In the depths of darkness, a mushroom glows faintly, casting dim light up to about two meters around it. It grows from a crack in a rocky wall, surrounded by absolute blackness.
A small hand emerges from the shadows and grabs the mushroom. It belongs to a boy around two years old, who carefully tries to pull it out. Failing to do so, he sits on the ground, still holding it.
After a moment, a woman around twenty-four years old silently approaches. She places a hand on the boy's shoulder and whispers:
—Let go. I'll take it out.
The boy obeys without protest. She lifts him into her arms, holds him firmly, and while stroking his hair, asks:
—What were you doing, Thomas?
—I found a glowing mushroom, mom. Look —he says, pointing at the wall.
The woman follows the direction he's pointing. Just then, a bluish light begins to emerge from the darkness. It's faint, but growing with each step.
She immediately turns, tension on her face. A man's silhouette appears from the shadows.
When he stops a few meters away, he raises a hand and makes a gesture: index finger and thumb forming a circle.
The woman nods silently.
The man approaches and places a hand on Thomas's head.
—Well done. You found one —he says softly.
He wears a worn pouch on his waist, filled with dim mushrooms. He takes out one that still glows and shows it to the boy.
—This one will help us along the way.
He places one hand on the mushroom, grabs the stalk with the other, and twists its head in the opposite direction. The faint light goes out, as if it were a flashlight. The man stores the mushroom with the others in his bag.
Then, he puts a hand on the woman's shoulder:
—I'm leaving the rest to you —he says as he turns off the mushroom he initially carried, and also the one the boy found.
Once he rests his hand on the woman's shoulder again, they all close their eyes in the darkness. Their breathing slows until all sound vanishes and silence takes over.
An icy silence, unnatural, enough to make anyone's skin crawl.
In that silence, the adults slowly open their eyes—just slightly. In the pitch black, they can see. Not clearly, but they can see.
The couple moves with a particular rhythm, barely lifting their feet off the ground, gliding through the darkness until their silhouettes fade. And so, the three of them advance together, enveloped in shadow and mystery.
—So cold! —says a man around forty-five, shivering.
—Cold? You're seriously complaining about the cold when you're right next to the fire? —replies a young man of about twenty-three.
—It doesn't warm much if I wrap it in wind. Anyway, do you have the lid? —the older man asks, stretching his hands toward a flame that oddly emits little light.
—Lid? Nice way to call the stone —says the young man as he approaches with a flat rock.
He places the stone over what seems to be a pot made from a strange shell, where they're cooking some kind of soup. Then, placing one hand on the rock, he raises the other near his face with two fingers extended and begins muttering words the older man doesn't bother trying to understand.
Suddenly, the stone starts to glow with a yellow light tinted with white, like an outline that spreads from the rock and covers the makeshift pot as well.
—Quite a spectacle, that glow —comments the older man.
—Right, old man? I've got talent —the young one replies.
—I'm not old. But if you weren't stuck in this place, you might've had a bright future —the older man says, turning away.
The young man looks at him, surprised.
—Getting sentimental, old man? Want grandkids now? —he teases.
—What? —the older man turns to look at him— Did y—
Before he can finish, another voice rises from the darkness:
—Grandkids? My son doesn't count as your grandson now, old man —says a man who places a hand on the shoulder of a woman carrying a child.
—Look, I brought a good harvest —he says, holding up a sack filled with dimly glowing mushrooms.
—Also, old man, we call you that because you're the oldest in the group. It's an honorary title —he adds, pointing at the elder.
As he speaks, the woman sits on one of the rectangular stones surrounding the fire. She sets her son down and tells him to go practice hand signals with the young man.
The boy walks silently to the other side of the circle.
Once they face each other, the young man speaks:
—Thomas, I'll go over the signals from one to ten. You tell me what they mean.
The boy nods.
Open hand, palm forward. —Stop—
—Good. Next —the young man says.
Index and middle fingers in a "V", pointing forward. —Move forward—
Closed fist tapping the chest. —Silence—
Hand shaped like a "C", as if holding something small. —Light—
Index and thumb forming a circle. —Safe—
Blade-shaped hand slicing through the air. —Danger—
Flat hand, fingers together, waving side to side. —Explore—
Two hands crossed in an "X". —Retreat—
Open hand, fingers extended, touching the temple. —Observe—
Trembling hand over the heart. —Fear—
—Good, but some are a bit confusing by description alone. So remember them like this —the young man says.
