Chapter 12: Underground Rising

Priya’s hands were bleeding again. She’d been painting for six hours straight, her fingers gripping the brush so hard her knuckles had gone white, then red, then started cracking. The canvas in front of her moved like it was alive—luminous figures rising from underground chambers, their faces serene while the surface world burned above them.

Viktor stood behind her in Elena’s basement, explaining something about cascading grid failures and intentional system collapse, his voice that same detached analytical tone that made her want to scream.

“—the power distribution follows geological fault lines, so when they trigger the deeper—”

“Shut up.” She didn’t turn around. Another stroke of white across a figure’s cheekbone, making the paint-person glow like they were lit from within. “Just shut up for five minutes.”

“I’m trying to help you understand—”

She spun around, brush dripping ochre onto the floor. “Understand what? That you think I’m some scattered art student who needs everything explained? That you’re the smart one with all the technical knowledge and I’m just the crazy girl making pretty pictures?”

Viktor stepped back, hands raised. “That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it is.” Paint splattered as she gestured. “It’s exactly what you meant. Just like Devon thinking he can track my location and show up whenever he wants. Just like my parents asking when I’m going to ‘focus’ and pick a real major. Everyone wants to manage me.”

The humming from below grew louder, and the basement walls seemed to pulse with it. Elena looked up from her historical documents, Maya stopped organizing their makeshift supplies, Carmen paused in checking Dada’s pulse. They all stared as Priya’s rage filled the space like heat.

“I’m not broken,” she said, her voice rising. “I’m not unfocused. I’m not too much. I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be, and all of you keep trying to make me smaller so you can understand me.”

Viktor opened his mouth to respond, and that’s when they appeared.

The beings rose through the floor like they were stepping through water. Tall, impossibly graceful, moving with the kind of fluid certainty that made everyone else look clumsy by comparison. Their faces held that luminous quality Priya had been painting—not perfect, but complete. Like they remembered something the rest of them had forgotten.

Priya threw her palette at them.

Paint exploded across the lead figure’s chest—crimson and gold and deep violet spreading across pale skin. The being didn’t flinch, didn’t react, just stood there dripping with color while Priya screamed.

“There! You want something from me too, right? Everyone wants something. What is it? Want me to paint you? Want me to be amazed? Want me to fall to my knees and worship?”

She grabbed another brush, loaded it with black paint, and hurled it at the second figure. It struck their shoulder and clattered to the floor.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

The beings stood in silence, paint dripping down their bodies like tears. Behind Priya, Viktor started forward—his caretaker instincts kicking in, ready to calm her down, manage her, make her more palatable.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarled without turning around. “Don’t you dare try to fix this.”

Viktor froze. In the silence, the humming grew stronger, and Priya could feel it resonating in her bones. The beings watched her with eyes that held no judgment, no expectation, no need for her to be anything other than exactly what she was in this moment.

The first one, still dripping with her thrown paint, stepped closer. Not to calm her or control her, but simply to be present with her rage. When they spoke, their voice was like stones dropping into deep water.

“We want nothing from you that you are not already giving.”

“Bullshit.” But her voice cracked.

“You paint us as we are. You see us as we see ourselves. You throw paint at us because you know we are strong enough to receive your anger.”

Priya’s brush shook in her hand. “Everyone else wants me to be… easier. Quieter. More focused.”

“We know what you are.” The being’s hand moved toward her face, not touching, just offering. “You are the one who creates while the world burns. You are the one who feels everything and makes it beautiful. You are the storm that clears the air.”

The tears came all at once—years of being told she was too intense, too scattered, too much. Years of trying to make herself fit into boxes that were never meant to hold her. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

The painted being knelt beside her, finally reaching out to touch her forehead. Their skin was warm and electric, and suddenly Priya could see—really see—what she’d been painting all these weeks. Not aliens or monsters or invaders. Humans who had never forgotten how to be human. People who moved with their whole bodies instead of fighting them. Who spoke their truth instead of performing acceptability.

“You’ve been caged,” the being said softly. “But cages only work if you believe in them.”

Behind her, Viktor was completely still. She could feel his presence differently now—not trying to manage her or calm her, but witnessing her without needing her to be different. For the first time since they’d met, he wasn’t trying to fix anything.

Maya stepped forward, her voice gentle. “Priya? Are you okay?”

She looked up, paint smeared across her face, eyes red from crying. “I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry at everyone who tried to make me small.”

“Good,” said the second being. “Anger is information. What does yours tell you?”

Priya wiped her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of yellow paint. “That I’m done performing for other people. Done trying to make sense to people who don’t want to understand.”

Viktor cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to make you smaller. I was trying to—”

“Control the situation,” Priya finished. “Make it make sense. Turn chaos into data.” She looked at him directly for the first time all night. “But I’m not chaos. I’m a different kind of order.”

The beings watched this exchange without judgment, paint still dripping from their bodies like they were living art. The basement hummed around them, and Priya realized the sound wasn’t coming from underground anymore. It was coming from all of them—their breathing, their heartbeats, their presence finally synchronized.

“We’ve been waiting for you to remember,” the first being said to the group. “Not just you, Priya. All of you. The ones who organize.” They looked at Maya. “The ones who inform.” Their gaze moved to Viktor. “The ones who serve.” Carmen straightened. “The ones who preserve.” Elena looked up from her documents.

“We’re not here to save you,” the second being continued. “We’re here to remind you that you never needed saving. Only remembering.”

The humming grew louder, harmonizing with voices from far below and far above. In the candlelight, everyone’s faces looked luminous, painted with shadows and possibility.

Priya picked up her brush again, but this time her hands were steady. “Then let’s remember.”