The chilling phrase — “WE KEPT GOING BACK UNTIL THERE WAS NO AIR LEFT…” — echoes the raw, unfiltered horror and unbreakable resolve of 19-year-old Gianni Campolo on the night the Le Constellation bar in Crans-Montana, Switzerland, became a tomb of flames. While crowds panicked and fled, trampling one another in desperate bids for survival, Gianni did the opposite. He ran toward the screams. No breathing apparatus. No protective gear. Just bare hands, shoulders braced against collapsing bodies, and an instinct that refused to let him walk away.

In the early hours of January 1, 2026, as the rest of the world toasted the new year, this Swiss teenager—on vacation in the upscale Alpine resort—transformed into one of the fire’s most cited civilian heroes. Alongside his father, Paolo Campolo, he plunged repeatedly into the smoke-choked basement venue, pulling out victim after victim until oxygen vanished and his own lungs burned. Witnesses and survivors describe a scene straight from nightmares: heat blistering skin from afar, black smoke erasing walls and faces, bodies piling against the only exit like discarded mannequins. Yet Gianni kept returning, dragging shadows into the freezing night air, one by one, until he could no longer breathe himself.

The fire at Le Constellation remains one of Switzerland’s deadliest peacetime disasters. Official counts confirm 40 fatalities—mostly young people between 14 and 39, including teenagers from Switzerland, France, Italy, and other nations—and 119 injured, many with life-altering burns requiring transfer to specialized European burn units. The blaze erupted around 1:26 a.m. CET during a packed New Year’s celebration. Investigators from the Valais canton prosecutor’s office believe the ignition source was almost certainly festive: sparklers or sparkling flares affixed to champagne bottles raised in toasts. Their sparks contacted highly flammable soundproofing foam lining the low ceiling. Within seconds, a flashover engulfed the room—flames racing overhead, superheated air igniting everything below, toxic smoke dropping visibility to zero and oxygen levels plummeting.

The basement layout proved lethal. Narrow staircases funneled escapees into bottlenecks. Emergency exits were obstructed or unknown to many. Revelers smashed windows with bar stools and furniture in frantic attempts to create openings. Social media videos captured the final moments of joy—bottles aloft, laughter, fireworks-like sparks—before the shift to terror: screams, flickering lights dying, thick black plumes pouring out.

Gianni Campolo, a 19-year-old student vacationing in Crans-Montana, was not inside when the fire started. He received a frantic call from a friend who had escaped, describing chaos and trapped people. Without hesitation, he raced to the scene—arriving before professional firefighters and ambulances could fully mobilize. What he encountered was apocalyptic. “People were on the ground, severely burned, almost unrecognizable,” he later told French broadcaster TF1 in a voice still raw with shock. “I have seen horror, and I don’t know what else would be worse than this.”

Joined by his father Paolo, a 55-year-old financial analyst of Calabrian-Italian origin living nearby (less than 200 meters from the bar), the two men became part of an impromptu rescue chain. Paolo, hosting his own New Year’s gathering at home, noticed the glow outside his window and rushed over after his 17-year-old daughter—thankfully delayed and not yet inside—alerted him. Father and son worked in tandem with a handful of other civilians—perhaps only three or four others in the initial minutes, according to some accounts—pulling victims free.

Paolo recounted to Italian outlet Il Messaggero from his hospital bed (where he was treated for smoke inhalation and minor injuries) how they located a secondary emergency exit behind the bar. With another volunteer, they forced open a glass door. “Bodies fell out like dominoes,” he said. “We pulled them one after the other.” Gianni, younger and more agile, ventured deeper when possible, navigating the blinding smoke to reach those farther inside. They dragged people by arms, shoulders, clothing—whatever they could grip—hauling them into the sub-zero Alpine air where first aid awaited.

Survivors and witnesses credit these early civilian efforts with saving lives in the critical first minutes before organized rescue scaled up. Valais regional government head Mathias Reynard praised “heroic actions” and “very strong solidarity,” noting that “in the first minutes it was citizens—and in large part young people—who saved lives with their courage.” Gianni’s repeated entries stand out: he went back again and again, each time deeper into the inferno, until the air itself turned poisonous and his body refused to continue. “We kept going back until there was no air left,” he later reflected, the words carrying the weight of trauma no teenager should bear.

The psychological toll is immense. Rescuers and medical personnel have said no 19-year-old should witness such scenes—bodies pressed against glass in silent agony, skin peeling from heat, faces burned beyond recognition, some victims so disfigured that only teeth remained visible. Gianni has spoken sparingly about the details he still cannot fully articulate: the choices forced in seconds, the faces he couldn’t reach, the moment breathing became impossible. He emerged carrying not just physical exhaustion but “ghosts,” as one observer put it—memories that haunt every quiet moment.

The broader tragedy compounds the personal heroism. Among the 40 dead were promising young lives: students, athletes, aspiring artists, siblings, children. Families scoured hospitals and morgues in the days after, posting desperate pleas on social media. Some victims died from smoke inhalation before flames reached them; others succumbed to burns so severe that identification relied on dental records or DNA. The injured—many teens and twenty-somethings—faced immediate airlifts to burn centers in Belgium, France, Germany, and beyond. Stories like Roze, the 18-year-old photographer who re-entered to save her friend, parallel Gianni’s courage, highlighting a pattern of selfless acts amid chaos.

Investigations continue. Jacques Moretti, one of the bar’s co-owners, was detained provisionally on suspicion of negligent homicide and safety violations. Questions swirl: Why was flammable foam allowed on the ceiling? Were indoor sparklers permitted? Did the venue have adequate evacuation plans, sprinklers, or fire-resistant materials? Jessica Moretti, the other owner, issued a tearful public apology, saying her thoughts remain with victims and families. One report alleged a co-owner fled with the cash register during escape, adding fuel to public anger.

In the aftermath, Crans-Montana—a glittering ski and golf destination—mourned deeply. Candlelit vigils lined streets; churches held multilingual services reflecting Switzerland’s diversity. Silent marches carried photos of the lost. Pope Leo offered condolences, and national leaders called for reviews of nightlife fire safety nationwide.

For Gianni Campolo, recognition came quietly at first—mentions in survivor accounts, praise from officials—then louder as media spotlighted civilian heroes. Yet he shuns the label. His actions stemmed not from calculation but instinct: “They could have been my friends, my sister,” echoes his father’s sentiment. Paolo, reflecting on pulling out at least 10 young people, said simply, “I love you”—words directed at the parents of those saved and lost.

What drives a 19-year-old to run toward death when most flee? Training in civil protection gave Gianni basic knowledge, but experts say it was deeper: empathy, adrenaline-fueled clarity, the refusal to abandon others. Psychologists note such acts often arise from an innate moral imperative—“someone has to help”—amplified in youth by fewer life anchors and more raw courage.

Gianni walked into Le Constellation a vacationing student. He walked out forever changed—lungs scarred, mind etched with images no therapy can fully erase. Yet his story endures as proof that even in humanity’s darkest moments, ordinary people can summon extraordinary light. The smoke may have stolen breath and lives, but it could not extinguish the will to save.

As Switzerland heals, questions linger: How many more could have been saved with better prevention? What unseen traumas do survivors like Gianni carry? And in a world quick to celebrate fireworks, how do we ensure they never become funeral pyres?

Gianni Campolo’s answer was simple: keep going back, until there is no air left. In that refusal to turn away, he reminds us all what courage truly costs—and what it can achieve.