Breathe.

Hundreds of years ago, something changed in the world. The natural world, not the people-world. The seasons stopped -- they just completely stopped. It wasn't as though one lasted longer than the other, no. It was more of a case of "there is no change anymore". There was no period of extreme heat, nor extreme cold. It was just neutral. At first, it was almost nice; we didn't have to worry about overheating, we didn't have to worry about frostbite nor losing crops to the cold. There was always a nice breeze, though sometimes the wind got to be a little out of hand -- nothing we couldn't handle, though. The rain was the best part. You could see it building in the distance, sometimes a day or so in advance. Because the air pressure was so consistent, it became easy to predict when it would drizzle, or it would storm, simply based on how the air felt and how the clouds looked. It was nice, and life was easy for a while. A few people, though, couldn't shake the feeling in their gut that something was terribly wrong. Something was coming. Conspiracy theorists were nothing new to us, especially back then. People always predicting the world would end, aliens would come to kill us all, things of that nature -- so they went unnoticed and ignored.

We should have listened, back then. Maybe we wouldn't be in the situation we're in, now.

Those rains had been the second sign, and a warning of what was to come. The storms became more and more frequent, to the point where our crops didn't get enough sun in order to grow, and several drowned due to flooding. When it wasn't raining, it was overcast, preventing anything from getting the natural light. Storms became more frequent than the gentle rains that people loved to dance and play in, and so people stopped going outside. Things were starting to get washed away by the floods caused by the rains, and anything left on the ground was susceptible to the running water.

The fear didn't truly kick in until one day, someone died. The rain had been coming down so hard, but it didn't look or sound any different than normal. They'd gone out just to get something they had left in the car, and didn't make it to the driveway before the droplets bored holes through their body. This time around, it only took that one death for a true state of panic to surge through the population. It wasn't just local, either; this whole weather phenomenon was happening all over the country, in every city, every town. Nothing was spared from the rains. It became impossible to tell when it would be a death storm, or just a standard storm. It was strange, too; anything organic was destroyed in an instant in a death storm, but nothing man-made was damaged. Cars were fine, buildings were fine, and yet plants and trees looked like they had been drilled through or eaten alive by insects; some didn't even stand, anymore, because of the damage it suffered. The storms didn't last too long, but they were frequent enough that things didn't have much time to grow back. So, crop-growing and plants were moved inside, into greenhouses to be safe from the storm while still being able to provide for the population.

I'm not fully sure how, or when it happened, but it was like nature decided to up its game. What had been safe during the deathstorms became susceptible to damage, and the standard storms became fewer and fewer. Structures started being eroded away, roads disappeared, transport was destroyed by water bullets being fired down from the clouds. Nothing was safe from the sky, and everything was being destroyed more and more, day after day. It got to the point where people were retreating to underground shelters that had remained long after wars had ceased. It was, for the most part, the only safe place they had to go, the only safe place they had to live.

Not long after that did all standard storms stop. There were only death storms, now, and people were being picked off one by one by the skies above. Those that needed to risk venturing out in order to get supplies never returned. Most never really left the plot of land that they had been hiding in, drilled to the ground by the raindrops and decimated into natural fertilizer for the grass. That was the strange thing, though, the fact that the plants stopped being so damaged. It was like they became immune to the rains, over the years. The ones that survived without the sun, anyway; most had disappeared or died out due to the previous damage and lack of nutrition.

When people thought they had figured it out, the rains stopped. For weeks, they stopped, and it was safe to come out. To see the damage, to see what had become of their home above the ground. Everyone had become pale, skinny, deathly. Many had died in those underground shelters, and their bodies had to be disposed of in other ways since no one could go outside. Those weeks of reprieve were enough to get the population to start rebuilding what had been lost. It was a long, and struggling effort, but they deemed it worth it. There had been no rain for a month, and homes and stores had been rebuilt. Supplies had been flown in from other countries so that we might grow again. We stopped hiding, we didn't find a need for it anymore.

