Lanterns in the Fog

Time flies fast, and the extension of the Second building in Virell's Silvas Resort was completed.

Callum accompanied the external engineers for the final inspection before the grand opening. With him, Frederick and Dahlia were preparing the design and plan for the upcoming event.

---

Thunder rattled the glass facade of the Silvas Mall-Resort branch as Callum Virell made their final inspection. Rain lashed the narrow alley beside the building, and howling wind tugged at loose tarps on the half-finished sections. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered and hummed as the ground started to dance. 

The grand opening was hours away, and the last of the construction crews had been evacuated ahead of the storm. Callum, clipboard in hand, lingered behind, checking the last bolt on a support beam. At the same time, Dahlia, in charge of reception logistics, rushed through the nearly empty showroom, securing loose paperwork and checking displays for loose ends.

The emergency alarms blared briefly as a warning; the dim emergency lights- painted the lobby a sickly yellow glow. A distant rumble, neither thunder nor engine, rolled through the floor. Callum looked up as a ceiling panel above the service corridor cracked with a sinister groan. In the corridor connecting the new mall wing to the old resort guest wing, plaster dust drifted down like gray snow. Out of the corner of his eye, Callum saw Dahlia drop a stack of folders. 

"Dahlia!" he shouted.

A sudden crack sounded overhead like a shotgun blast. A section of the ceiling beams began to collapse. Instinct took over. Callum shoved Dahlia toward the far wall. A shower of plaster and metal fell around them.

Dahlia's cry cut off abruptly as she was slammed into a concrete pillar. Callum twisted in mid-motion; a wooden beam smashed into his back, knocking the breath out of him. Pain exploded along his spine and ribs, but adrenaline helped him stay on his feet.

When the ceiling finished collapsing, silence fell like a heavy blanket. Dahlia groaned from the floor, clutching her left arm. It was bleeding where a jagged piece of debris had sliced through her sleeve. Callum, gasping, staggered over to her and crouched on one knee.

"Dahlia, are you hurt anywhere else?" he panted.

She shook her head weakly, right hand brushing crimson foam off the cut. He tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and wrapped it around her arm to staunch the bleeding. Every piece of the corridor that had looked roughly traversable was now choked with rubble.

"We're trapped," she whispered, shock lacing her voice. The heavy dust still drifted in the musty air. In the faint glow of the emergency lights, Callum could see the corridor behind them had crumbled entirely—the exit they'd come through was gone.

He helped Dahlia to her feet. 

"Can you walk?" he asked, hoarse.

Dahlia wobbled, pressing against the wall for support. "I think so, but my arm…" She winced as she flexed it.

Through the dust, a narrow side door marked "STORAGE" was hanging open at an angle. Beyond it, a narrow, dim corridor led away from the main hallway. They crawled through the jagged opening and limped further in until it slammed shut behind them under the weight of fallen tile and masonry.

---

Dust settled thick in the air. Both were breathing too hard to speak. Callum pressed his back against the heavy door, testing it. It wouldn't budge—metal hinges squashed and bent in the fall. The corridor they'd entered was indeed sealed behind them. Dahlia pulled on her cut arm, gathering the fabric strip tighter. Her shirt was soaked where dark blood had seeped.

Callum checked his phone for signal, but even the screen was fuzzy with dust. "No service," he muttered. He shot a worried glance at Dahlia. "Radio?" he suggested.

Dahlia shook her head, fumbling for her walkie-talkie clipped to her belt. She raised it, but static hissed out. "Nothing. No reception. And even if one of us had a signal, the walls are steel-reinforced and the new building had entirely collapsed, blocking the entire exit..." She swallowed hard. Her voice cracked. "We're completely trapped."

The emergency generator hummed in the distance, dim orange light flickering as it powered the hallway's backup lighting. Callum leaned against the wall, pressing his hand over his still-trembling back. Aside from the burn of pain, adrenaline had shielded him from panic. Now, as quietly settled, he felt the crunch of reality: they were alone in the dark.

Dahlia sank to the floor, hugging her injured arm to her chest. Scattered by the collapse was a half-smashed storage closet. Callum craned his neck, noticing a sign above: Emergency Supplies – First Aid and Water.

He remembered... it was Sera who had given them the idea that in every room of their every building there should be emergency supplies.

Callum smiled and hope stirred in him.

"I'll go get the medical kit," he instructed quietly. "And food supplies. There should be bottled water."

Dahlia nodded and staggered over and followed, gently touching her shoulder for balance. They pulled free a battered metal cabinet labeled Rescue Gear. Inside were a first aid kit, some protein bars, and several jugs of water.

Callum knelt to apply pressure and change Dahlia's dressing. Wincing, he unpacked the first aid kit: antiseptic wipes, bandages, and a small pair of scissors. Carefully, he cleaned the jagged cut on her arm. Dahlia gripped the brim of his shirt as he gently but firmly wiped away the dried blood. She flinched with each swipe of alcohol, her eyes clenching shut.

"Dahlia, bear with it," Callum murmured, tearing a strip of bandage from the kit. His tone was steady and soft, betraying none of the fear he felt inside. "Almost done."

After a moment, Dahlia opened her eyes and saw him crouched beside her. He wrapped a fresh bandage snugly. Red spots bloomed through the fabric from continued trickles of blood.

"I'm sorry," Dahlia whispered, voice hoarse with guilt and pain. "If I hadn't been here–"

Callum's face hardened, pain still etched in his eyes. He leaned back, a sharp intake of breath as his rib protested. "Don't. No 'if's," he snapped quietly. "This is...nature." He turned his head, swallowing.

They both fell silent as Dahlia folded into a small ball in a corner and Callum explored the storage closet. Under a hanging oil lantern, he found two cracked flashlights and some candles. He handed one flashlight to Dahlia, who shone it around the area.

When they emerged back into the corridor, the generator's yellow light flickered overhead. More debris had settled. Callum closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the layout. As their sight adjusted, he noticed a narrow stairwell door at the end of the hallway. It was jammed but not completely closed.

"We should try upstairs," he said, voice tight and he carried the rescue gear. "Check if there's another way out."

Dahlia nodded and they limped toward it. The door groaned as Callum pushed it open. A spiral staircase twisted upward into darkness and smoke.

"After you," Callum gestured. Dahlia gave a weak smile of thanks and began climbing.

Each step up creaked ominously. Above them, beyond the stairwell, the storm's roar had quieted. When they emerged onto the old resort's third-floor hallway, it was eerily still.

"We have to find shelter," Callum said, scanning the ruined hallway. 

Against the far wall, a battered wooden sign caught Callum's attention: Room 314.

Dahlia's knees buckled slightly. "Fate plays fire," she whispered, voice trembling. "314."

Callum glanced at the plaque, then at Dahlia. Memories flashed behind his eyes. "Let's continue," he said quietly, his eyes averted.

They were in the old guest wing of the resort—Room 314, the very suite where Callum and Dahlia had celebrated their first anniversary, laughing and dancing under candlelight. Now, the walls around them had collapsed, and their memories started to collapse their thoughts.