The forest closes behind us.
Not abruptly.Not violently.
It swallows us slowly — as if taking its time to decide whether we deserve to be here.
The trees stand tight and twisted, wrapped in dark moss. Their branches weave together overhead, filtering the light until it turns sickly. The ground is damp and spongy, tangled with exposed roots and dead leaves that hide holes beneath them.
We've been walking for a while.
The silence is heavy — but never complete.
An insect scraping.A leaf falling.A crack too sharp to feel natural.
Brask leads, knife in hand. He doesn't speak. His gaze moves from trunk to trunk, shadow to shadow. His shoulders are tense, but his steps remain steady.
Kaïros walks at the rear.
Always the same distance behind us.Never rushed.Never nervous.
"We should stop before nightfall," Brask murmurs without turning.
"Yes," I reply. "Find somewhere discreet."
Kaïros speaks calmly.
"No clearing. Too exposed. And no open high ground. Broken terrain. Rocks. Something that disrupts lines of sight."
Brask glances back.
"You talk like someone's tracking us."
Kaïros meets his stare evenly.
"I talk like someone could be."
No one answers.
We move deeper.
Then I stop abruptly.
"Wait."
Brask freezes instantly. Kaïros too.
I crouch and study the ground.
Tracks.
Not animal.
A boot print, half-erased. Wider than mine. Too deep to be old.
"Someone passed through here," I say quietly.
Brask's jaw tightens.
"1A or 1B?"
"Maybe."
Kaïros steps closer, examines it carefully.
"Recent. Less than an hour."
"So they're close," Brask whispers.
"Or already gone," Kaïros replies.
We exchange a look.
Either way…
we're not alone.
We finally find a suitable spot.
A broken rock formation half-hidden by vegetation. Not perfect shelter — but enough to distort silhouettes and limit approach angles.
"We settle here," I say.
Brask nods.
The light fades quickly. Too quickly. The sun disappears behind the canopy as if swallowed whole. The forest's breathing changes. Sounds multiply — sharper, closer.
We prepare a small fire.
Very small.
Brask handles it well. No tall flame. Just enough warmth to see our hands.
"Visible from far away?" he asks.
"No," I answer. "But close enough to draw attention if someone's nearby."
"Then we eat fast."
We do.
The rations taste bland. Metallic. No one complains.
We eat to last — not to enjoy.
Night falls all at once.
The sounds shift. Distant cries echo through the trees. Animals, most likely.
But not only animals.
I feel a familiar pressure at the base of my neck.
Not fear.
Certainty.
Something is watching.
"We take shifts," I say.
"I'll go first," Brask answers.
"No. Me."
He hesitates, then nods.
"Two hours. Then I take over."
"I'll take the last watch," Kaïros says quietly.
No one argues.
The night stretches long.
Humidity clings to the skin. Clothes never fully warm. Every rustle feels closer than it should.
I stare into the darkness. Trunks standing like pillars. Shadows shifting without reason.
Then—
A step.
Light.
Controlled.
Too measured to be an animal.
I rise slowly.
My hand rests on my knife.
"Brask," I whisper.
He wakes instantly.
"What?"
"Listen."
A rustle.
Then a voice.
Weak. Breathless.
"…please…"
Brask stiffens.
"That was human."
I nod.
"Front. Right side."
We move carefully.
"No fire," Kaïros murmurs behind us.
Between two trees, two figures emerge.
A blonde girl — hair tangled, blue eyes bright with exhaustion and fear. Her uniform is dirty, torn at the shoulder.
Beside her stands another figure — stiffer.
Red hair. Red eyes. Her expression hard, but tense.
"Stop," the blonde says, raising her hands. "We're not enemies."
"Who are you?" Brask asks.
"Serah… Serah de Vireflam. Class 1B."
"Iska de Rougelys," the other adds sharply.
I study them.
"How many were you?"
Serah lowers her gaze.
"Three."
Silence.
"And the third?" Brask asks.
Iska's fists tighten.
"He panicked. Ran when he heard something. We tried to follow, but…"
She doesn't finish.
"How long ago?" I ask.
"An hour. Maybe more."
Kaïros speaks calmly.
"Alone?"
Serah nods.
"Yes."
Heavy silence settles.
"He's probably dead," Iska says bluntly.
Serah looks at her, horrified.
"Do you have to say it like that?"
"Yes. Because it's the truth."
Brask looks away.
"We can't search for him," I say finally.
Serah stiffens.
"What?!"
"At night. In this forest. We'd expose ourselves."
Her jaw tightens. Tears gather in her eyes. But she doesn't argue.
"Do you have a camp?" I ask.
"No," Iska answers. "We were looking for one when we heard you."
I consider.
"You stay with us tonight."
Relief floods Serah's face.
"Thank you…"
Iska studies us carefully.
"And you are?"
"Aydan Arin."
Serah flinches slightly.
"Brask Helor."
"Kaïros," the last one adds evenly.
Iska narrows her eyes.
"You're far too calm for someone trapped on an island."
Kaïros gives the faintest smile.
"I dislike wasting energy."
The rest of the night passes without attack.
But no one truly sleeps.
Serah startles at every sound. Iska remains awake, back against stone, knife ready. Brask watches in silence. Kaïros observes.
Me…
I think.
When dawn finally arrives, it brings no comfort.
The light reveals the ground around us.
Tracks.
Encircling the camp.
More than ours.
Serah pales.
Iska's jaw tightens.
"They followed us."
Kaïros crouches.
"They watched. Not surrounded."
"What's the difference?" Brask asks.
Kaïros looks up.
"Surrounding comes before the attack. Watching comes before the decision."
I stare into the waking forest.
"We move," I say.
"Where?" Serah asks.
I think briefly.
"Somewhere no one expects."
Kaïros nods.
"Good."
We erase our traces quickly. Methodically.
When we disappear beneath the trees again, I cast one last glance behind us.
The dead fire pit.The trampled earth.The many footprints.
And the certainty is clearer than ever:
The island is no longer observing out of curiosity.
It has begun to choose.