When it was finally over, when the echoes of scream and fighting faded and the mine stopped shaking. Bodies were scattered across the tunnels, some groaning softly, some unmoving, some curled on the ground holding broken pride tighter than broken ribs. The air was thick with dust and the sharp metallic smell of blood, and every time I inhaled it scraped my throat raw, it's reminding me that I was still standing only because something had gone right when so many things had gone wrong.
My hands trembled when I looked down at them. They were red, slick, sticky, and for a moment I couldn't tell where my skin ended and the blood began. Most of it was mine. I knew that now. The old man had done that to me, every ache in my bones proving how close I had come to dying without even realizing it. My shoulders sagged as the strength drained out of me, the aftershock of survival hitting late, hitting hard.
"If I wasn't lucky, or it could be andreline" I muttered to myself, my voice hoarse and low, sounding strange in my own ears, "I'd be dead."
The word lucky felt heavy in my mouth. I didn't like it. It sounded fragile, like something that could disappear the moment I believed in it too much.
I moved deeper into the mine, stepping carefully, boots scraping stone, each sound too loud in the quiet. The tunnels widened and twisted until suddenly the ground dipped, opening into a vast cave where light reflected softly off water. A lake rested there, still and dark, its surface barely moving, the air around it cooler, calmer, like the place itself was trying to soothe something wounded.
I knelt near the edge and tore a strip from my already ruined clothes. The fabric ripped with a dull, tired sound, threads snapping like they had given up. I soaked it in the water, the cold biting into my fingers, and began wiping the blood from my arms, my chest, my neck. Each touch burned. Each movement reminded me of how hard I had been hit, how close I had come to collapsing and not getting back up again.
I hissed through my teeth, breathing slowly, forcing myself to stay upright.
"You made me look weak," I whispered, thinking of the old man, his calm eyes, his impossible strength. "Way too weak."
The water rippled suddenly.
I froze.
Footsteps echoed faintly from deeper in the cave, light and uneven, followed by a sharp intake of breath that definitely wasn't mine. I turned slowly, muscles tightening again despite how tired they were, and that was when I saw her.
She stood near the rocks, half-hidden by shadow, hair damp, clothes dirty but intact, eyes wide and shining with fear. She was my age. No, she was from my school. I recognized the uniform under the grime, the way she held herself, stiff and unsure, like someone trying very hard not to cry.
For a second, neither of us moved.
The sound of water dripping somewhere above us echoed again and again, loud in the silence.
"Who… who are you?" I asked.
My voice echoed across the lake, bouncing off stone, making the words sound bigger and harsher than I meant them to. The moment the sound reached her, she flinched like she'd been struck.
She turned and ran.
"Wait!" I called out, pushing myself up, pain shooting through my side as I moved. "Stop, it's dangerous!"
She didn't stop. Her footsteps were fast and uneven, slipping slightly on the stone as panic drove her forward. I followed, not rushing, not chasing, just keeping her in sight, my boots splashing shallow water as I moved.
"Why are you here?" I asked again, breath heavy, voice calmer now. "This place isn't safe."
She slowed near a narrow passage, shoulders shaking, hands clenched into fists. When she finally turned, her face was pale, eyes glassy, lips trembling as she struggled to find words.
"I—I didn't know," she said, voice breaking, words tumbling out too fast. "I was just exploring. I thought it was empty. I heard the explosion and I didn't know where to go."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, at my torn clothes, my red skin, the dried blood cracking as I moved.
Fear crossed her face again, sharper this time.
I didn't speak.
I didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse.
So I just followed her when she turned and moved again, careful, quiet, watching her steps, making sure she didn't fall or wander into something worse. It became clear she knew a way out, not because she planned it, but because she had stumbled into the cave without thinking and somehow remembered the path back.
When we emerged outside, light hit my eyes hard, and voices rushed in all at once.
Her friends stood there, tense, weapons half-raised, eyes darting between her and me. Some stepped back instinctively. Some narrowed their eyes. One of them reached out and pulled her closer, gripping her arm tight.
"Are you okay?" someone asked her quickly.
She nodded, breathing hard, not taking her eyes off me.
Their looks said everything. Torn clothes. Blood. Red skin. A stranger coming out of a cave with their friend.
I didn't wait for questions.
I turned and left.
The ground shook again.
The explosion was louder this time, sharper, closer to the shore. Heat rolled through the air, followed by screams, the sound of stone breaking, water splashing violently. I stopped, cursed under my breath, and ran toward it.
"If I'm in a story," I muttered, breath heavy as I moved. "Looks like the author is running out of ideas."
The shore was chaos.
Students lay injured, some clutching arms, some bleeding, some crying openly without shame. Miners were everywhere, shouting orders, dragging people, pushing through smoke and dust.
Then I saw him.
The old man.
He was being carried, unconscious but alive, his face calm even now, like sleep didn't scare him. And near him, a student stood his ground, fists clenched, body shaking with effort and fear.
His punches were strong. Solid. Each hit knocked a miner back, sent another stumbling.
But it wasn't enough.
The old man woke.
With one strike. Clean. Devastating.
The student flew backward, hit the water hard, disappearing beneath the surface.
I didn't think. I moved. I grabbed him, pulled him up, water splashing, his body limp but breathing. The miners froze when they saw me. Recognition spread fast. Fear replaced anger.
They didn't fight. They ran.
The old man, supported by others now, looked back once as they retreated toward a ship. His eyes met mine, and, he mockingly smirk at me. Then he turned and left. The water lapped softly against the shore. I stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by injured student.