Means use the mushroom or light source.
Alert to watch for movement or sound.
Someone senses a threatening presence.
The boy nods and begins practicing the gestures, murmuring their meaning. The young man watches, closes his eyes, and thinks they'll keep practicing until the last group returns.
The father sits by the fire next to the old man. The faint light flickers on their faces, casting long shadows on the stone walls. The wind whispers through the cracks, bringing the smell of mushrooms and damp earth.
—How long have you been here, old man? —the father asks, watching the boy and the young man rehearse silently.
The old man stares at the fire and sighs.
—Too long, I think. I'm starting to forget what the world was like… outside these walls.
The father falls silent, listening to his son muttering the meanings of each signal.
—Do you think we'll ever get out of here? —he asks quietly.
The old man rubs his hands in front of the fire.
—I don't know. Maybe, if we find more mushrooms like the ones you brought today. Or if the kids master the signals. But the darkness out there... it's different.
The father looks back at the path where he, the mother, and Thomas came from, then forward, where another trail vanishes into the darkness. There, the blackness seems to breathe, as if something alive waits beyond the reach of light.
The fire crackles, casting nervous shadows on the walls. A chill creeps up the father's spine from the unknown trail. He watches Thomas, focused on his practice, and thinks how much he wishes his son would never have to face whatever awaits in that lightless path.
—Sometimes I think Thomas deserves to know something more. Something beyond shadows and signals.
The old man nods slowly.
—We all want a better future for them. But for now, we teach them to survive. Though... sometimes I wonder if I'd even know how to live in the light again.
The father smiles, caught between hope and sadness.
—Maybe that's why we call you old man. Because you've seen things we haven't. And even if you don't say it, you always think about tomorrow.
The old man closes his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire touch his face.
—At least today we have a good harvest. And the children learn fast.
The father nods, and they fall silent, listening to the murmurs of practice and the crackling fire, accompanied by the promise of another day.
Elsewhere, in thick darkness, a light source is strapped to a waist. A drop of water falls on the mushroom, now slightly damp. A hand touches it and quickly pulls back. The person looks up, trying to signal their companion, a few meters ahead, also with a glowing mushroom at their waist.
The girl turns and sees the first young man, who clumsily tries to signal her:
—How's it going, Lisa? —is what he means to ask.
Surprisingly, the girl understands and responds with gesture 9: observe or stay alert. The young man gets it and remains watchful, checking behind and ahead.
After waiting a few minutes, the two meet and quietly agree to retrieve their last companion and head back to camp. They begin walking, approaching the corner where the third should be.
But just as they turn, their last teammate steps out from around the corner. They're so close they both flinch, almost letting out a scream. Yet two hands—one behind each—clamp over their mouths, keeping the silence intact. The girl pauses, uneasy about the second pair of hands she saw. It shows on her face. Without a word, she signals "10" to her companion: "fear" or "threat."
The young man understands. Without speaking, they move forward again—but something in the air has changed. An alertness surrounds them. Each step feels deliberate.
Suddenly, someone grabs their hands and spins them around.
It's the youngest of the three. Behind her stands someone tall, perhaps two meters or more, gazing silently at the others with deep eyes.
The girl looks at both, sensing their tension.
—Guys, are you okay? Why did you suddenly turn around like that? Did something happen back there? —she asks, letting go of their hands. The two stand frozen, staring behind her.
After a couple seconds, maybe three, they both lower their heads and avert their eyes toward her.
—Yeah, we're fine. We just didn't recognize you for a second, Walt.
The girl nods.
—You've grown so much, Walt. I hadn't realized how tall you are —she says, fidgeting with her fingers.
Walt opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out.
—Oh, that's great. Let's head back and tell them the path is clear —says the young man as he turns and takes a few steps.
Then, Walt "speaks"—still without sound. Everyone watches and nods in agreement.
—But don't take too long. We'll go on ahead a bit —says the young man.
And so, the group of three heads back first. A few meters behind them, Walt follows silently, his destination: the camp.