Our tribe has come to live here a couple generations ago. We came in through one of the tunnels and settled in this strange place. The ground was unyielding and cold, stretching farther than I could see, nothing like the world my forefathers spoke of. It bore no softness, no depth, only a vast, lifeless expanse broken by narrow seams where strange, clinging growths took hold. We subsisted off these growths, as they were both nutritious and plentiful. Life was good. The elders told many stories to us, they explained so many things about the world. But one story always sounded fake to me. The story of the Light of God. It was told that from time to time, a bright, blinding light would illuminate the world. Those who saw it were forced to run and hide in the shadows, or face instantaneous, brutal death at the hands of God himself. I never believed in that story. Not until I saw it myself. It was unexpected. Suddenly, a light so bright it blinded me shone from above like a malevolent white sun. I was terrified, but I managed to slip into the shadows in time. My friend didn't. We felt the ground shaking, and then he was suddenly crushed. His body turned into what I could only describe as a puddle on the flat, cold ground.