The sky darkened slowly, like the island was pulling a blanket over itself, and the shore filled with dim firelight and low voices that never fully settled. I lay on my side near the edge of the sand, half-awake, half-asleep, my back pressed against cold stone, my body wrapped in pain that came in waves instead of spikes now. Every time I breathed in too deep, my ribs complained. Every time I shifted, my muscles reminded me of every hit I had taken and every moment I had pushed past what I should have survived.
I wasn't alone.
Students were scattered across the shore, sitting, lying down, leaning against each other in quiet groups that formed without names or introductions. Most of us didn't know each other. That didn't matter anymore. Fear had a way of making strangers close without words. No one dared leave the shore. The forest behind us was black and thick, the mine was worse, and the water felt like it hid things that watched instead of moved.
They treated the injured the best they could.
Hands shook while tearing cloth. Someone cried softly while pressing fabric against a bleeding arm. Another student gagged while trying to clean a wound, then apologized over and over like the apology could fix anything. Every sound was small but loud at the same time, the crackle of fire, the low groans, the murmur of voices asking, Does this hurt? or Can you move your fingers?
I closed my eyes and listened.
Somewhere nearby, meat sizzled quietly over a weak fire, the smell drifting through the air, mixing with salt and smoke and blood. My stomach twisted painfully, not just from hunger, but from the strange guilt of being alive enough to feel hungry.
I sat up slowly, wincing, and that was when I noticed her again.
The girl from the mine.
She knelt near a student with a swollen ankle, fingers careful, movements steady despite the exhaustion written across her face. Her hair was tied back messily, strands stuck to her forehead, and her hands were stained dark with dried blood that wasn't hers. She spoke softly, her voice low and firm, the kind of voice that didn't shake even when the world did.
"You'll be able to walk," she said, adjusting the wrap. "Just not fast. And not tonight."
When she finished, she stood and turned, and her eyes met mine.
She hesitated for a moment, then walked over, stopping just far enough away that I could see she was thinking about whether I might stand up suddenly or not. I didn't.
"There's a plant here," she said, getting straight to it. "Deep in the forest. If I prepare it right, it could heal you fast."
I looked at her, really looked this time. Her eyes were tired, but serious. She wasn't guessing. She believed what she was saying.
"And?" I asked quietly.
She swallowed. "It's dangerous. It can damage your kidneys if the dosage is wrong. It messes with how the body handles nutrients. And on its own, it's toxic."
The word toxic hung in the air between us.
I didn't answer right away. I thought about the pain in my back, the stiffness in my arm, the way my body still felt slightly out of sync with itself, like it hadn't fully accepted that it survived.
"I can't take that risk," I said finally.
She nodded immediately, no arguing, no disappointment. "I thought you'd say that."
She reached behind her and handed me food wrapped in broad leaves. Meat, still warm, and pieces of fruit cut cleanly, their scent sharp and fresh even through the smoke.
"It's all safe," she said quickly, like she expected me to doubt it. "High protein. Zinc. Vitamin C. The forest here is strange, but not everything in it wants to kill us."
I took the food. My fingers shook slightly, and I hated that she noticed.
"Thank you," I said.
She paused, then gave a small smile. "Eat. You look like you might disappear if you don't."
I ate slowly.
The meat was tough but filling, the fruit sweet and sharp, juice running down my fingers. Every bite grounded me a little more, reminded me that my body still worked, still needed simple things like food and rest, not just strength and luck.
Around us, the shore slowly grew quieter. Some students finally slept, exhaustion winning over fear. Others stayed awake, staring into the fire, eyes empty, replaying things they didn't want to remember yet.
I lay back down, staring up at the sky, stars cold and distant.
I didn't sleep.
When the night felt heavy enough to press down on my chest, I stood.
No one stopped me. No one noticed. I moved away from the shore toward a place no one else dared go, my footsteps soft, my body aching but obedient. The wind brushed past me, cool and sharp, and for a moment I wondered how many times I could keep doing this before something finally took more than it gave back.
I raised my hand and summoned the Blessed Eye Key.
Light unfolded quietly, not bright, not loud, just present, like it had always been waiting. The gate opened, familiar and calm, and I stepped through without looking back.
Datora greeted me without ceremony.
"I want to rest," I said, my voice tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. "Until my body is fine. When I return, it should be morning in that island."
There was no judgment. No questions.
Ardent was there, arms crossed, watching me with that sharp, quiet attention he always carried. Pey stood nearby, already moving, already planning, her steps light but precise.
"You're damaged," Ardent said bluntly.
"I know," I replied.
Pey handed me a tray of food, warm and simple, the smell gentle instead of heavy. "Eat first," she said. "Your body needs fuel before rest."
I sat. I ate. Slowly. Properly.
Then she placed a small container in my hand.
"Sleeping pills," she explained. "We use them when someone needs true rest. Not the kind where the body stays tense."
I looked at the pills for a long moment.
"Will I wake up?" I asked, half-joking, half-serious.
Pey smiled softly. "Yes."
I swallowed them and lay down.
The moment my body relaxed, everything I had been holding back rushed in. Pain dulled. Thoughts blurred. The weight lifted, just a little, enough that I could finally breathe without bracing for the next hit.
As sleep pulled me under, one thought drifted through my mind, slow and quiet.
Then the darkness took me, gentle for once, and for the first time since stepping onto the island, I truly rested.