NIGHT WHISPERS TALES FROM GREENHAVEN

In one of the quiet suburban streets on the town's edge lived a young boy named Kael. Like most of Greenhaven's children, he had been taught never to go near the Tiberium fields. It wasn’t just because of the sharp crystals that could cut like glass, but because strange things happened near them. The fields buzzed with a low hum, and sometimes, people swore they saw creatures lurking in the shadows—creatures not of this world.

One night, as Kael lay in bed, he heard a faint noise from outside. At first, he thought it was just the wind sweeping in from the cliffs, but then it grew louder. A soft, whispering sound, like voices carried on the breeze. His heart raced. He had heard the tales before—about the creatures that came after dark, drawn by the energy of the Tiberium.

Curiosity bubbled up in him. What if the stories were true? What if tonight was the night he finally saw something no one else had? Before he could stop himself, Kael slipped out of bed, threw on his jacket, and tiptoed out of the house.

The air outside was cool, with a faint green glow still hanging over the town. Greenhaven looked peaceful, but Kael knew better. The whispers were louder now, beckoning him toward the cliffs.

He walked, carefully avoiding the shimmering patches of Tiberium that grew wild near the mining trails. As he approached the edge of town, he saw something—an eerie light flickering in the distance. It hovered over the fields, and though Kael knew it was dangerous, he couldn’t turn back.

As he got closer, Kael saw them: towering creatures, their bodies twisted and massive, with glowing eyes that reflected the light of the Tiberium. They were like something from a nightmare, but strangely, they didn’t seem hostile. They moved slowly, almost as if they were searching for something. Behind them, smaller creatures skittered across the ground—alien beings with multiple legs and eyes that blinked in unison.

Kael gasped but quickly covered his mouth. He didn’t want to be seen. He crouched low behind a rock, heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, one of the towering creatures stopped. It turned its glowing eyes toward him, and for a moment, Kael was sure he had been spotted. But instead of attacking, the creature simply stared, as if studying him. Then, to Kael’s amazement, it spoke—not in words, but in the same whispering tones he had heard before.

He couldn’t understand everything, but one word was clear: "Help."

Kael’s eyes widened. Were these creatures asking for his help? Before he could react, a deep rumble shook the ground. From the cliffside mines, another creature emerged—this one even larger than the others, its body covered in jagged, pulsating Tiberium shards. It roared, and the other creatures scattered in fear.

The monster from the mines was different. It didn’t seem to want help—it wanted to destroy.

Without thinking, Kael jumped to his feet. He had to warn the town, but how could he stop something so massive? Then, an idea sparked in his mind. The old mining equipment! There was a crane that the workers used to transport heavy machinery across the cliffs. Maybe, just maybe, he could use it to trap the creature.

Kael sprinted toward the cliffs, his heart racing against the roar of the beast behind him. He reached the old crane, its metal frame creaking in the wind. With trembling hands, he grabbed the controls. The beast was close now, its glowing eyes locked on Kael. He pulled the lever with all his might, and the crane’s arm swung out over the cliff.

For a moment, everything was still. Then, with a deafening crash, the crane's heavy net dropped down, trapping the creature in a tangle of steel cables. The beast roared in fury, thrashing against its bonds, but it couldn’t break free.

Kael breathed a sigh of relief. The smaller creatures emerged from the shadows, their glowing eyes fixed on the trapped beast. The whispering voices filled the air again, and this time, Kael understood.

"Thank you," they said.

The creatures turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Kael standing alone at the edge of the cliff, the green glow of the Tiberium fields surrounding him.

He had done it. He had saved Greenhaven.

As Kael made his way back home, the sun began to rise, casting a soft, golden light over the town. The whispers had faded, and the creatures were gone, but Kael knew that Greenhaven’s secrets were far from over.

And maybe, just maybe, the peaceful little town on the cliff would never be the same again.

The wind whistled as it swept through the jagged cliffs of Greenhaven, carrying with it the faint hum of the Tiberium fields. For most people, the eerie sound was a warning—a reminder of the deadly crystals that grew just beyond the town’s borders, twisting and corrupting anything that lingered too long. But for Tanner Loche, it was just another sound of the job.

Tanner had been a miner in Greenhaven for nearly two decades. He’d seen it all—the freak accidents, the disappearances, the way the Tiberium seemed to come alive some nights, glowing brighter as if it had a mind of its own. But there wasn’t much else for a man like him in Greenhaven. You either mined, or you moved. Tanner wasn’t one for moving.

