Embers Before Silence

The cavern swayed with a hush that only molten rock can hum, and sparks danced between two shapes locked in a standoff older than the local proverbs. On one side, the bones of something proud still clutched its chains as if shame might rattle loose; on the other, a lone figure of bent steel held a blade that glowed like high desert dusk. No jeers, no cheering crowd—just that curious inscription behind them whispering questions to the dark: *Where Vojta?* Some swear an old miner used to mutter, “Balance the chain, balance the spring,” and maybe tonight the legend limps close. Yet as the clash of heat and iron begins, no trace of Vojta stirs beneath the lava’s gleam. His trail dissolves deeper into the underworld’s corridors, leaving only the glow on that paperclip’s grip and our quiet ache for answers.