The mountain remembers.

It remembers the whispers of the wind through ancient pines, the secrets murmured by Eagle Eye River as it carves its path through the valley. It remembers the weight of generations etched into its slopes, the echoes of laughter and sorrow carried on the wind.

But the mountain also remembers the darkness.

It remembers the earth torn open, the black gold ripped from its heart, leaving scars that never fully heal. It remembers the whispers turning to screams, the river running red with something more than iron. It remembers the day the sky opened, and something other than rain fell upon New Hyden.

The mountain remembers the faces.

Faces twisted by something more than grief, eyes glowing with a light that wasn't born of this world. Faces lost in the shadows, voices silenced by the whispers that now echo through empty streets.

The mountain remembers the boy.

The boy who stood at the edge of the abyss, watching the town he loved disappear into the heart of the mountain. The boy who heard the whispers and felt the darkness rising within him. The boy who carried the secrets of New Hyden, etched into his soul like the lines on a weathered hand.

The mountain remembers.

And soon, so will you.