Then the Torrents happened. Nature had been waiting oh-so-patiently for us to emerge, for us to come out of our holes in the ground. As soon as we had gotten comfortable, it all ended. The worst death storm in history rained down on the population, destroying everything. Not only did we lose all of the freshly-built homes and stores, but we lost more than half of the population due to the rain. It didn't stop, either; that rain lasted for three weeks, straight. What wasn't destroyed by the rain was washed away by the floods, carried off to whatever pool had been building after these rains started in the first place. This country was no more. We had no government. We had no population. We had nothing that could help us survive. Those that remained were hopeless. They'd lost everything, and everyone. They couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

After the Torrents had passed, things calmed down once again. We had to use that limited time to build things that the rains couldn't destroy. We had to get creative, and we had to do it quickly. Trial and error, plus a few extra lives lost to the occasional storm, and we were able to figure something small out for a concept.

The wind howled outside, rain slamming into the carved rock surface. Though the clouds black out the sky, he knew where the moon was. The torrential night storm wouldn't deter him from his path. At the top of this mountain into  was the one thing that would change his life, the one thing that would truly make a difference.

A hoard.

Tales had been told for millennia about the dragon that lived within the mountain. Stories of the treasure that lie within. Over time, the contents of that treasure became skewed and changed, depending on who was telling it -- but the fact of the matter was that no matter what it contained, it was enough to erase someone's past and make them a new, powerful being within the region. He had to have it. He had to become someone new, someone who mattered not to the past, but to the future.

He climbed. Footsteps lost beneath the roar of the rain, silenced as the water flowed downhill to pool in the soft divots left behind by the effort he put into traversing the slippery mud. He carried nothing but the sack of rations on his back, soaked to the core. This was the only chance he'd have, and time was running out. Just one piece of treasure, one piece of the hoard was all he'd need to be able to make things right.

He climbed. The path was becoming less clear, and the moon's presence lost it's soothing reminder. The black clouds obliterating stars that would have shone, the rain coming down blindingly fast, erasing where he had and hadn't been. One way up, many ways down, no way to return. He had to push on. Step by step, the mud turned into loose rocks. Gravel, dotted with what felt like pieces of metal. Others had tried coming up in the past, that had long been determined. Others had tried. All had failed.

His hand found a sturdy ledge in the rock to grip onto, and he began going vertical. There wasn't much left on the inclined path, though he wasn't prepared for what this part entailed. Had the storm waited just a few more hours to come, waited until he was in the safety of the cave he knew was there, this wouldn't have been an issue. Now the constant barrage of watery bullets from the sky affected any traction he might have had, and the risk he was taking became that much higher. It made the treasure that much more valuable.

Lightning was his only visual clue as to how far he'd climbed within that short period of time. A yard, at most -- the fingerholds were only a foot apart at any given time, making the effort that much more exhausting. Fatigued, he considered the consequences of turning around. He considered the price he'd have to pay for leaving halfway, for leaving when he was so close to the finish line. There were countless reasons not to turn tail, but even more to give in to that instinct of flight over fight. The weather was against him, Nature, itself, telling him to stop.

It was a challenge he had to surpass, or die trying. There was nothing to return to.

His foot slipped. There'd not been enough time to catch himself on the slippery rocks, and for a brief second, he closed his eyes against the rain, anticipating the ground coming up to meet him in a crushing embrace. It never came.

The odds were on his side, and only his pack had fallen in the momentary scramble for a grip. The rations within lay scattered on the ground below, far below the path, absorbing the falling rain. Not even the scavengers dare go for it in this sort of weather. Eyes opening, he looked up to the black sky, praying for another bout of lightning to tell him how much further he had to go. Eyes met his, in turn, illuminated in the darkness without the aid of light.

There's a cavern around here, somewhere. 

The plants gradually stopped growing on your way here, going from scattered and plentiful to not having seen one within the past ten minutes of walking. You'd only gone out for a simple hike, but the lack of vegetation piqued your curiosity nigh instantly. How many times had you walked these paths, felt the earth beneath your feet, felt the humidity of the air that surrounded your precious plants? This was your safe spot, you knew it like the back of your hand, and yet, not once had you stumbled across this anomaly.

A drop of water falls atop your head. You look to the sky, miserable and grey. It'd been overcast all day, but nothing really promising. You'd hiked in mild storms before, though, so the threat of rain wasn't anything to concern yourself with, usually. Something about the lack of trees, though.. even the lack of ferns disturbed you. You were alone out here, out in the open, exposed to whatever elements might come your ways -- especially the storm. A small gust of wind sends a chill down your spine, carrying with it the cool mist of the coming rain. Grey clouds become darker, and you know you need to find shelter.

