred. One hundred and one.*

"You are perfect," Elias whispered, staring at her reflection in a gold-framed mirror. "A statue of flesh."

"I'm not a statue, Elias," Mercy said softly, testing the boundaries. "I'm a woman. And women need... things. Fresh air. Sun."

"I am your sun," Elias said. The playfulness vanished from his face, replaced by a hard, granite look. "I saved you from the ice, Mercy. You were dead. I breathed life back into you. You belong to the mountain now."

Mercy felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. She realized then that he didn't see her as a person. He saw her as the final piece of furniture in his collection.

She needed to leave. And she needed to take as much as she could carry.

She began to explore the Tabernacle while he prayed in the deeper tunnels. The place was a labyrinth, but it only had one exit: a massive set of iron blast doors at the top of the incline.

They were barred with a complex locking mechanism of gears and levers. Elias wore the key around his neck.

Mercy went back to the main chamber. She found his supply of spirits. Among the brandy and wine, she found a small glass phial labeled *Laudanum*.

"For the headaches," Elias had said once, rubbing his temples. The air down here gave them both headaches.

Mercy pocketed the phial.

That night, Elias prepared a feast. Tinned pheasant, dried apricots, and wine served in diamond-encrusted chalices. He was in a manic mood, talking about the "New Eden" they would populate.

"We will have children," Elias said, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Pure children. Raised in the light of the gold. They will never know the touch of snow."

Mercy smiled, pouring his wine. She slipped the entire contents of the phial into his cup.

"To Eden," she toasted.

Elias drank. "To the Queen."

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