Moana Cavern Novels & Stories

The Pacific Trench Hollow was not merely a scar; it was a cathedral of absence. Located seven miles beneath the surface of the ocean, it was a massive, pressurized void left behind by the Thorne Council’s "Project Abyss" an attempt to harvest geothermal data at the planet’s thermal limit. If it collapsed, the resulting displacement would trigger tsunamis that would rewrite the coastlines of three continents.

Whether Moana’s likes, dislikes and other desires matched hers or not It took more than an hour to finally find her form, and I started reading it quickly, hoping Moana would be Jasmine. Name: Moana Renee Wayne Birthday: June 30, 2002 Favorite color: light blue Favorite Food: Fried Chicken, Pizza, Burgers, Noodles, and Still Exploring Favorite fruit: mango Favourite Destination: Anyplace with a beach Favorite Movie: Avatar Dress/Outfit: Anything in which my skin can take a breath Hobbies: To eat and sleep Deepest Fear: To be left alone Secret Crush: Alaric Best friend: No one Worst habit: many. I can’t name one.

He placed his massive hand directly over the entire Pacific Ocean, covering the violent, volatile tectonic boundary known as the Ring of Fire. "The children can handle the shallow fractures," Kaelen rumbled, his cosmic eyes completely unreadable. "But the Skarn are breeding deep. The Marianas Trench is bleeding resonance into the ocean floor. The pressure down there is too dense for the young wolves, and the human transports cannot reach it." Killian’s jaw tightened. "You are going alone?"

"Everything tasted so good, so fresh." "It is always so here," Mahana said. "Perhaps you'd like Manahau and Rotui to help you relax after your meal? Manahau is Tahitian for wise spirit and Rotui is the name of a high peak on Moorea island between Opunuhu and Cook Bays." "I'd like that," Krista said without hesitating, looking admiringly at the two sturdy, broad-chested men in their 30s, like Mahana dressed in just a long sarong.

There were no buildings, no lights, and no roads—only a massive, moss-covered concrete cap poured directly into the mouth of an old larimar mine shaft fifty yards ahead. ​"It’s beneath the waterfall," Eniola said, pointing toward the far end of the ravine where a narrow torrent of mountain water spilled over a ninety-foot ledge, crashing into a deep pool below. Hidden behind the veil of frothing water was a massive, circular steel blast door, bolted directly into the living rock with heavy titanium stabilization rings.

I raised the lantern and cut it on. Our tour guru had forgotten to mention that the algae patches along the sides and bottom as well as the quartz veins on the roof and walls reflected the light over what must have been an eight by ten meter cavern. Gorgeous. We glided to a shelf that met our needs, climbed up and shared a high school 'nervous virgin' moment. She broke the spell by pulling herself out of the water and, standing on her tippy-toes, touched one of the roof veins.

Jack shielded his eyes against the sudden glare. "My God," Ben Carter whispered, his voice trembling. "It's... it's the center of the world." They were standing on the precipice of a colossal, cylindrical cavern. It was a hollowed-out space inside the island’s volcanic root, easily a kilometer wide and stretching down into an infinite, lightless depth. The walls of the abyss were lined with towering machinery—cooling rods the size of skyscrapers, conductor coils pulsing with blue lightning, and massive dampening arrays—all humming with a power that vibrated in their teeth.

They’re too damp and most of them smell like moss and dead fish. But who am I to complain when in the wild, caves are the best shelter there is. Though this underwater cave isn’t that bad. It was massive that it doesn’t feel cramped at all. In fact, it was big enough to host our massive submarine. And it also has enough standing ground for us to walk around. The rest of us were looking at Trei expectantly as we gathered around where most of the Arachnocampa Luminosa, or what most of us know as glowworms, light up the area making it look like we were in a fantasy realm.

"Mara, where’s the hole? Where is the rebel line?" "Two blocks down. There’s an old geothermal vent hidden behind the abandoned cannery. It leads straight to the 'Mother’s Shadow'—the rebel outpost," Mara said, already blurring into a run. "But it’s a tight squeeze, and the air is 180 degrees. If the Void flares up while we’re in those tunnels, we won't just be caught. We’ll be cooked into the walls."

"This is where the mountain bleeds into the ocean. The Aegis-men do not follow here. Too much pressure. Too much salt." They emerged into a massive, cathedral-like cavern that was half-submerged. The water here wasn't the stagnant black of the lake; it was a churning, bioluminescent green, filled with glowing plankton and the strange, sightless fish of the deep. "Look," Rhys said, pointing his tablet toward the far end of the cavern. A massive, rusted hatch was embedded in the rock—an old submarine pen from the Cold War. And tied to the rusted pier was a sleek, black silhouette that looked like a shard of glass.