He adjusted the strap of his worn-out mining helmet, the one his father had passed down to him, and tightened his grip on the pickaxe in his hand. His back ached from the years of hard labor, and his lungs burned with the Tiberium dust he’d inhaled for so long. Still, he had a family to feed, and there was always one more shift.

The entrance to Delta Shaft, one of the oldest in Greenhaven, loomed ahead. It had been sealed off for years after an incident no one talked about anymore. But earlier that day, the foreman had ordered it reopened. Something about a new vein of Tiberium being found deeper in. Tanner hadn’t questioned it—he wasn’t paid to ask questions.

As he descended into the mine, the air grew colder, heavier. The faint green glow of the Tiberium crystals in the rock cast eerie shadows along the walls, flickering like dying embers. His boots crunched against the gravel, and the deeper he went, the quieter everything became.

Tanner’s thoughts drifted as he worked, the rhythmic thunk of his pickaxe against stone his only company. He thought of his daughter, of her birthday next week, and how she’d begged him to stop working the mines. "It’s dangerous, Pa," she had said. "Everyone knows it."

She wasn’t wrong. Just last month, old Darin had gone missing. One minute he was in the mines, and the next, he was gone—vanished, like so many before him. The town said he’d been careless, maybe wandered too close to a Tiberium field at night, where the mutated things roamed. But Tanner knew Darin was too experienced for that. Still, the mines didn’t care how long you’d been digging. They took what they wanted.

He was about to swing his pickaxe again when something made him stop. A noise. Faint, but distinct. It wasn’t the usual creak of the old mine or the distant echo of falling rocks. It was... something else.

Tanner froze, holding his breath. There it was again. A whisper, so soft he almost thought he was imagining it.

"Tanner..."

His blood ran cold. No one else was supposed to be down here. He turned, shining his helmet light into the tunnel behind him, but there was nothing—just the same dark path he’d walked down minutes ago. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

"Just tired," he muttered to himself. "Get a grip, Tanner."

He swung his pickaxe again, harder this time, trying to drown out the unease creeping into his bones. The whisper didn’t return, but the feeling didn’t go away. It was like the air itself was watching him, waiting for something.

Another hour passed, and Tanner had carved out a decent section of the rock face. His bag was heavy with Tiberium shards, each one glowing faintly. But the longer he stayed, the more restless he felt. The whisper hadn’t returned, but the mine had grown too quiet. Even the hum of the Tiberium seemed to have dulled.

Then, without warning, a loud crack split the air. The ground beneath him shuddered violently. Tanner staggered, gripping the wall to keep from falling. "Cave-in!" he thought, panic rising in his chest. But the rocks didn’t fall, and the tunnel remained intact.

Instead, the wall in front of him began to glow—brighter than it had before. Tanner stepped back, his eyes wide. The Tiberium veins in the rock pulsed with light, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart.

Suddenly, the stone split open with a sharp crack, and from within, something stirred.

At first, Tanner couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. A shape emerged from the glowing rock—a hand, skeletal and covered in dark, pulsating crystal. Then another. And slowly, something—or someone—pulled itself free from the stone.

It was a figure, twisted and grotesque, its skin dark and hardened like the surface of the Tiberium itself. Its eyes glowed the same green as the crystals, and when it turned its gaze to Tanner, he felt a deep, primal terror that rooted him to the spot.

"Tanner..." The voice wasn’t a whisper anymore. It was loud, clear, and coming from the creature’s mouth.

He stumbled backward, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening. This was some sort of hallucination—too many years in the mines, too much exposure to the Tiberium. But the creature was real. It stepped toward him, its body shifting and cracking with each movement, like stone grinding against stone.

Tanner raised his pickaxe, his hands trembling.

"Stay back," he growled, though his voice wavered.

The creature stopped, tilting its head as if studying him. Then, it spoke again.

"You... have taken... too much."

Before Tanner could react, the ground beneath him erupted. Crystals shot up from the floor, wrapping around his legs and pulling him down. He screamed, swinging his pickaxe wildly, but the more he struggled, the tighter the crystals held him.

The creature moved closer, its glowing eyes piercing into his soul.

"The Tiberium... demands a price."

The crystals climbed higher, wrapping around Tanner’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He gasped, trying to free himself, but it was no use. The Tiberium wasn’t just in the rocks—it was alive, part of the mine itself. And now, it wanted him.

With a final, desperate swing, Tanner’s pickaxe connected with the creature’s head, shattering it into a thousand shards of green light. For a moment, the crystals around him loosened, and he gasped for breath.

