The mountain wasn't steep, but every step felt heavier.
Tae-Jun's leg had swollen again.
Yul didn't say anything, but kept glancing back — checking, waiting.
They moved slower now. Not because they were hunted.
Because they didn't know where they were going.
Freedom without direction is just a different kind of prison.
---
Around midday, the trees thinned.
And through the branches, they saw it:
A watchtower.
Old. Half-collapsed. Metal frame eaten by rust.
But still standing.
And more importantly—connected to something.
At the top: an antenna.
Beside it: a small shack.
Yul climbed first. Tae-Jun followed, slower.
Inside the shack: dust, silence, and a single military radio unit — long dead.
But Yul didn't give up.
He searched drawers. Found a spare battery pack, half-wrapped in plastic.
Old tech. Probably useless.
But Tae-Jun saw his eyes.
> He's not ready to give up.
---
An hour later — it buzzed.
A crackle. Then static. Then—
A voice.
Neither understood the language.
But it was real.
A signal. A transmission.
Someone. Somewhere.
---
Yul looked at Tae-Jun.
No words were needed.
> "We're not alone."
---
> Entry Fourteen.
The radio works.
I don't know what it's saying.
I don't care.
_We're not ghosts.
Someone is out there.
We're not forgotten._
And maybe — just maybe —
we're not lost either._
---
Yul didn't sleep that night.
He stayed by the radio, adjusting knobs, trying to catch the voice again.
Tae-Jun watched him from across the shack, wrapped in a threadbare blanket.
He didn't feel warm.
But for the first time in weeks…
He didn't feel cold either.