CHAPTER 31 — THE HOLDING CELLS
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Cold water lapped at their ankles, seeping through the cracks in their worn boots, carrying a chill that not only pierced their bones but also crept into their chests. Kyoichiiro felt it—not as a physical sensation (since his legs had gone numb from the poison), but as something deeper. Like grief that had settled at the bottom of this river for years, never washed away, never dried.
The corridor ahead stretched straight, its walls of old brick covered in blackish-green moss, its ceiling low—barely two meters from the floor—filled with cobwebs and thin roots penetrating from the surface. The water flowing around their feet moved slowly, lazily, like a river exhausted from carrying burdens it should never have borne. In some places, the water turned brownish or grayish, a sign that somewhere above, something was being dumped into this channel. Something that shouldn't have been dumped.
But what was most unsettling was not the water, not the walls, not the low ceiling.
It was the whispers.
Faint at first, almost inaudible. Like wind whispering in the ear, but there was no wind underground. Like leaves rustling, but there were no leaves here. The whispers came from all directions—from the walls, from the ceiling, from the floor, from the water itself. They didn't form words, but Kyoichiiro could feel their meaning. Not in a language he understood, but in emotions he felt.
"Leave... don't come here... you'll die... like us..."
Aetheria: (Whispering, her voice barely audible above the whispers, her body trembling violently) "Kyoichiiro-san... I... I hear voices. Many voices. They're... they're warning us. They're saying... don't go in."
Amura: (In front, his eyes narrowing, his hand on his sword hilt) "I hear them too. This isn't hallucination. There's... energy here. Remnants of those who died. Or perhaps... those still trapped."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, his eyes fixed ahead—into the endless darkness)
He also heard the whispers. Faint, but clear. Like hundreds of voices speaking at once, but none could be understood. And among those whispers, there was another sensation. Like something lurking behind the walls. Like eyes watching every step they took. Not one or two, but dozens. Hundreds. Invisible, but felt.
We're being watched, he thought. From the moment we entered here, they knew.
But he didn't stop.
We've come this far. There's no turning back.
---
They walked in silence broken only by the growing whispers and the sound of water flowing around their feet. Each step felt like stepping on a wet carpet—not from the water, but because there was something coating the floor beneath the water. Something slippery. Something that might be moss, or might be... something else.
The corridor wasn't straight forever. They turned left. Then right. Then left again. Then straight. Then turned again. Like a labyrinth designed to make anyone who entered lost forever. Each turn took them deeper, farther from the surface, closer to something they didn't want to meet.
Aetheria: (Whispering, her voice trembling, her hand gripping Kyoichiiro's arm tightly) "We've turned... how many times? I... I've lost count."
Amura: (In front, his eyes still moving) "Eight. Maybe nine. I'm not sure."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, counting in his mind) Eleven turns. We've been walking maybe half an hour. Or more.
He didn't tell Aetheria that. There was no need. The girl was already scared enough.
---
THE OLD IRON DOOR
And finally, after passing through more turns than they could count, the corridor ended. Not with a new branch, not with an open room, but with an old iron door.
The door was large, heavy, with a ring-shaped handle in its center. The iron was rusted—so rusted that its color was a brownish-black, as if untouched for years. In some places, the rust flaked off, revealing metal beneath that was also rusted. But the strangest thing: no guards. No hooded figures. No footsteps. Nothing.
Only that door. Silent. Waiting.
Aetheria: (Whispering, her voice barely audible, her body trembling violently—not from cold, but from fear) "Kyoichiiro-san... I'm... I'm scared. I don't want to go in. This place... this place is evil. I can feel it."
Amura: (Silent, his eyes fixed on the door, his hand on his sword hilt) "I feel it too. There's... something behind this door. Something we shouldn't see."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, his mind racing) No guards. Why? Because they're confident no one will find this place? Or because... whatever is behind this door doesn't need guarding?
He stared at the door. Rusted old iron. Cold handle. And among the rust, he saw scratches. Not ordinary scratches. Deliberate scratches. Like writing. Like warnings.
"Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."
Or perhaps it was only his imagination.
Kyoichiiro: (After a long pause, his voice flat but with a tremor within) "We go in."
