The first rain fell like a curtain of cold water, blocking out the evening light. Droplets of rain fell on the gleaming steel of the training aircraft, which lay wrecked beneath the canopy of trees. The sound of thumping, not from humans but from machines screaming in their own language, signaled that they had finally landed on the ground between logic and nightmare. The crash of the plane erased the line between harsh dreams and a darker reality: they were no longer just army cadets in training; they were the embodiment of resilience tested by their greatest enemy—life itself.
The first wounds came from the air that poured down rain, and from the ground that held their feet like stone guards. Hearts pounded, breaths caught as engine dust swirled in the air, reminding them that all control was lost. They no longer had a clear leader, as the voices within each of their chests vied to become the beacon. Some instinctively took command, some held back, some bowed their heads in memory of past failures. They all knew that the hardest blow was not the crash of the aircraft's metal, but the suffocating fear creeping up their spines.
This forest was not friendly. It stood like a giant green labyrinth, staring at them with eyes that never blinked. The root cables were snares, the branches caressing their skin felt like a gentle voodoo leading them to the abyss. Tall trees held up the sky, casting black shadows that swallowed hope. Among the wild bushes, sounds they did not believe: the hiss of nocturnal animals, the light footsteps of unrecognized humans, and the sound of the wind that seemed to whisper secrets that must not be brought home.
They could not remember the last time they had eaten enough. Their stomachs negotiated fiercely, swinging from hope to despair, from determination to doubt. The weapons in their hands were no longer mere tools of defense; they became symbols of a heavy responsibility: to survive without losing their humanity, or to lose their humanity in order to survive. They learned to assess every footprint, every rustle of leaves, every shadow that moved with a rhythm they did not recognize. Because in this forest, fear is not only about wild animals, but about themselves: are they strong enough to resist the urge to give up, brave enough to look into the mirror that reveals their deepest fears?
The first night brought rain, carrying the scent of wet earth that washed away the smell of combat uniforms. In the dim moonlight, they tried to count the number of lives lost from the plane, but all that remained were the lives they had not yet fully measured. Staring at each other, they saw reflections of themselves in the eyes of others—a mirror that revealed a thirst for escape, as well as guilt for still being alive when others were not as fortunate as them.
In the distance, smoke also danced in the air—even though there was no large fire in sight. Strange traces revealed themselves as puzzles: a piece of bamboo with wax stuck to it, stones piled up like a ritual circle, and fresh snare marks among the roots. Their pupils adjusted to the darkness, trying to read a language never taught in military school: the language of nature, the language of wounds, the language of fragile faith.
When morning came, the silence was no longer emptiness, but presence. They find themselves trapped not only among the trees, but between choices: clinging to a past that leads to a homeward path that is no longer clear, or building a new path with dark hands—hands that may no longer be able to distinguish between right and wrong. Among them, a once-firm leader now trembles with fear. Another puts the wounds of the past in his pocket, closing it tightly so as not to disturb his train of thought. And in the silence, a threat arises that is more acute than the wilderness itself: the evil that can be born of humans, when the need for safety overshadows humanity.
This green labyrinth is not just a place to survive. It is a test of character. They are not only defeated by nature, but lose a part of themselves in every fight, every hunger pang, every flash of lightning that sweeps across the sky as a reminder that everything can end in a single breath. They are stranded, but not entirely without direction. Under the canopy that holds back the sky, among the unfinished trails, they shift their moral compass. Some want to go home by any means necessary; others believe that going home no longer means returning to a house, but to a gentler place: a place where their lives are no longer suffocated by fear.
They will keep walking. Walking in darkness and the faint light of dawn, in silence and angry outbursts, in a quiet that holds mouths too afraid to scream. And one day, when the earth holds their breath for a moment, they may find a way back to the world they left behind. Or, perhaps, they will discover that home is not a place, but a state—a boundary that can only be reached by those who can transform themselves into the strong soil needed to grow again.
The green labyrinth has begun its fast tonight, holding its breath to keep a secret that must not be revealed to those who are still alive. And we, the readers, stand at the edge of the forest, holding our breath with them, waiting for the moment when the way home will appear or when they will choose to remain in a place that no longer holds their past.