Ten789

At seven kilometers, his boots touched the floor.

Then he saw it: a single crystal, no larger than his thumb, floating in the exact center of the space. It was transparent, almost invisible, but it hummed at a pitch that made his joints ache. ten789

Ten years of drills. Seven kilometers of pure dark. Nine minutes of oxygen buffer once he hit the bottom. At seven kilometers, his boots touched the floor

And the singing glass all around him—the dark, dead shards—ignited at once, not with light but with sound. A single, perfect note: the note his brother had hummed the night before the trials, the last sound Leo had heard before walking away. Ten years of drills

Above, the purple sky waited. The comms crackled: "Leo? You're ascending early. Report."

He fired his descent thrusters to slow his fall. Four kilometers. Five. The walls narrowed. The amber turned to blood-red. The singing grew sharp, insistent—not a choir now but a thousand whispered arguments, each one tugging at a different fear.