He was walking.

  How long he had been walking, he could not tell.

  Time had severed, direction held no meaning.

  The absence of light.

  It wasn't merely about not being able to see.

  A state where eyes remain open yet transmit no sensation.

  Darkness impossible to endure even for a second in a white space.

  This darkness had no form,

  instead, it had weight. Darkness was a pressing force. Beginning at the nape of his neck,

  bearing down on both shoulders,

  flowing down his spine,

  stiffening his knees.

  He stretched out both arms. Emptiness. Nothing met his touch.

  Instead, he felt a sensation as if his own breath touched his arms.

  As vision disappeared, his ears opened.

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  Drip.

  A water droplet falling from somewhere.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  It sounded too loud. As if those droplets were falling directly into his marrow.

  Fine sand felt beneath his toes, the cold rising through his shoes.

  Suddenly his breathing quickened. With each inhalation, cold darkness flowed into his throat.

  Like being submerged in black water.

  Then, he thought of his father. A man of few words.

  Someone who demonstrated through actions rather than answers.

  Even when emotions surfaced first,

  he would always say in a composed tone,

  "Check the oxygen flow valve first."

  That voice. He suddenly murmured.

  "There is an answer." Words his father had never spoken,

  yet were always dissolved in his gestures.

  Elion stood still. He closed his eyes.

  They were already closed, but this time, he closed them deliberately.

  And then,

  he took another very small step forward.

  The darkness remained heavy

  and frightening

  and unkind— but it did not kill him.

  He slowly inhaled.

  This was the condition for survival.

  This fact, he began, step by small step, to accept.