The sun did reach their eyes when morning came—it merely suggested itself, a faint grey glow pressing against the stone and tree like a tired hand.
The world outside was still lingering in night's remains, that strange long borderland between darkness and daylight that lasted far too many hours on this planet. A world where light felt like something rationed.
Tervain was the first to stand. He moved with the same energy he always had, though his joints didn't creak, and his breath didn't fog in the cold. His body didn't stiffen after a night of immobility.
"Well," he said brightly, clapping his hands once, "this was actually a pretty good camp! Ten out of ten. I will rest here again."
Sky groaned into his hands. "Can you not be this enthusiastic when I've slept only—what—an hour? Maybe less?"
"You slept at least fifteen minutes," Verrith murmured, rubbing his eyes.
"That makes it worse," Sky muttered, sitting up fully. His shadow coiled behind him like something stretching after sleep.
[You should have tried harder. You have barely even slept 6 hours in these past 3 days or 108 hours.]
'Shut up.' Sky thought back.
Tervain knelt to poke the ashes of the fire. "I think we should move before the darkest part of the darkness rises. We've got maybe three hours before the sun starts rising properly and another 6 hours before it sets."
Sky rubbed his temples. "Right. The joy of living in a world designed to ruin everyone's day."
"It builds character!" Tervain announced.
"No. It builds trauma and ruins a lot of wholesome moments and memories." Sky replied.
Verrith stood, though his movements had a slight stiffness to them—tired, but more mentally than physically. He kept his gaze low as he packed his things, his expression unreadable but quieter than usual. Not silent—just… muted.
Tervain noticed but didn't comment.
Sky noticed too, but pretended he didn't.
Outside, the world was washed in a thin, sickly blue-grey light. The sky above them stretched endless and empty—no sun yet, no moon, just the dimming leftovers of night. The plains below rustled with wind that carried dust instead of scent. The grass reached their waists now, brushing against their clothes like hands that didn't know how to let go.
They resumed walking.
The land stretched as far as their eyes could see—flat, cracked, occasionally shifting to mounds of stone or patches of dirt where nothing grew. The horizon wavered like a fevered hallucination. Somewhere far in the distance, faint lights flickered—maybe reflections off minerals, maybe something alive, maybe nothing at all.
They walked for hours again.
Sky was the first to break the silence. "I can't believe there's only one functioning city on this entire continent. Like before there were 4 cities we established together but now they are all destroyed."
"Functioning is a generous word," Verrith said. "It isn't even entirely safe. But it's the closest we have to safety."
Sky added quietly, "It's better than these plains."
"But at least it means it'll be easier to go up than down since we are basically at the bottom." Tervain continued, expressing his positivity in it.
"Don't underestimate how far down we can fall," Sky replied.
Another hour passed.
The ground sloped downward into a shallow valley, where the grass grew thinner and the dirt turned a dull brownish-black, cracked like dried clay. Strange white roots poked out of the earth, some stretching several feet long like exposed veins.
"It's getting worse," Sky muttered.
"That means we're getting closer," Tervain said cheerfully. "This region is the outer ring. Scarcity, dying soil, unstable mana currents—classic signs of being near the city."
"You make it sound like an attraction," Sky muttered.
"Everything can be an attraction if you have optimism," Tervain said.
Sky stared at him. "Can you stop trying to be a goody too-shoe trying to be hopeful and autistic for ten minutes?"
"No." Tervain replied although he hadn't known the definition of autism.
The valley remained silent except for the occasional crunch of roots under their boots. After another hour, they reached the far side of the valley, where two stone pillars stood—weathered, cracked, half-buried. Once they might've been markers for a road.
Now they were gravestones for a forgotten path.
Sky brushed his hand along one of them. "This is older than anything I've seen in a while."
Verrith said, "Most things older than fifty years are gone."
Tervain straightened his back. "Well! Let's keep moving. We should reach the halfway ridge before the first light hits."
They moved on.
And as the darkness began to lighten further, Sky's shadow lengthened unnaturally behind him.
[He's still shaking.] the shadow whispered, its voice brushing against Sky's ear like cold breath.
'I know.'
[You're thinking too hard. Especially after how little energy you have and the lack of sleep.]
'I know.'
Ahead of them, Verrith's steps slowed. Tervain noticed first.
"You okay?" he called out.
Verrith blinked, shaking himself like someone waking from a trance. "Yeah…"
Sky raised an eyebrow. "It stuck with you?"
Verrith hesitated. "Parts of it."
Tervain hummed. "Dreams have teeth. They bite when you least expect it."
"That's… surprisingly poetic," Sky said.
"I practiced it," Tervain said proudly. Then added, "For my future novel."
Sky stared back with a deadpan face and the conversation ended.
As they walked a bit further, Sky began to feel the immense fatigue catching up to his body so they had decided to set camp for today.