Aetheria: (Almost crying) "But—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, his voice firm) "We've come this far. We can't turn back now. That boy trusted us. The children inside—if they're still alive—might be waiting. I won't abandon them."
He stepped forward. His left hand grasped the door handle. Cold. Very cold. Like touching ice in winter. He pulled.
The door creaked. Not a loud creak like old wood, but the creak of metal scraping against metal—a sharp, piercing sound, like a stifled scream. And beyond the door, darkness. Darkness thicker than before. Darkness that seemed to have mass, to have weight, to have will.
And from that darkness, the whispers grew louder. Clearer. As if they were no longer whispering, but speaking directly into their ears.
"Don't enter... you'll regret it... you'll die here... like us..."
Amura: (Exhaling, drawing his cracked sword) "I'll go first."
He stepped inside. Kyoichiiro followed. Aetheria, though trembling violently, also followed—her hand still holding Kyoichiiro's arm, afraid to let go.
---
THE LONG CORRIDOR
Beyond the door, a different corridor. No water. The floor was dry, but covered in dust—thick dust that swirled with each step. The walls were not of brick, but of rough stone, like natural cave walls. The ceiling was higher—perhaps three or four meters—and in some places, tree roots pierced through from above, dangling like dead snakes.
And the whispers did not stop. They followed. They surrounded. They came from all directions.
"Leave... while you still can... don't become like us..."
Aetheria: (Whispering, her voice breaking) "They... they don't want us to enter. They're... they're warning us."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, his eyes fixed ahead) "Or they're trying to scare us. No one knows."
Amura: (In front, his eyes narrowing) "I can feel them. Not the whispers. Not voices. But... presence. They're here. In the walls. In the floor. In the air. They... they died here. And they can't leave."
The corridor was long. Very long. They walked. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten. No end in sight. Only darkness ahead and darkness behind.
And in the midst of that journey, sometimes, Kyoichiiro felt something. Like someone touching his shoulder. Like someone pulling his hair. Like someone whispering in his ear—not a faint whisper, but a clear one, like someone speaking beside him.
"Kyoichiiro..."
He turned. No one was there.
Kyoichiiro: (To himself) I'm starting to hallucinate. The poison... or this place... or both.
---
IRON CELLS
And finally, after walking perhaps fifteen minutes—or more—the corridor widened. Became a large room. No, not a room. A prison chamber.
Left and right, rows of iron cells stood. Not modern cells with neat bars, but old cells made of bent, rusted iron, and in some places, the bars were broken or bent—as if someone had tried to force their way out, but failed. Each cell was about two meters by two meters, with a small iron door at the front.
Kyoichiiro approached the first cell.
Its bars were bent. Inside the cell, human skulls. Not one, but three. Two adult skulls—perhaps male and female—and one small skull. A child. The skulls were scattered on the dirty floor, beside piles of incomplete bones. Ribs, arm bones, leg bones. Some still connected, some already separated.
And the smell.
A fishy smell. A foul smell. The smell of rotting flesh, but old—very old—so that only a faint scent remained, clinging to stone and iron. But enough to make the stomach turn.
Aetheria: (Covering her mouth with both hands, her eyes widening) "I... I think I'm going to be sick..."
She held it in. Held it with all her strength. But tears flowed. Unstoppable.
Amura: (Silent, his eyes fixed on those skulls, his hand on his sword hilt clenching tightly) "Animals... they're truly animals..."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, his eyes also fixed) Will this be our fate? Will we die here, in silence, in solitude, full of torment? Will no one bury us? Will we only become scattered bones on the floor of a bent cell?
He bit his lower lip. Blood—a little, warm—filled his mouth.
No. I won't let that happen. Not to Aetheria. Not to Amura. Not to myself.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice flat, but with a tremor within) "We continue."
They walked along the row of cells. Cell after cell. Each cell held the same horror—skulls, bones, sometimes remnants of clothing that had rotted away. Dresses. Children's clothes. Shorts. Small shoes.
Some were still intact. Some were torn. Some still clung to bone, like ghosts from the past that couldn't leave this place.
Aetheria: (Only looking ahead, not daring to turn left or right, her hand still covering her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks) "I... I'm not strong enough... I can't..."
