Maria woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, haunted by the recurring dream of Alexander’s desperate voice: “MOM, I’M UNDERGROUND. I’M ALIVE – HELP ME.” The next morning, she went to the military office, determined to get answers.

“I want every detail about my son’s disappearance,” she demanded.

The officer hesitated, but Maria cut him off. “You don’t understand. If you did, you’d tell me everything. My son is alive, and he needs help.”

After a pause, the officer reluctantly gave her Captain Victor Mason’s name, the commander of the unit Alexander had served in.

The journey to Donbas was long, but Maria pressed on. Captain Mason met her at the station, and they sat in a café.

“Alexander’s tank was hit in an ambush,” Mason explained. “It overturned into a ravine and caught fire. We didn’t find survivors.”

“Did you identify him?” Maria asked, her grip tight on her cup.

Mason avoided her gaze. “No. The fire was too intense.”

“In my dream, Alexander says he’s underground. Alive.”

Mason paused. “The area’s full of old mines. We’ve checked, but found nothing.”

Maria insisted, “I want to see it.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Mason replied. “The area’s still contested.”

“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m asking for your help.”

The next day, Captain Mason took Maria close to the site in an armored vehicle. They stopped near an abandoned village, and Maria approached an old woman sitting on a bench.

“Have you seen this young man? He’s my son. He went missing nearby six months ago,” Maria asked, showing her a photo of Alexander.

The woman shook her head. “I haven’t seen him, but there are old tunnels under that hill. They say the place is haunted.”