You start following the path marked by absence of life. You'd known caverns like this sometimes formed around here, especially in the woods. But this was your path, you came down here all the time without trouble or hesitation. Not once had the plants receded like this, not once had everything just disappeared. You think that maybe, just maybe presence of the cavern happened over the course of a month. It had to have, that was the last time you came that way. Another drop on your head urges you to move faster, and you can feel the temperature drop in the air.

You take longer strides, listening to the rumble of thunder echoing in the sky. It's not that far off, now, and you know you need to find this cavern for shelter before the rain catches you. In your rush, you didn't see the hole in the soft dirt, and promptly plant your foot right into it, sending you falling forward. The ground meets your face, and you find the foul taste of dirt on your tongue.

Wonderful.

You get yourself up, ankle throbbing ever so slightly from how it'd twisted on your way down, and glance around. You can see the rain coming in the distance, a sheet of water that blurs the scenery and distorts it with the downfall. You look to the ground, seeing what you'd tripped over to begin with. It was subtle, but there was something there -- something had deliberately made that hole for you to fall into.  Bending down, you force your fingers into the softened dirt and begin to dig, mists of black earth flying to either side of you. It takes you half a minute to find the hatch, but it takes even less time for the rain to find you. You pull your hoodie up over your head, but the rain is like needles, piercing through the fabric to sting your skin with the cold. The dirt becomes mud, and your hatch is fading from view as the slurry starts to cover what you'd thought was the handle. Panic begins coursing through your body, your hands shaking as you desperately try to dig it out. Though you see nothing, the tips of your fingers find a latch -- something sturdy to pull on. You give it your all, anticipating a struggle, or a heavy door.

Neither. 

You're almost immediately flung to the side from your own pull, the door having been something lightweight but sturdy. There wasn't even a lock to keep it in place, it was simply resting on a frame in the ground. You look down, your hoodie being the only thing to allow you to see downward into the hole in the rain, and you see the top of a ladder, disappearing down into blackness. It's the only thing even resembling shelter around you, and you have no other choice if you want to be safe from the rain. You grab the loose door and start descending, using the door as a shield from the rain until it sits snugly on the frame once more.

You hear nothing, now, except the sound of mud falling from the inner frame. There is no light, and it's as though the rain had stopped as soon as you were safe. You take a deep breath, and lower yourself further down the empty tunnel. The air is cool, but made colder by the rain that'd soaked into your clothing. As you get lower, you find yourself breathing a bit more easily, a sense of relaxation coming over you. Step by step, warmth begins enveloping your body, though you're far from dry; you feel like you've taken a bath with your clothes on. A strange scent hits your nose. Fire. Smoky, warm, inviting. You think, for a split second, you can hear embers crackling, but not even the mud is making noise anymore. Lower and lower into the dark, you feel like this might have been a mistake. You shouldn't have followed that path, you shouldn't have come down here, you should have stuck to your standard route. At least that way, you'd have known you'd have true shelter from the rain.

Light.

It's pale, it's faint, but there's light. You can see it beneath your feet, in the distance below. It gives you new energy to descend, and you no longer hold back your efforts out of fear. It doesn't take long to reach the bottom of the ladder, the soles of your feet meeting a solid platform. Stone stairs that lead further down. There's no doubt in your mind that this is the cavern you'd been searching for to begin with. You can't see fully in, yet, so you start stepping down, eyes adjusting to the gentle glow that'd been produced. The cavern is massive -- much larger than you'd thought possible. It seems to extend far out beyond the boundaries of the forest, by size estimation. The glow was warm -- physically warm, like you were standing next to a fire -- and it was coming from the crystals that jutted out from the ground, the wall, the ceiling. Larger than houses, taller than the trees, a faint green tint to them. Some have multiple facets, some only a few. Some are broken in half, some come to a nice point at the top. On the ground are smaller clusters, some a few feet in diameter, some small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. You can't explain it, but you feel at home, here. You feel safe, comfortable.

One of the larger crystals calls to you.