Amura: (His eyes moving from cell to cell, his face growing paler, his hand on his sword hilt trembling—not from fear, but from anger) "I'll kill them. All of them. Whoever did this. I'll tear them apart. I don't care anymore."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, but in his heart, he agreed with Amura)
They walked. Seven minutes. Perhaps ten. Passing dozens of cells. Dozens of skulls. Dozens of lives extinguished.
And at the end of the cell row, they found a door. Not an old iron door like before, but a well-maintained brown wooden door—so well-maintained, so clean, so contrasting with the filth around it. As if that door was deliberately guarded. As if there was something behind it that shouldn't be damaged.
But the smell.
The smell from behind that door was fishier. Sharper. An unnatural smell. A smell that couldn't be described in words.
Amura: (Stopping, his eyes fixed on the door, his body tense) "Don't."
Kyoichiiro: (Turning) "What?"
Amura: (His voice low, trembling) "Don't open that door, Kyoichiiro-san. I... I can feel it. There's something behind there. Something we shouldn't see. Something that will... destroy us."
Aetheria: (Still covering her eyes—or at least trying to—but tears kept flowing) "I'm... I'm scared. I don't want to know what's behind there."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, staring at the door) Amura has never been like this. He's always firm. Always ready. But now... he's scared. Very scared.
He didn't know what to do. Usually, he made decisions quickly. But this time, he was confused. Uncertain. Unable to decide.
Should we go in? Or should we leave? What's waiting behind that door? What made Amura, who fears nothing, become afraid?
He looked at Aetheria. The girl trembled violently, her hand still covering her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. She wouldn't be able to continue if they went in there. But if they didn't enter, they would never know.
No choice, he thought finally. We've come this far. There's no turning back.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice soft, but firm) "We go in."
Amura looked at him. His eyes—usually full of confidence—were now filled with doubt and fear. But he didn't argue.
Amura: (Exhaling, giving in) "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He grasped the door handle. The wood was cold—not as cold as iron, but enough to make his fingers feel numb. He pulled.
The door opened.
---
A ROOM THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
Amura, with quick reflexes, immediately covered Aetheria's eyes with his palm.
Aetheria: (Confused, her voice muffled) "Amura-san? Why—why are you covering my eyes? What's—"
Amura: (Cutting in, his voice firm but trembling) "Don't look. Whatever happens, don't open your eyes. Don't turn around. Don't look back. Understand?"
Aetheria didn't understand. But she heard the fear in Amura's voice—a fear she had never heard before. She only nodded, her eyes still closed.
Aetheria: "I-I... I won't open my eyes."
Kyoichiiro stood beside Amura, his eyes fixed ahead.
And what he saw...
No. Impossible. This isn't real. It must be hallucination. The poison. Or a curse. Or a nightmare.
He hit his own head with his left hand. Hard. Once. Twice.
Thud. Thud.
Pain—sharp, real—spread from his temple. But the scene before him didn't change.
Kyoichiiro: (Whispering, his voice hollow) "No... this can't be..."
---
FOUR CORPSES
Inside that room, under the dim, flickering light of oil lamps, lay four corpses.
Two men. Two women.
They hadn't died ordinary deaths. They had been destroyed.
On the right side of the room, two girls. The first corpse: a young woman, perhaps a teenager. Her skin was gone. Stripped. As if someone had skinned her deliberately, patiently, cruelly. Her pink-red flesh was visible under the lamplight, glistening with still-wet blood—or perhaps from oozing fat. Her head was still intact, but her eyes were wide open. Her mouth was open, as if she had been screaming when she died.
The second corpse: beside her. Her head was severed. Her organs—intestines, stomach, liver—spilled from her open abdominal cavity, scattered on the floor like dead snakes. One hand reached upward, toward the iron bars on the ceiling—as if she was still trying to climb, still trying to escape, even after death. Her other hand was severed, lying in the corner of the room, fingers still clenched tight—perhaps clutching her last hope.
Her face was destroyed. Unrecognizable. As if struck by a blunt object many times. Or as if that face was deliberately destroyed so no one could identify her.
And beneath her body, scattered other body parts. Legs. Arms. Unidentifiable chunks of flesh.
---
On the left side of the room, two men.
