I lied on naked stone when I woke. Naught was left of our equipment. Tents, weapons, bags, water, food - gone. Our clothes remained, keeping us warm in the ever-growing chill of the underground. We mourn in silence, then continue forward. Down familiar and strange stairs. Surrounded by utter void, blind and deaf. Futility drives us.

We hurl a boulder over a cliff. Not a trace of an echo. With that, we ready ourselves for sleep. On the hard cold rock, vain solace takes us.