When I opened my eyes again, my nose was filled not with the mixed smell of petroleum and diesel, but with the smell of damp earth, mixed with a hint of sweetness that was vaguely like the rotting roots of some kind of plant.
Zou Galen moved his fingers, and what he touched was the cold and hard ground. The rough texture made his fingertips numb. He raised his upper body with difficulty, looked around, and his heart suddenly shrank.
There was no burning platform, no shouts from colleagues, and even the sky was not what he was familiar with - the gray-blue dome hung low, the clouds looked like cotton wool rubbed by giant hands, and there was a strange light golden halo around the edges. Below him was a dirt road with deep ruts made by wheels, flanked by dense almost primitive woods. The tree trunks were so thick that two people needed to hug each other. Between the intertwined branches and leaves, he could see the faintly undulating mountains in the distance. Their outlines were more majestic and steeper than any mountains he had ever seen, as if they were silhouettes drawn on the sky with an ink pen.
"Where... Is this?" He whispered to himself, his throat so dry that it hurt. The work clothes on his body had been scratched in many places, covered with mud and dark red stains, and the wounds on his forehead were