The first corpse: split in two. From head to bottom. But he wasn't lying on the floor. He was hung upside down, with iron chains coiled around his ankles. His split body hung like meat in a slaughterhouse. Blood still dripped—drip, drip, drip—onto the floor below, forming a slowly spreading red puddle.
The second corpse: the worst. The man—or what remained of him—had been modified. His head was cut off, then placed below, between his thighs. As if someone had deliberately inverted his body, swapping the positions of head and genitals. And both his legs... cut off, then placed above, where the head should have been. Like a statue rearranged by a madman.
The eyes on the severed head were still open. Still staring. Staring toward the door—toward Kyoichiiro and Amura—as if the head was still alive. As if it could still see.
---
KYOICHIIRO — SHATTERED MIND
Kyoichiiro fell silent. His eyes were wide open. Unblinking. Unmoving.
No. No. No. This isn't real. This must be a dream. I'll wake up. Soon I'll wake up, and all of this will be gone.
He hit his head again. Hard.
Thud.
Pain. Real. But the scene didn't disappear.
Thud.
Still the same.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Blood began to flow from his temple—because he was hitting too hard. But he didn't stop.
Kyoichiiro: (Beginning to laugh—softly at first, then louder, more hysterically) "Hahaha... hahahaha... this is just a dream... this must be just a dream... I'll wake up... soon I'll wake up..."
His laugh was strange. Not like his usual laugh—flat, rare, almost never. This laugh was wild, uncontrollable, like the laugh of someone who realized their world had shattered beyond repair.
Kyoichiiro: (Still laughing, but his eyes empty) "Hahaha... funny... very funny... this is a good joke... who made this? Come out... come out and show yourself... I want to thank you... for making me laugh... for the first time... in a long time..."
He hit his head again. Blood ran down his cheek.
Amura: (Seeing Kyoichiiro, his eyes full of worry and fear—not from the corpses, but from Kyoichiiro's condition) "Kyoichiiro-san! Stop! Stop hitting your head!"
Kyoichiiro didn't hear. He was still laughing. Still hitting. His eyes empty, as if he was no longer in this room. As if he had already gone somewhere else—somewhere with no horror, no corpses, no cruel world.
Amura: (Grabbing Kyoichiiro's left hand—the one still intact—and holding it still) "Kyoichiiro-san! Wake up! This isn't a dream! This is real! But you can't fall apart now! Aetheria needs you! Those children need you! I... I need you too!"
The last words came out without his realization. Honest. Raw. Unlike Amura, who usually hid his feelings behind a smile.
Kyoichiiro stopped laughing. He looked at Amura. His eyes were still empty, but slowly beginning to focus.
Kyoichiiro: (Whispering, his voice hoarse) "Amura... is this... is this real?"
Amura: (Exhaling in relief, but not releasing his hand) "Yes. This is real. But we're still alive. We're not like them. And we won't end up like them. I promise."
Kyoichiiro fell silent. He looked at the corpses again—slowly, no longer with panic, but with full awareness. And for the first time, he didn't hit his head. He just stood, staring, accepting.
This is real, he thought. This place is real. This horror is real. And someone—or something—did this. Deliberately. Cruelly. With full awareness.
He clenched his fist.
And I will find who it is. I will stop them. I don't care how much I have to sacrifice.
---
THE CHEST AND THE INJECTIONS
Amura: (Still holding Kyoichiiro's hand, but his eyes turning to scan the room—looking for something, anything, that could help them) "There. In the corner. There's a chest."
Kyoichiiro turned. In the right corner of the room, behind the shadows of the dim oil lamps, stood a wooden chest. Not very large, but large enough to hold important items. The chest looked better maintained than the others—perhaps often opened, often filled, often emptied.
Amura: (Releasing Kyoichiiro's hand, walking toward the chest) "I'll see what's inside."
Kyoichiiro: (Following, his eyes alert) "Careful. It could be a trap."
Amura nodded. He crouched before the chest, examining its lock. An iron lock—not very large, but looking sturdy. However, the lock wasn't locked. Or perhaps it had just been opened. Amura opened it—the lock opened with a soft click.
He lifted the chest's lid.
