Dawn broke over Sector Four not with a gentle rise of sunlight, but with a sharp, brilliant golden hue tearing through the retreating storm clouds.
Below the central plateau, the flooded basins resembled a massive, mirror-like lake, swallowing the remnants of the lower camps under feet of muddy water. But up on the high granite shelf, the air was crisp, washed clean by the storm, and carrying the faint scent of wet pine and damp stone.
Inside the makeshift thermal bunker, Wu Haoran stretched his limbs out, his joints letting out a series of loud, satisfying pops as he sat up.
"I live," Wu Haoran announced dramatically to the rock ceiling, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "My legs are still attached, and I am roughly ninety percent dry. Thank you, team engineering."
