I woke to the feeling that the world itself was crumbling beneath me. The night lamp trembled violently, its light swinging across the walls. At first, I couldn't understand what was happening—until the truth hit me. An earthquake.
I looked out the window and saw buildings tearing themselves apart, people screaming, police sirens cutting through the chaos. Before I could even process it, my own building began to shake harder, more violently than before. Panic set in. I tried to make a quick escape, but before I could take more than a few steps, the building collapsed.
Then there was darkness.
When I regained consciousness, I realized I was trapped beneath the debris. Concrete, metal, and broken furniture surrounded me. Somehow, impossibly, I was still alive—only a few bruises, nothing more. I couldn't understand how.
I searched desperately for an exit, shouting for help, but my voice was swallowed by the distant wail of sirens. Crawling through the wreckage was useless; every path was blocked. Then the ground trembled again, and I froze.
Suddenly, cold water splashed across my face.
It was raining.
Water began seeping through the rubble, dripping faster and faster. A terrifying thought crossed my mind: the rain could flood the space beneath the debris, weakening the soil and causing everything above me to collapse again. As the ground softened beneath me, I felt it give way—and before I could react, I fell into an underground passage I never knew existed.