Inside the chest, there was no treasure. No weapons. No maps. Only stacks of paper. Blank papers, a few sheets with ancient writing they couldn't read—unknown script, perhaps an ancient language, perhaps a code, perhaps the scribbles of a madman.
But beneath the stacks of paper, there was something else.
Injections. Not one or two, but about a dozen. Glass syringes with metal plungers, filled with a grayish liquid. The liquid wasn't clear, but it wasn't cloudy either. It was like solidified mist—or like liquefied smoke. And its smell... its smell was sharp, pungent, like chemicals or a strong potion.
Amura: (Taking one syringe, examining it carefully) "What is this?"
Kyoichiiro: (Also taking one, examining it) "I don't know. But the smell... strong. Not like ordinary medicine."
Amura: (Turning toward the door—toward Aetheria, still standing outside with eyes closed) "Aetheria. Open your eyes. But don't turn left or right. Only look forward. Toward us."
Aetheria nodded. She opened her eyes—slowly, fearfully—and looked toward Kyoichiiro and Amura. Not turning. Not looking at the surrounding corpses.
Amura: (Approaching, showing the syringe) "Do you know what this is? Is it medicine? Poison? Or something else?"
Aetheria stared at the grayish liquid inside the syringe. She smelled it—sharp, pungent, but not like any poison she knew. There was something inside it... something strange. Like magical energy, but not pure. Like something made, not naturally grown.
Aetheria: (After a moment, her voice uncertain) "I... I don't know exactly. But the smell... isn't like poison. Isn't like healing medicine. Maybe... maybe it's an antidote? Or a stimulant?"
Amura: (Silent, thinking) "Kyoichiiro-san. Your poison... could this cure it?"
Kyoichiiro stared at the syringe in his hand. The grayish liquid glowed under the lamplight, like a fallen star trapped in glass.
No choice, he thought. This poison will kill me if not treated soon. And there's no doctor here. No potion. Only this.
Kyoichiiro: (Exhaling) "It's worth a try."
Aetheria: (Startled) "But—but we don't know the side effects! It could be a stronger poison! It could—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, his voice flat) "Or it could be our only hope. Aetheria, you inject it. But also use your healing magic. Maybe that can neutralize the bad effects."
Aetheria bit her lip. She wasn't sure. But she had no other answer either.
Aetheria: (Nodding, taking the syringe from Kyoichiiro's hand) "Alright. I'll try. But... I'm not responsible if something happens."
Kyoichiiro: (Flat) "I won't blame you."
Aetheria approached. Her hands trembled. The syringe felt heavy in her hands—not from physical weight, but from the weight of responsibility. She found a vein in Kyoichiiro's arm—his left arm, still healthy—and slowly inserted the needle.
The grayish liquid entered Kyoichiiro's body. It didn't feel hot or cold. Only... strange. Like something flowing inside him, but he couldn't feel it.
Aetheria immediately activated her healing magic. Her right hand glowed golden, touching Kyoichiiro's arm, spreading warm energy throughout his body. The golden light mixed with the grayish liquid inside Kyoichiiro, creating a reaction they couldn't see but could feel.
Kyoichiiro: (Exhaling, his eyes closed) "I feel... something. Like... like the poison is retreating."
Aetheria: (Startled) "What? Really?"
Kyoichiiro opened his eyes. He looked down, staring at his neck. The purple that had reached his chin was now receding. Slowly, but surely. Back to his neck. To his chest. To his stomach. To his waist. Until finally, it remained only in his legs—in his thighs and calves—but no longer rising.
Aetheria: (Almost disbelieving) "It's... it's working. The poison... is retreating."
Amura: (Also startled, but quickly calming) "This injection... might be the antidote. Or perhaps Aetheria's magic stabilized it. We don't know. But what matters is, Kyoichiiro-san won't die—at least not now."
Kyoichiiro moved his left leg. He could. His right leg was still numb, but his left was beginning to feel. He tried standing without Aetheria's help—unsteady, but he didn't fall.
Kyoichiiro: "We take these injections. They might be useful for others."
Amura nodded. He gathered the syringes—perhaps ten or eleven—and placed them in a small pouch at his waist. Aetheria helped Kyoichiiro stand more steadily.
They turned, ready to leave the room.
But before they could step forward, Amura felt something.
