Echoes for Vojta

Stone steps rise in a circular cave where a crowd sits like a steadfast ring, globe lights and bioluminescent vines painting them warm and strange. Waterfalls thunder beyond old metal arches, and the cool spray sharpens lungs and voices so the question glows plainly on the floor: Where Vojta? The group sits defiant and ceremonial, hands clenched or open in shared refusal to let the name be forgotten, yet no answer comes. They began meeting here after Vojta slipped away from the town, turning a ruined water gallery into a suspended amphitheater where hope and dread hang together. The insects race toward the light and murmured counts speed in the air, but Vojta remains unfound, and the circle holds its breath as if waiting for a final echo.