"We'll find a place," Tervain said. "There should be abandoned carts or ruins from caravans near here. Sometimes hunters leave temporary shelters."
"Sometimes hunters get killed before they finish building them," Sky replied.
"Negativism, Sky."
"Realism, Tervain."
They walked until they found an old tree where some stone could be seen, probably from an adventure from at least 2 months ago.
"This'll do," Tervain said.
Sky dropped his stuff, "Barely."
Verrith sat down on the place's edge, his hands resting between his knees. His gaze was distant—not lost, but focused on something nobody else could see.
Tervain inspected the area. "I'll check the perimeter. Maybe we can find a tarp, some wood, or anything useful."
He walked off, humming some tune he probably made up. His armor clinked softly with each step.
Sky stretched out his legs. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where your brain is chewing itself," Sky said.
Verrith huffed through his nose. "It was just a dream."
"Dreams aren't just dreams for people like us or most people in general."
Verrith didn't respond. A long silence passed, broken only by the rustle of the dying wind.
Finally, Verrith whispered, "It felt too real."
Sky didn't push. He leaned back, looking at the sky.
Then Verrith asked quietly, "You… ever dream like that?"
"No."
The shadow behind Sky tilted its head, [That's a lie.]
Sky ignored it.
After a while, Tervain returned, carrying a bundle of rotting fabric and some wood. "Found something! It's garbage, but garbage is useful."
Sky blinked. "That is the most survivor-themed sentence you've ever said."
Tervain grinned behind his helmet. "Thank you!"
They set up a small windbreak against the platform. Not a full shelter, but enough to take the edge off the incoming cold wind.
Sky sat with his back to the stone. "Alright. Let's rest. We have a long road to—"
He stopped because Verrith had gone unusually still.
His breathing was calm. Too calm.
His eyes unfocused.
Tervain tilted his head. "He's… already drifting?"
Sky frowned. "He wasn't even trying to sleep."
[Verrith's mind is slipping again.] the shadow whispered.
Within seconds, Verrith's body relaxed—slumping slightly forward.
And the world around him faded.
— ✦ —
He stood again in the same collapsing memory-house.
Except this time it did not wait to break—it was already breaking.
Walls bent like melted metal. Paper peeled itself off the surfaces and floated like ash. The floor was made of shifting colors—grey, white, black—like someone had spilled ink and tried to dry it too fast.
His heart thudded painfully.
He stepped forward.
This time, the air was heavier.
Alive.
A voice whispered behind him. A child's voice.
"Write it again…"
Verrith turned sharply— But it wasn't the child this time.
It was his brother again—half-shadow, half-memory, half-wound.
His eyes were deep and hollow, filled with judgment that felt carved into bone.
Then another figure appeared, it was a bloody self of himself.
"You kept running," his bloody self said.
Verrith tried to step back, but the floor dragged him forward.
"You kept convincing yourself you were doing the right thing," his bloodied self continued, "You kept lying to yourself so the pain felt justified."
The house shook—walls cracking, windows shattering without sound.
"You're a demon wearing a child's apology," his bloodied self whispered.
"No," Verrith breathed.
A hand grabbed his shoulder—cold, firm.
It was the head of his father in the hands of his brother whose eyes were dead as if they had lost their meaning. He was sitting by the dark fire.
His father's face was clearer. His eyes are tired. Scared.
"You watched me break," the head of his father said.
Verrith stepped away, voice shaking. "I didn't— I didn't want to be like—"
"You became worse," his father said softly.
Something twisted inside him—something small and sharp.
The paper on the walls turned blank again.
Blank sheets falling like snow.
The child-version of Verrith stepped out from behind a doorway—holding charcoal, eyes wide and frightened.
"Write it again," the boy whispered. "Before it fades."
Verrith reached out—But the charcoal dissolved as soon as he touched it.
And the child's face cracked like porcelain.
"Why can't you write it?" the boy asked, voice trembling. "Why won't you let yourself be kind?"
The house collapsed.
Light shattered.
And Verrith saw himself again in that mirror surface—the pitch-black figure with those exhausted eyes.
Those lonely, tired eyes.
— ✦ —
His eyes flew open.
The heat had started rising; the sky outside was streaked with bright orange now. Tervain was sitting near the windbreak, sharpening a blade.
Sky was beside him, watching the horizon.
Both turned when they heard Verrith's sudden breath.
Tervain's voice was gentle, still oddly cheerful. "Bad dream again?"
Sky looked at him more closely this time. "Your hands are shaking more."
Verrith hid his hands automatically. "I'm fine."
Sky stared for a long moment.
The shadow whispered behind him—too quiet for Verrith.
[Liar.]
But Sky only said, softly, "Okay."
Not agreeing. Not believing.
Just… letting him keep the lie. For now.
The wind carried heat across the plains. The day had begun and none of them felt rested.