Part I – Fall
"There are those who fall a hundred times only to rise the hundred and first, stronger—not because they do not feel pain, but because they have learned to forge pain into a weapon. Their anger does not burn—it smoulders deep, like embers beneath the skin, waiting for the world to try and break them again."
It was a scorching summer.
A merciless sun hung high in the sky like a golden whip, lashing everything that dared to survive. The earth cracked with thirst, leaves drooped lifelessly, and the air shimmered lazily—thick as hot oil. An unsettling silence blanketed the land, as if nature itself had held its breath, hiding from the day's blaze. Even the birds had fallen silent, and insects clung to the ground, resigned, trapped in dead stillness.
The only sound to pierce this motionless world was a faint whisper of wind. It brushed the skin like the tender touch of a long-forgotten love, carrying with it the scent of dust, scorched grass, and the fading sap of withering plants.
In this relentless landscape, where each breath hurt and the dream of cool water pulsed in the mind like a mirage, Mya kept walking. A girl with short, pale hair and eyes that held both the sky and the storm. Her silhouette stood sharp against the rock wall, like the shadow of unyielding will. She ignored the heat. She ignored the exhaustion. Only the goal mattered.
She climbed the edge as if searching for answers. Her movements were precise, trained—but not without passion. Her thoughts circled around a single sentence, etched into her since childhood like a tattoo: “The most important step is the last. Any fool can reach the top. Only the wise don’t fall from it.” That’s what her father used to say.
Mya was no armoured warrior. Her battles weren’t fought on blood-soaked fields, but in silence. In the heart. In the soul. She fought what others couldn’t name. Fear. Failure. Doubt.
She loved heights. That was where she found herself—in the space suspended between earth and sky. There, where fear couldn’t reach, and freedom smelled of stone dust and sun. There she was her truest self. Like a bird that knows only one destiny—to soar.
Her hands, dusted with chalk, gripped the rock’s edges with a strength born of pure determination. Her feet, despite the heat, stepped confidently, as if they’d always known this terrain. Every muscle trembled, but she paid it no mind. She was focused. Centred. Ready.
For her and her friends, climbing was more than a sport. It was the soul’s language. A ritual. An addiction to adrenaline and the sense of truly being alive. Mya always told them that your own weaknesses teach you the most—and you have to be brave enough to face them head-on.
Each of them had a role. Kian was the strategist—quiet and precise. Lena, analytical, cold as the morning shade—she saw what others missed. Orin was their anchor in a crisis—calm, quick in his decisions. Mya was the heart of the group. The one who carried them forward.
This time, they faced one of the toughest challenges: a cliff that even veterans feared. The rock wall rose before them like a silent sentinel.
Harsh.
Inhuman.
Alluring.
“Go on, Mya, we’re with you!” Kian’s voice echoed amongst the rocks.
They were high. Too high to turn back, but close enough to the top to dream. When she first stood at the base of this wall, she felt a mix of excitement and humility. This place whispered: “Prove yourself. But if you fail... you die.”
The rocks beneath her fingers were treacherous, slick with sweat and dust, only adding to the tension. She felt light. Almost ethereal. As if she were no longer flesh and bone, but pure will.
“Watch out for that jutting stone, Mya,” Lena warned from below. “It’s tricky!”
She nodded. Her eyes fixed on the next hold. Climbing wasn’t just physical. It was mental. A decision. A choice to keep going—despite everything.
Her muscles burned. Her heart pounded like a hammer. Her fingers searched for the next hold. And yet, Mya was calm. In the pain, in the effort, she found herself.
She glanced down. Their faces—Kian, Lena, Orin—were her anchors to reality. But she knew: at this height, every decision was hers alone. Every mistake was hers—but so was every triumph.
“Just a few more meters, Mya!” Kian shouted. “You’ve got this!”
She lifted her gaze. The summit was so close, she could almost feel its coolness on her face. The last step. Just that. Or maybe—everything.
The final meters. Muscles burned with living fire. Every movement triggered a spasm of pain, but Mya could not give up. Now or never. She clenched her sweaty hand around a rough grip that scraped her skin like tiny claws and placed her foot on the jutting stone.
A fraction of a second.