---
THE HOODED FIGURE
An aura. Oppressive. Cold. Full of killing intent.
Amura: (Reflexively drawing his sword, standing in front of Kyoichiiro and Aetheria) "Don't move. There's something ahead."
Kyoichiiro looked ahead. Aetheria, whose eyes were still open but dared not look left or right, could only stand still, gripping Kyoichiiro's arm tightly.
Before them, at the end of the corridor—right in front of the door to the corpse room—stood a hooded figure. Just like the ones they had seen in the underground passage before. Long black robes covering the entire body, from head to toe. Its hood tilted slightly downward, as if staring at them—though there were no eyes to stare with.
But what surprised them was not its presence.
It was what it carried.
In its hand—if that could be called a hand—hung a head. A girl's head. Her hair was long, tangled, dirty brown. Her eyes were gone—only two blackened hollow sockets remained. Her mouth was torn, from lip to ear, like a grotesque smile. Blood still dripped from her neck—drip, drip, drip—onto the stone floor below.
Hooded Figure: (Raising the head to chest height, like presenting something) "Guuueeraa... suiii..."
The same language. The language they couldn't understand. But its tone... different. Not like before, when it only spoke. This time, there was a threat within it. Like a final warning. Like a challenge.
Amura: (Stepping forward, sword raised, his eyes blazing with burning anger) "Bastard... are you the one who did all this? Are you the one who killed them? Are you the one who turned children into slaves? Are you the one who—"
He couldn't continue. His anger was too great. His sword hand trembled—not from fear, but from the desire to kill.
Kyoichiiro: (Also stepping forward, his katana—though he couldn't lift it with his right hand, he drew it with his left) "Amura. Calm down. Don't let your emotions control you."
Amura: (Not turning, his voice low) "I'm already calm. Calmer than I should be."
The hooded figure didn't move. It just stood there, frozen, the girl's head still hanging from its hand. Blood still dripped. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Kyoichiiro: (To himself, his eyes unblinking) He's waiting. Or testing us. Or... he just wants us to be afraid.
But Kyoichiiro was no longer afraid. After seeing what was in that room, after seeing the destroyed corpses, after nearly losing his sanity—nothing could frighten him anymore.
What remained was only anger. And determination.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice flat, but with ice within) "You think showing us this horror will make us run? You're wrong. We won't run. We won't stop. Until not a single one of you remains in this world."
The hooded figure didn't answer. It just stood. Frozen. Waiting.
And around them, the whispers that had been soft now became screams. Screams they couldn't hear, but could feel in their chests. The screams of victims who died here. The screams of those still alive but unable to leave.
"Kill him... kill them all... don't let them go... avenge us..."
Amura: (Raising his sword, ready to attack) "I don't care anymore. I'll—"
Kyoichiiro: (Holding Amura back with his left hand) "No. Now isn't the time."
Amura: (Turning, angry) "Then when?! After they kill more children?! After they turn more corpses into wall decorations?!"
Kyoichiiro: (His voice firm) "We can't fight here. Aetheria can't fight. I can barely stand. And you... your sword is nearly destroyed. If we fight now, we'll die. And no one will save those children."
Amura fell silent. He looked at Kyoichiiro, then at his cracked sword, then at Aetheria still trembling behind them.
Amura: (Exhaling, lowering his sword, but not sheathing it) "Fine. But if he comes closer, I won't hesitate."
The hooded figure didn't come closer. It just stood there, watching them—or at least, its hood faced them. Then, slowly, it turned. And walked away. Disappearing into the corridor's darkness.
Leaving the three of them in front of the corpse room's door, with the girl's head still hanging from its hand, with blood still dripping on the floor, with whispers still surrounding them.
Aetheria: (Whispering, her voice breaking) "He... he left?"
Kyoichiiro: (Exhaling, his body slumping—not from the poison, but from relief) "Yes. For now."
Amura: (Sheathing his sword, but his hand still trembling) "Next time, I won't let him go."
Kyoichiiro didn't answer. He only stared in the direction the hooded figure had gone, into the endless darkness of the corridor.
Next time, he thought. Next time, we'll be more prepared. Next time, we won't run.
But for now, they were still alive. And that was enough.