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.”

Maria felt a chill. “What kind of tunnels?”

“Air raid shelters, storage rooms… The main entrance collapsed, but there’s another opening behind the cemetery.”

Captain Mason approached, saying they had to leave. Maria told him about the tunnels, but he dismissed them. “We’ve investigated every tip,” he said, avoiding her gaze. Maria knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

That night, Maria had the dream again — clearer this time. Alexander described dark tunnels, damp air, and an old stone cross at the entrance. Maria recognized it from the woman’s story about the cemetery. Without hesitation, she returned to the village at dawn, ignoring warnings about the dangers of the area.

The cemetery was decayed, with a large stone cross in the center. Maria searched around it and found a hidden slab, revealing a narrow opening. Just as she was about to descend, Captain Mason appeared, warning her it was dangerous.

After a brief argument, he agreed to help, bringing two soldiers and proper equipment. The tunnels were just as Maria had dreamed — dark, damp, and labyrinthine. After an hour, they reached a large chamber, where they found recent footprints, confirming someone had been there recently.

When Maria called out for Alexander, she heard a faint reply: “Mom?” They found him in a small room, weak but alive, along with Mike, one of his comrades from the tank.

After escaping the burning tank during an ambush, Alexander and Maria wandered the battlefield, eventually discovering a tunnel entrance. A landslide sealed them inside, and they survived on whatever they could find: rats, insects, and dripping water. Alexander tried every exit, but they were all blocked or controlled by the enemy.

As he was helped to the surface, Alexander explained, “I tried everything… then, just when I was about to give up…”

Maria, gripping his hand, added, “You started sending me messages in my dreams.”

Alexander looked at her confused. “I don’t know if I did that consciously, but every night, I imagined telling you where I was.”

A year later, fully recovered physically but haunted by nightmares, Alex sat in his mother’s kitchen. “How did you know I was there, underground?”

Maria smiled gently. “There are bonds between mothers and sons that go beyond reason. When you thought of me, I felt you, and I knew I had to find you.”

Alex hugged her tightly, grateful. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“A mother never gives up,” she whispered, stroking his hair. Outside, the autumn leaves danced, and the tunnels remained silent, holding their secrets.