The Captain and the Wind

The Sound of Us Breaking

Dawn arrived not with light, but with a thick, oppressive fog that clung to the mountains like a shroud. It was an omen, a blanket thrown over the day’s intentions. To Jun, it was a gift from the gods of chaos.

The base was a controlled frenzy of activity. Trucks were loaded with film equipment, prop weapons, and crates marked with dramatic red characters reading “EXPLOSIVES - THEATRICAL.” Soldiers, chosen for their photogenic qualities, milled about in freshly pressed uniforms, their excitement palpable. It was a break from the monotony, a brush with manufactured glory.

Jun moved through it all with a commander’s calm authority, but his eyes were constantly scanning, calculating. He directed the placement of the pyrotechnics crates near the cliff edge, far from the main concentration of troops but close to the hidden fissure he had marked on his map. He ensured Yuna’s costume trunk, now heavy with their hidden survival kit, was loaded onto a specific truck that would be parked nearest their escape route.

Yuna played her part perfectly. She helped the other women load the costumes, her movements efficient and unremarkable. She kept her head down, her expression one of simple-minded awe at the scale of the production. Inside, her mind was a vault, rehearsing every step, every contingency. She felt the weight of the obsidian shard Jun had given her, now sewn into the hem of her dress—a last-resort weapon.

The convoy rumbled out of the base, snaking its way up the treacherous mountain roads towards the Sŏngho cliffs. Jun rode in the lead jeep with Comrade Bae, who chattered incessantly about camera angles and heroic lighting. Yuna sat in the back of a truck with the other seamstresses, the jolting of the vehicle mirroring the frantic beat of her heart.

They reached the location. The cliffs were even more dramatic in person, great jagged teeth of grey rock tearing at the low-hanging fog. The air was cold and wet, the sound of the river below a distant, menacing roar. The film crew immediately began setting up, their shouts and the clatter of equipment creating a dissonant symphony.

Jun took command of the military side, positioning his men for the first shots. He caught Yuna’s eye across the clearing just once. It was a look that lasted less than a second, but it conveyed everything. Be ready. Trust me. I love you.

The filming began. Take after take, the soldiers marched and posed, their synchronized chants of patriotic slogans echoing unnaturally in the vast space. Jun used the activity as cover. He personally checked the ties on the canvas covering the costume truck, ensuring it could be pulled away in an instant. He casually paced the perimeter, mentally measuring the distance from the pyrotechnics crate to the fissure in the cliff face.

The pivotal scene was approaching—the one with the explosions. Comrade Bae wanted a grand finale, a volley of charges set off to simulate an artillery barrage, with the brave soldiers standing firm against the “enemy” fire.

“It must be magnificent!” Bae screeched into his megaphone. “The charges on my mark! Captain, your men must not flinch! Their resolve must be absolute!”

Jun gave a sharp nod. He positioned himself not with his men in the center of the action, but near the cluster of film equipment, a few yards from the designated pyrotechnics crate and, crucially, just a short, desperate sprint from the costume truck and the hidden fissure.

His heart was a cold, hard stone in his chest. This was it. The point of no return.

He glanced at Yuna. She was standing by the truck, her hand resting on the canvas, her body coiled like a spring. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Now.

“Lights! Camera!” Bae yelled. “ACTION!”

The charges erupted.

The world dissolved into noise and light. The first explosion was deafening, a percussive blast that shook the ground. Dirt and rock shards flew through the air. The soldiers, to their credit, held their positions, their faces set in grimaces of determined courage.

But then, a second, much larger explosion tore through the site. It was not from the pre-planned charges.

It was Jun’s diversion.

He had tampered with one of the crates, overloading it with real gunpowder he’d siphoned from training supplies. The blast was catastrophic. A fireball bloomed orange and black against the grey fog, swallowing the area where the crate had been. The concussion wave knocked people off their feet. Equipment toppled. Screams of genuine terror replaced the scripted ones.

