You can see the sun, just barely rearing its head over the glowing horizon. Its perpetual warmth chases the dull ache of the cold out of your bones and carves a shrine of benevolence deep in your chest.

After so long underground, you forget how bright the day is. You forget what it's like to hear birds singing to one another, and what a gentle breeze feels like in the warmth of the sun. You shield your eyes from the sun as you trek forward, gazing at the fields around with a newfound, almost childlike appreciation for all things living.

There's a village in the distance, not too strenuous of a hike if you take it steady. You push on, despite your joints complaining and your lungs still heaving gulps of fresh air.

When your ankle rolls painfully at the slip of a rock, you keep going. After so long being underground, hidden away from all signs of life, you cling to the pain as a confirmation that you're still alive.

You persist.