There was no sound.
No whisper. No crumble. No echo.
Only stillness. The kind that devoured even the faintest noise. The kind that pressed against the skin like water, cold and suffocating. Somewhere deep below the world above, beneath rock and ruin, all motion had ceased—as though time itself had frozen in its descent.
And Luke lay there in the dark.
Unmoving. Breath faint. His body sprawled across uneven stone, dust settled upon his skin, and a dull ache pulsed through every inch of him. The air here was heavy, carrying the weight of ages, thick with the scent of earth and something faintly metallic—blood, perhaps, or rust.
At first, there was nothing.
No awareness. No pain. Just the distant hum of nothingness.
Then, a spark—
A slow return.
A faint flicker of life stirred beneath his ribs.
