At the side of a towering cliff, where a raging river thundered far below and a massive slab of granite loomed overhead like the underside of the world itself, a narrow cave yawned open in the cliff face.

  Inside that cave lay Arin.

  Flat on his back.

  Motionless.

  His body refused to listen to him.

  “Ah… ah…” he exhaled weakly, staring at the uneven stone ceiling above him. “I am never doing that again.”

  The words barely carried any weight. Not because he didn’t mean them—but because he didn’t have the strength to put emotion into them.

  Every nerve in his body felt fried. His arms trembled even when he didn’t move them. His legs felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else entirely. The cold stone beneath him seeped into his bones, yet he didn’t have the energy to care.

  He had just climbed more than seven kilometers.

  Seven kilometers of vertical and horizontal movement, clinging to rough stone with bare hands, fighting gravity, wind, fear, and his own exhaustion—while suspended above a drop that guaranteed death.

  And the worst part?

  If they wanted to go back alive…

  We’ll have to climb it again.

  The thought alone made his stomach twist.

  Arin let out a humorless breath and closed his eyes.

  For a long time, he didn’t even realize that the rest of the group had made it across.

  Not because they hadn’t—but because he was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to register anything beyond his own breathing. His mind felt hollowed out, scraped clean by fear and repetition.

  When he finally became aware of the others, it was only because he heard movement. Heavy bodies collapsing onto stone. Shallow breathing. Someone retching quietly near the cave wall.

  They were in no better shape than he was.

  If anything, some were worse.

  Arin had reached the cave first and had unknowingly given himself a head start on recovery. The others had staggered in later, one by one, collapsing wherever they stood, too drained to even remove their packs.

  And so they lay there.

  For two full hours.

  No one spoke.

  No one moved.

  The only sounds were the distant roar of the river below and the uneven rhythm of breathing—proof that, at least for now, they were still alive.

  Eventually, Arin stirred.

  He rolled onto his side with a low groan, then slowly pushed himself upright, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. The rapid cooldown had done him no favors; his limbs felt stiff and heavy, like rusted machinery.

  Tomorrow is going to hurt, he thought grimly.

  But even that didn’t bother him much.

  Pain tomorrow meant survival today.

  That was enough.

  He forced himself to stand, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the cave wall. Only then did he really look around.

  The cave wasn’t large, but it was deep enough to provide shelter from the wind. Jagged stone walls bore the marks of natural erosion rather than craftsmanship. It smelled of damp rock and cold air.

  And it held far fewer people than it should have.

  Arin’s heart sank.

  “Okay…” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see how many we have.”

  He began counting silently, his eyes moving from face to face.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Ten.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  Forty.

  He stopped.

  His mouth went dry.

  He counted again.

  Slower.

  More carefully.

  The number didn’t change.

  Forty.

  A heavy silence settled over the cave.

  Arin clenched his fists.

  “That’s…” His voice came out hoarse. “…not good.”

  No one answered.

  “Does anyone know how they fell?” he asked, carefully keeping his tone neutral. “Did we even have time to notice?”

  The silence somehow deepened.

  Then, slowly, a trembling hand rose from the group.

  It was Tom.

  His shoulders shook as he forced himself to speak.

  “Y—yeah,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know how Bill fell.”

  Every head turned toward him.

  Tom swallowed hard, tears streaming freely down his face.

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  “It was… it was at the section where we had to switch to the other side of the wall,” he continued. “When we had to turn… turn one-eighty degrees.”

  Arin’s chest tightened.

  “He swung his leg,” Tom said, his voice barely audible now. “And right then… there was this wind burst. Stronger than the others. It hit him from the side.”

  Tom squeezed his eyes shut.

  “He couldn’t hold on.”

  The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

  “He fell,” Tom whispered. “I saw him disappear. There was nothing I could do.”

  His knees buckled, and someone nearby caught him before he collapsed entirely.

  Quiet sobbing spread through the cave.

  Tom wasn’t the only one crying.

  Some wept openly. Others stared blankly at the stone floor, their faces hollow. A few pressed their hands to their mouths, as if trying to keep their grief from making a sound.

  They hadn’t seen their friends fall.

  But in some ways, that made it worse.

  Now the realization had time to sink in.

  They were gone.

  Bill. Others.

  Gone.

  And the cruelest part?

  Somewhere, deep down, the thought of resurrection never even crossed their minds.

  Something primal screamed at them not to die.

  They knew—instinctively—that death did not erase fear. That whatever awaited them beyond it was not peace. That even if the body returned, the trauma did not.

  That knowledge was why the Resurrection Temple was staffed by thousands.

  And why even that wasn’t enough.

  Arin inhaled slowly, steadying himself.

  “We’re not leaving this cave today,” he said firmly. “There’s no way.”

  No one argued.

  They didn’t have the strength to.

  “Get comfortable,” Arin continued, though he knew how hollow that sounded. “We’ll move tomorrow.”

  The group shifted sluggishly into motion, each person unpacking their gear with stiff, uncooperative hands. Water bottles were passed around. Packs were opened.

  And then—

  Groans echoed through the cave.

  Collective, pained, deeply offended groans.

  Arin blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts.

  “What is it?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

  Someone near the back spoke up.

  “We… uh… looked into our packs,” they said. “And remembered what kind of food we were given.”

  “Oh,” Arin said weakly.

  Yes.

  That.

  His shoulders slumped.

  “I don’t know about you,” Bertho said with a hollow laugh, forcing humor into his voice, “but suddenly I envy Bill and the others. At least they don’t have to eat this.”

  A few bitter chuckles followed.

  Even Tom let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, wiping his eyes. “Lucky bastards.”

  Arin rubbed his face.

  “Well,” he said, “let’s eat and sleep. I want us moving before sunrise. That gives us the best window.”

  He stepped toward the cave entrance and glanced outside, using the lengthening shadows to judge the time. They had set out in the morning. It had taken five hours to cross the tunnels, then another two lying on the ground like corpses.

  Evening had arrived.

  “Alright,” Arin said, picking up the gray slab of sustenance with visible reluctance. “Let’s eat this war crime and go to bed.”

  He took a bite.

  Instant regret.

  He gagged, barely managing to swallow before doubling over, coughing violently.

  Someone patted his back.

  “Still alive?” Bertho asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Arin croaked.

  Dinner was a miserable, nauseating affair. Complaints echoed quietly through the cave, many promising—quite sincerely—to hunt down the scientist responsible for this abomination and end them once the mission was complete.

  Eventually, exhaustion won.

  One by one, the group settled into uneasy sleep on the cold stone floor.

  On the far side of the bridge, their families waited.

  Worried.

  Unaware.

  Not knowing that their sons and daughters lay bruised, grieving, and alive—having crossed the tunnel with minimal losses.

  And tomorrow, they would move again.