A chilling scream tore through the pre-dawn stillness, a raw, desperate sound that ripped through the morning air, jolting everyone in the camp awake. The sudden, violent cry echoed, leaving a palpable tension. Inside John's tent, the girls, having chosen to share his space for added security, were closest to the source. They found him writhing in his sleeping bag, his body drenched in a cold sweat, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His eyes, wide and manic, darted around the confined space, unseeing, as if still trapped within a terrifying vision. One hand was clutched tightly over his heart, the other gripped the rough fabric of his sleeping furs.
"Master! What happened? What's wrong?!" Aria's voice, sharp with alarm, was the first to cut through the heavy silence, snapping the others out of their stunned stupor. Her question seemed to ground him, pulling him back from the precipice of whatever terror had claimed him.
He blinked slowly, his gaze finally settling on Aria, then sweeping over the other concerned faces. "Aria? Right, you and the others decided to use my tent as well. Then it was just a dream… or rather, a nightmare." His voice was a strained whisper, hoarse from the scream. He muttered to himself for a moment, trying to reorient, before his eyes fell to his arm. Without a word, he began to slowly slip his cloak off, carefully pulling it away to reveal a shocking sight: long, thin cuts, crisscrossing his forearms, along with an array of bruises. These weren't random marks; they bore the distinct, unsettling impression of small fingers, gripping with brutal intent, stark against his pale skin. The girls gasped, a collective intake of breath at the unexpected horror.
"Master?" Angel's voice was barely a whisper, laced with a soft, almost questioning dread. The others were too stunned, too bewildered by the gruesome display, to utter a sound. The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with unspoken fears.
John quickly pulled the cloak back on after bandaging some of the worst cuts and wounds, as if to ward off further questions, a sad, hollow laugh escaping his lips soon after. "What? Oh, yeah, no, I'm fine. I'm okay. Don't worry about it…" He rubbed his eyes roughly, a futile attempt to prevent the forming tears from being seen. Just then, the tent flap flew open. Sieg, Lucy and Choi soon burst into his tent, their faces grim and weapons at the ready, clearly expecting to confront an assailant.
"We heard the scream! What's going on? Is everyone okay?!" Sieg roared, his voice booming with a warrior's alert.
John straightened, forcing a semblance of calm. "We're fine, Sieg. I just had a bad night. I… I'll be fine." The words were a fragile shield, barely concealing the tremor in his voice. "Let's just get back on the road. We'll have breakfast later and hopefully reach Lucy's lord later today." He moved with a forced briskness, walking past them all, his shoulders slumped beneath an invisible burden.
As John left, ostensibly to break camp, Choi turned to the girls, a silent question in their eyes. The girls exchanged uneasy glances, then Aria spoke, carefully recounting the events. "We're not too sure, I mean, we came in last night, he was asleep but no glow like usual. Then suddenly this morning, we got woken up by him screaming and he was thrashing a bit before waking up and looking manic. They're looked like cuts and bruises on his arms as well and he seemed adamant to not let us know how it happened."
Lucy scoffed, clearly confused. "So what? I mean, with the fight he had yesterday and the ones he probably had before, isn't it to be expected that he would have at least some bruises or injuries?" She tried to rationalize it, to find a logical explanation for the disturbing scene.
But Angel, ever observant, shook her head slowly. "This one can say they weren't from battle. This one could see the cuts being too clean, enough to cause harm but not be fatal. Not the ragged, tearing wounds of a weapon." Her voice was quiet, analytical, yet carried a chilling certainty. "This one also knows those bruises were from fingers gripping tightly; intentional enough to hurt and mark but not do enough to cause him pain. This one can also clearly say it was not self-inflicted, they were far to varied and would be nearly impossible to do to one self." The implication hung in the air, a cold dread seeping into their hearts. If not from battle and not self-inflicted, then who or what, had done this to him in the dead of night?
No one knew what to say after that revelation. The silence that fell was heavy with unspoken questions and growing unease.
