The Whispering Cave Lina — Story 08

Lina had never been this far from the camp. The rule was simple, repeated every morning in her mother’s calm, firm voice: “Stay inside the shimmer, Lina. Don’t wander.” The shimmer was a perimeter of softly humming bubble-lights that encircled their small settlement, casting a safe, predictable glow. Inside the shimmer, the ground was cleared, and the plants were familiar.

But the shimmer was boring. It was a cage made of safety. The shimmer didn’t have flowers with deep blue petals that pulsed with a soft light when you laughed near them. It didn’t have the peculiar joy of watching a flock of jewel-feathered birds who sang their songs backwards, starting with a final, triumphant note and ending on a quiet, hopeful inhale.

And the shimmer definitely did not have a cave that whispered your name.

Lina stared at it now, her heart a fluttering bird in her chest. It was nestled in the side of a large, moss-covered hill a short distance beyond the bubble-lights. The hill itself seemed alive, rising and falling in a slow, deep rhythm, as if it were breathing in its sleep. The cave mouth was a perfect, dark circle, a pupil in the green hillside. It was utterly, profoundly quiet. It was a silence so deep it felt like a sound inside itself. The usual rustling of the alien trees had ceased. The constant, high-pitched buzz of the tiny, winged creatures in the air had stopped. Even the sky above, a canvas of pale green and swirling violet, seemed to be holding its breath.

She took one tentative step off the cleared path and onto the wild, springy moss. A soft sound drifted out from the darkness, a sound like wind rustling through ancient, dry leaves. Linaaa…

She froze, every muscle tensed. That was her name. There was no mistaking it. But no one else was here. Her mother was back at the main habitat, cataloguing soil samples. The other children were in their lessons. She was completely alone.

Her survival instincts, drilled into her since birth on the long journey between stars, screamed at her. Run. Get back to the camp. Back to Mum and the predictable hum of the bubble-lights and the not-scary, not-strange shimmer. Her feet twitched, ready to bolt.

But then, a different thought took root. The cave hadn’t shouted at her. It hadn’t growled or roared. It had whispered. It had sounded… lonely. Like a secret that had been waiting too long to be told.

Lina took a shaky breath, the strange, ozone-scented air filling her lungs. She remembered what Mum had told her just that morning, after she’d admitted to being scared of the planet’s long, shadowy nights. “Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared, my love,” Mum had said, her hands gently framing Lina’s face. “It just means you’ve decided that something else is more important than the fear.”

Lina looked at the dark, waiting cave. Curiosity. Kindness. Those things felt more important right now. So, she took another step. And then another.

The air grew cooler as she approached the entrance. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into another world. It wasn’t dark inside, not exactly. The curving walls glowed with a soft, pale green light, a colour that was meant to be calming. The light wasn’t steady; it pulsed gently, in time with the slow breathing of the hill outside, like she was standing inside the chamber of a great, sleeping heart. The air smelled of damp, rich earth, fallen leaves, and something else… something clean and cold and vast, like starlight.

“Hello?” Lina whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the immense, quiet space.

The cave answered with a cascade of soft echoes, her own word coming back to her in gentle layers: lo… lo… lo…

She walked deeper in. Her boots made soft, crunching sounds on the mossy floor. Something tickled her cheek, and she flinched, but it was only a single, shimmering silver thread of light, drifting down from the high ceiling like a strand of spiderweb. It didn’t sting or burn. It hummed against her skin for a moment with a pleasant, low vibration, and then dissolved.

Then the cave whispered again, not from the entrance this time, but from all around her, a thought that formed directly in her mind. Not afraid?

Lina stopped, her hand resting on a glowing green wall that felt smooth and cool as river stone. “I am afraid,” she admitted, her voice wobbling just a bit. “But… I also want to know who you are.”

For a long moment, there was only the slow, pulsing light and the scent of starlight. Then, like a sigh of wind made visible, the soft green light on the walls began to move. It flowed like water, streams of luminescence gathering in the centre of the cave, swirling and coalescing. In front of her, the light solidified into a small, curled shape, glowing brightly.

It was a creature made of woven light and translucent, veined leaves. Its body was no bigger than her two hands held together, and its enormous, luminous eyes were the colour of the deep violet sky outside. From its back sprouted wings that weren’t made of feather or membrane, but flickered like gentle, contained candle flames.

Lonely, the creature whispered into her mind. The feeling that came with the word was not sad or pitiful, just a vast, ancient solitude. Not bad. Just… waiting.

Lina felt the knot of fear in her stomach finally melt away, replaced by a wave of pure, undiluted wonder. She took a step closer. “Are you… the cave?”

The creature blinked its slow, starlit eyes. Yes.

“You were calling me?” she asked, a sense of privilege washing over her.

You heard, the creature explained. Others come to the edge. They feel the silence. But they do not listen. Their minds are too loud.

“I hear lots of things,” Lina said quietly. “Sometimes even things I’m not supposed to.”

A feeling of gentle amusement flowed from the creature. Good. That means you can stay. A little while.

So, Lina sat down on the soft, mossy floor of the cave that was not a cave, but a friend. The glowing creature uncurled and drifted over to settle beside her, its flickering wings casting warm, dancing shadows. And together, in the heart of the breathing hill, they simply listened to the quiet.

Later that night, her mother found her sitting just outside the shimmer line, her knees hugged to her chest, her face calm and her eyes dreamy.

“Lina. Where were you?” Mum asked, her voice a mixture of gentle relief and lingering worry.

Lina looked up, her face illuminated by the pulsing bubble-lights. “I made a friend,” she said. “In the whispering cave.”

Mum’s gaze flickered toward the dark, mossy hill in the distance, then back to her daughter’s serene face. A hundred questions seemed to cross her mind, but she only asked one. “Was it scary?”

Lina smiled, a slow, sure smile that held the memory of green light and starlight and a long, long wait finally coming to an end. “Yes,” she said honestly. “But only at first.”

Lina of Vaelinya

Eight Stories for the Brave of Heart

Lina and the Star That Forgot to Shine

Lina and the Cloud That Cries

Lina and the Sleeping Tree

Lina and the Whispering Cave

Lina and the Bridge That Sang Back

Lina and the Mirror Pool

Lina and the Maze That Remembers

Lina and the Song That Found Its Voice