The rock trembled.
She felt it under her foot—something shifted, gave way.
A sudden tremor, then... no resistance. The earth recoiled, vanished from beneath her, like a treacherous wave pulling sand from the shore.
Her heart stopped.
Adrenaline exploded in her veins like fire. Her fingers loosened, the grip was gone. Everything spun in one dizzying instant. The rock cracked with a soft, treacherous snap, and Mya’s body lurched forward, pulled by merciless gravity.
A scream—still unvoiced—rose in her throat.
She desperately searched for salvation. A ledge. A root. Anything. Something to stop the fall or offer even a shred of hope. Her hands tore through the air, nails scraping stone, leaving bloody trails. But she found nothing but emptiness.
Flashes of her life flickered through her mind—blurred, chaotic—like scenes seen through dirty glass.
“Mya!” Kian’s scream cut through the air.
Too late.
The world froze.
Certainty turned to chaos, strength to helplessness. Stones shattered beneath her body, crumbling like old bones. The air tore her breath away, the wind screamed in her ears like the hiss of a blade.
Then came the fall. Darkness at the bottom stretched out its arms, ready to claim her in full.
The rocks became her executioner—cold and merciless.
Her fingers slipped along their rough surface, leaving behind blood. Her hair was whipped by the cold wind, once a friend, now a judge. Every meter down was another blow, every second an eternity.
The first impact—her shoulder against a sharp ledge—was like lightning. Pain shot through her like a thunderbolt. Blood burst forth in a stream.
Her body fell on. Rock fragments struck her, slashing her face, arms, abdomen. Her skin felt like paper, torn by steel.
Another impact.
Bones cracked with a dull snap.
Her own body became a torture chamber. Her breath broke halfway, as if her lungs forgot how to work. Her heart pounded madly, then slowed, then... disappeared.
Darkness crept in like smoke. At first gentle, like a shadow—then thick and heavy, spreading through her thoughts. Sounds grew distant, as if the world had been muted.
When her body hit the hot rock surface—everything vanished.
Her body lay still. Her back was scorched by stone heated red-hot, but she no longer felt it. Pain turned into a dull throb, as if her nerves no longer knew what to transmit.
Her eyelids trembled. Her breath was as light as butterfly wings.
She didn’t know if she was still alive. She thought she heard voices. Distant, muffled. As if coming from behind a sheet of water.
Kian was the first. His footsteps thundered over the rocks like a storm. He knelt beside her, his face blurred by tears and dust.
“Mya? "Mya, can you hear me?” His voice cracked like firewood in a blaze.
She tried to respond. Wanted to. But I couldn’t. Her lips barely moved. Her heartbeat slowed. Deep down, she knew it was the end.
Kian grabbed her hand—cold as marble. Something shattered in his eyes—irreparably.
“Mya, please… don’t go…”
Lena arrived a second later.
She froze. Her world halted. She stared at her friend’s body, unable to believe what she saw.
“No… no… no…” she whispered, trying to shake her. But Mya’s body was stiff. As if death itself had already laid its clawed hand upon her.
“Kian, something’s wrong…” she choked out. “We have to do something… We have to at least try. Please… I’m begging you…” Now she was screaming, panicked.
But they weren’t gods.
Her eyes were shut, her breath barely a shadow of breath. Her body grew heavier, as if the earth had already begun to claim it. In the background, the wail of sirens grew closer.
Then came the silence.
True, eternal. As if the world had collapsed with her.
Kian stared at Mya, unbelieving. Unable. Finally, he said what no one wanted to say.
“She’s gone.”
His voice broke. A scream ripped from his heart—unspoken.
The grief tearing through him was like a black hole. It devoured everything.
Orin stood silently. Tears shimmered in his eyes. He stepped towards Lena, embraced her, held her close. Her body trembled, unable to bear the moment.
The void Mya left behind was absolute.
She couldn't be helped, not that they cared. They weren't gods, but somewhere nearby something or someone heard their answer. If they focused, they might have heard the soft chuckle that echoed around them. Unfortunately for them, it was drowned out by the whine of an ambulance. A red siren streaked across the sky. Help finally arrived, but it was too late. Was it true... after all, death was the last thing that threatened.
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