As tall as you, you see your reflection in the face of the pale green obelisk. You look tired, weary. As though you'd not slept in days. The rain's water sags your clothing, though you don't feel as drenched as you had on your way down. You raise your hand, and press it gently against the crystal. You lock eyes with yourself, and sigh. The warmth from the mineral surges through you, soothing you to your core, inside and out. It's as though you'd been embraced, something secure wrapping itself around you, eliminating all your fears and worries, taking away any sort of doubt or distress. You close your eyes for a moment, just a moment, to enjoy the peace you'd finally found, before a new scent takes you away.

Looking around, you try to find the source. It's a sweet scent, like honey or sugar, though you don't fully know where it could be coming from. You lick your lips, and you swear you could taste it -- but there's nothing here. You start to wander through the cavern, gazing at the clusters and pillars and obelisks as you pass them. What could be smelling so sweet, so decadent, in a place like this? Nothing edible could grow down this far, and yet it smells good enough that the growl of your stomach practically echoes around you.

You walk for a couple of minutes, half-searching for the source of that smell, half-wandering for the sake of wandering. Caverns like these were unheard of; small ones, sure, ones that are riddled with bats and the like. But a crystal cavern that simply awaited your arrival, teasing you with the promise of invisible dessert? Nothing like that had ever been written down before in the books describing the area's history. After another echoing growl comes from your core, you finally find it. Sort of.

Nestled in a corner, surrounded by that soft glow from the crystals that circle it, is what appears to be a resting area. You're immediately drawn to it -- after all, you'd just been hiking, bombarded with rain, and now you're who-knows-how-many-feet down into the ground. There's a makeshift bedroll on the ground, with plenty of pillows to make a sort of nest; kindling and wood enough to make a small fire, something that'll burn hot enough to cook food; a pot, a plate, some utensils that are surprisingly clean for being in an underground cave, and the source of that delectable scent -- a small piece of honeycomb rests on the plate, surrounded by the sticky treat that it houses. It seems like it was just freshly harvested, and you're weak to the temptation of such a dessert.

You scurry over and proceed to sit beside the plate, piercing the wax cells with the fork to allow more of the honey to ooze out from the small pockets. When was the last time you'd treated yourself to raw comb? Usually, on days you'd go camping, you'd make an effort to find some, but you'd been slacking as of late. It wasn't a lack of availability, you were just more focused on the exercise aspect before returning to your daily life. The honey smells of the flowers of the forest, the ones you'd stop to sniff on occasion. You were a firm believer in the phrase "stop and smell the roses".

You happily bite into the comb and suck out the thick honey. It tasted better than anything you'd ever found on your own, before, and you couldn't believe you were so lucky. Not once did you truly question why there had been a small setup for you, down here. It was all so sudden, all so surreal, you didn't have time to slow down and realize what was happening. You savor the sweetness, the memories that it brings to light. Hiking when you were young, picking flowers for your mother every day, seeing the smile on her face when you returned home. You feel your lips form a smile of their own, and you breathe out slowly through your nose.

With the honey sucked out, you realize you'd just been chewing on the comb absentmindedly. You spit out the gummy substance, and take another look around the cavern. You could spend eternity here. Your own little sanctuary. Your own little safe space.

You start feeling tired, and yawn softly. The bedroll-nest beside you welcomes you, and you get comfortable practically instantly. It was exactly what you needed, and you close your eyes, the soothing taste of honey still on your tongue, the secure feeling of the crystal's embrace lulling you to sleep. You're home, and you know you're going to be very happy in your cave, living off of whatever happens to suit your fancy.

Your eyes open, and you're met with an alarm clock screaming at you. You sit up instantly and slam the button to turn it off, confused panic driving you out of bed. How did you get home? You know exactly what had happened, where you had been. You're wearing your pajamas, not your hoodie. The comforting warmth is gone. The scent and taste of honey is gone, lingering only in your memories. It had been a dream. A beautiful, welcoming dream.

You sigh, your hands falling to your sides. Your fingers brush against your pajama pants pocket, feeling something solid inside. You must have slept with your keys or something. You reach in and pull them out -- and you smile to yourself. You were wrong. There, in the palm of your hand, is a small, palm-sized cluster of faintly glowing green crystals.