They dug for what felt like an eternity, but the earth refused to yield. Every handful of stone they pried loose only brought more crashing down from above.
The air was thick with dust and despair—each breath scraped their throats raw, each cough echoed like a reminder of futility.
The muffled cries beneath the rubble dwindled one by one, until there was nothing left but the distant groan of shifting rock.
A soldier finally dropped his shovel with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot.
His voice cracked as he spoke, hoarse from dust and defeat, "Captain… there's nothing we can do."
The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade.
Voln froze mid-motion, the grit biting his palms. He turned slowly, disbelief etched across his soot-streaked face.
"What did you say?" he whispered, as if refusing to hear it.
But when his gaze fell upon the rubble again, the truth struck him harder than the blast ever could.