But then the ground cracked open beneath him, and Tanner Loche was swallowed by the Tiberium.

When the miners came looking for him the next morning, all they found was his helmet, resting on a pile of shattered crystals. No body. No sign of a struggle. Just the faint hum of the Tiberium fields... and a whisper that carried on the wind.

"Too much..."

   The cliffs of Greenhaven had always been haunted by strange stories—legends of the things that lurked beyond the Tiberium fields. But no one had ever truly believed them. After all, it was the Tiberium itself that posed the real threat, not some old tales of ancient creatures. Or so we thought.

I’ve lived here all my life, working the mines like my father before me. But I never expected that the real danger would come from something else. Something we couldn’t explain.

It was the night before the Black Moon, a rare phenomenon in Greenhaven. Old miners whispered that strange things happened under its glow, but the younger generation had long written them off as superstitions. Still, I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had been creeping up on me all day. My work in the mines had been uneventful, but as the sun set and the cliffs glowed in the twilight, something felt... different.

That’s when we saw it.

We were headed back to town, Sera, Darin, and I, after finishing our shift in Delta Shaft. The path winds along the cliffs, and from up there, you can see the Tiberium fields stretching out below, glowing faintly green. It’s beautiful in a haunting sort of way. But on that night, something else caught our eye.

Standing against the backdrop of the cliffs, illuminated by the moonlight, was a figure—towering, grotesque, and utterly alien. Its body was twisted and coiled, like the roots of an ancient tree, but made of strange, sinewy material. It had limbs—four of them—but they weren’t like any arms or legs we’d seen before. They were knotted and knuckled, reaching out as though it were feeling its way through the world.

At the top of this nightmarish thing was an enormous, unblinking eye, staring down at us with a cold, indifferent gaze. The eye glowed faintly, much like the Tiberium, as if the crystals themselves were somehow connected to this... creature.

We stopped dead in our tracks, the three of us frozen in place. For a long moment, none of us said a word. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and my breath came in short, shallow bursts. Darin, always the bravest of the group, took a step forward, his voice shaking.

"What... what is that thing?"

None of us had an answer. We had never seen anything like it. It looked like it had been there forever, a part of the landscape, but I knew that wasn’t possible. The path to the mines ran right by it—if it had been there before, someone would have noticed.

Sera was the first to react, her voice hushed and trembling. "It’s watching us," she said.

She was right. The creature’s massive eye was fixed on us, unblinking and still. It didn’t move, but the air around it felt heavy, like the gravity in that space had shifted. I could feel it pressing down on us, making it hard to breathe.

Darin raised his lantern, the light flickering in the growing wind. "We need to go. Now."

But as soon as he said it, the creature shifted. Its limbs creaked and groaned as they moved, almost like the sound of wood bending under pressure. It didn’t come closer—it just... shifted, like it was repositioning itself. The eye blinked, slowly, and for a moment, I thought I saw something in its gaze. Not intelligence, but... recognition.

And then came the whisper.

It wasn’t a voice, not exactly. It was more like a vibration, a low hum that resonated through the air and into our bones. The ground beneath our feet trembled, and the Tiberium fields in the distance pulsed in rhythm with the creature’s movements.

"Leave... this... place..."

The words—or the impression of words—came from nowhere and everywhere at once. I could feel them in my head, like someone was speaking directly into my mind. I turned to look at Darin and Sera, but they had the same haunted expressions on their faces. They had heard it too.

Without another word, we turned and ran. We didn’t stop until we were back in Greenhaven, panting and sweating, our legs burning from the sprint. Only when we reached the edge of town did we finally stop, collapsing onto the ground and staring at each other in disbelief.

"Did... did you hear that?" Darin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

We nodded. We all had.

The next day, we returned with a larger group—armed with whatever weapons we could find. But when we got to the spot along the cliffs, the creature was gone. There was no trace of it, no evidence that it had ever been there.

But we knew better. We’d seen it. And even now, as I sit in the safety of my home, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s still out there—watching. Waiting.

Because I know one thing for sure: whatever that creature was, it wasn’t from this world. It was something older, something tied to the land and the Tiberium in ways we couldn’t understand. And when the Black Moon rises again, I fear it will return.

We’ve lived in Greenhaven for generations, and we thought we knew the dangers that came with the Tiberium. But there are things in these cliffs that are far older and far more dangerous than any of us ever imagined.

And now, we’re being watched.