In the instant of the blast, Jun was already moving. He grabbed Yuna’s arm, yanking her from behind the truck.

“GO!” he roared over the chaos.

They ran. Not towards the panic, but away from it, along the cliff edge. The fog, their enemy moments before, was now their ally, swallowing them whole. Shouts and confusion erupted behind them. Someone yelled, “The Captain! Where is the Captain?”

They reached the fissure. It was even narrower than Jun remembered, a dark, uninviting s***h in the rock.

“In!” he ordered, pushing Yuna forward.

She squeezed into the darkness, Jun right behind her. The last thing he saw of the world above was the roiling fog and the distant, hellish glow of the fire he had created.

Then, there was only darkness, the sound of their ragged breathing, and the cold, damp smell of ancient stone.

They were in.

For a moment, they just stood there, pressed together in the narrow confines, listening to the muffled chaos from above. It sounded a world away.

Jun ignited a small pencil flashlight, its beam a frail lance in the oppressive dark. The tunnel was low and tight, the walls slick with moisture. It descended at a sharp angle.

“We have to move,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “They’ll secure the perimeter. We need to be deep before they start searching.”

They began their descent into the belly of the mountain. The going was treacherous. The floor was uneven, littered with loose rocks that skittered away into the darkness with alarming clatters. They had to move in a crouch, sometimes on their hands and knees. The air grew colder, damper, and thinner.

After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel widened slightly into a small cavern. A faint, phosphorescent glow from some unknown fungus provided a ghostly light. They stopped to catch their breath, their chests heaving.

Jun checked his compass. “We’re heading in the right direction. The river should be…” He tilted his head, listening. Faintly, ever so faintly, they could hear it. The deep, powerful thrum of the river, the sound vibrating through the rock itself. The border.

Hope, fierce and terrifying, flared in Yuna’s chest. They were close.

It was then that they heard the other sound.

From the tunnel behind them, the one they had just navigated, came the distinct, unmistakable crunch of a boot on gravel. Then another.

And a voice, amplified by a megaphone, echoing down the passageway. “CAPTAIN RYU! WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE! COME OUT WITH THE WOMAN, AND YOUR DEATHS WILL BE SWIFT!”

It was Colonel Park. He hadn’t been fooled by the explosion. He had known. He had followed them.

Jun’s face hardened into a mask of grim acceptance. He looked at Yuna, and in the faint glow, she saw the plan change in his eyes. The original plan was dead.

“They’re too close,” he whispered. “They’ll follow us. They’ll corner us in the cave system.” He gripped her shoulders. “You have to go on. Now. Follow the sound of the river. Take the left tunnel. Always the left.”

“No!” she gasped, clutching his jacket. “I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to,” he said, his voice desperate but firm. “This is the only way. I’ll hold them here. I’ll buy you time.”

Terror, cold and absolute, seized her. This was the separation they had vowed to avoid. This was him offering his life for hers.

“Jun, please…”

He pulled her to him in a bruising, final kiss. It was full of a lifetime of love and a thousand unsaid goodbyes. “Go,” he breathed against her lips. “Live. For both of us.”

He shoved the flashlight and the compass into her hands. Then he turned, drawing his sidearm, and moved back the way they had come, towards the advancing sounds of their pursuers.

Yuna stood frozen, torn in two. The instinct to follow him, to die at his side, was almost overwhelming. But his command, his last wish, was a chain around her heart. Live. For both of us.

A single, racking sob escaped her. Then, she turned and ran.

She plunged deeper into the darkness, the beam of the flashlight bouncing wildly, the sound of the river growing louder, a siren song calling her to freedom or death. Behind her, she heard the first, sharp c***k of gunfire.

It was the sound of her world breaking.

It was the sound of his sacrifice.

And it was the sound that would fuel her, that would give her the strength to claw her way through the darkness, because his love was now a bullet lodged in her soul, and she would carry it with her, forever.