After everything was packed, the group began to move out once more, a palpable tension replacing their usual morning chatter. The silence stretched, broken only by the crunch of their boots on the desolate path and the rhythmic creak of their gear. They often cast concerned, wary looks toward John, who walked ahead, a visible weight seeming to press down on him, his usual vibrant energy replaced by a somber stillness.
"John? I want you to talk to us. What happened? Don't say to not worry about it because we are, tell me, us, what really happened to you last night?" Saya's voice, laced with a gentle but firm insistence, finally broke the oppressive quiet. She matched his stride, her gaze unwavering.
He didn't turn, his voice flat. "It's nothing, just some nightmares that got to me."
"Nightmares don't leave a person cut and bruised!" Saya pressed, her voice rising slightly. "Now tell us, please."
He finally looked at them, his eyes distant. He saw the genuine confusion and raw concern etched on their faces. The sincerity was undeniable but a part of him recoiled from sharing the horrors that gnawed at his soul, not wanting to bother them with it or draw them into it. "Later, when we get a proper chance to actually relax. For now, there's too much going on."
"Too much going on? We're just walking! And your special toys are keeping things safe. We should have ample time to talk right now," Lucy countered, a hint of frustration in her tone. Her words, though meant to prod him, inadvertently provided John with an opening. He looked at her, his expression unreadable, before his eyes subtly flickered to Choi, signaling the strategist to approach.
"You asked for me, my lord?" Choi inquired, a slight tilt of their head, stepping closer.
John gave a subtle nod, leaning in slightly. "I noticed it earlier, but confirmed it a few moments ago. It seems we're in a trap—an illusionary one or something similar, that's had us going in circles for the past half hour. When Saya spoke up, I noticed some shadows seemingly move closer and for a brief moment, there were ripples in the air, almost like heat haze, at the edges of my vision. Don't make it obvious, but… to our right, against the broken sign; a bit ahead, next to the burnt-out car; and to the left, in the destroyed door window." He whispered the locations, his voice low and urgent. Choi offered no verbal response, merely a thoughtful hum, their gaze subtly sweeping the indicated points, processing the information with their usual calm efficiency.
Choi leaned in even closer, their own whisper barely audible. "We make camp. Begin breakfast, while using the statues and clockworks to circle them, seemingly patrolling. Lady Ash can use her ability to secretly begin materializing traps, as Miss Ivy prepares her magic to do the same. Once ready, we flush them out and eliminate them, should they fail to give us a good explanation for their actions."
John nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. He then turned to the group, a forced cheerfulness in his voice. "Let's stop here, everyone! Time for some breakfast." He began to set up, pulling out cooking implements, acting as if the earlier conversation and his injuries were forgotten.
"John, stop trying to avoid the question," Ash said, her voice surprisingly firm, cutting through his pretense. Her tone, usually so gentle with him, startled him with its seriousness. "Tell us what happened. How did you get those injuries?"
He flinched, unwilling to meet her gaze. "Let it go, Ash, just drop it. I'll talk later, but for now, let's just eat. I think Choi wanted to talk with you and Ivy, though. It seemed important." He tried to deflect, to create a diversion. Ash frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly, clearly seeing through his attempt.
"Please, I know it's difficult, but talk with me." She stepped closer, her voice softening to an almost pleading tone yet retaining its resolve. "Does it have something to do with what happened to Alice?"
Her words struck him like a physical blow. He visibly tensed, his body going rigid, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. For a terrifying moment, it seemed he might unravel, but he quickly reined himself in, forcing his breathing back under control. "Not now, Ash. Just drop it, okay?!" He practically yelled the last words, his frustration erupting in an uncharacteristic burst of anger towards her before he spun back to his cooking, his back to her. His raw, visceral reaction spoke volumes, confirming far more than any words that it indeed had everything to do with what had happened to Alice. Wordlessly, Ash turned and made her way toward Choi and Ivy, but not before casting one last, lingering look of profound concern back at John, a silent promise in her eyes that this conversation was far from over.