The sky was gray, as always. Not the stormy gray of yesterday, not the black of fear—but that dull, flat light that never really let you know if it was day or night.
Roy waited, crouched, eyes fixed on the empty clearing. The spear planted by his side, arms crossed over his knees.
Anne stood further back, her knife in its sheath, eyes dark-circled but vigilant.
They had been waiting for hours. They had returned just before dawn, as they had promised. And so far, no one was there.
Anne broke the silence first.
— "Do you think there will be any?"
Roy didn't answer immediately. He was looking at the altar in the center of the clearing, still intact, still impassive. He sighed.
— "I don't know. Maybe one or two. No more."
— "Do you really believe that?"
— "I want to believe it." He paused. "That would already be a miracle."
Anne slowly nodded. She sat down in turn, leaning against a tree trunk. Her gaze remained turned toward the edge, from where they had come yesterday. From where they had fled. And where the monsters had raged.
— "I heard a scream. Just one," she said. "Long. Like a human howl. And then nothing more." She stopped. "Do you think it was..."
Roy shrugged.
— "We'll know soon."
Silence settled again, heavier this time. Not tense—resigned.
— "I hate this," Anne resumed, lower. "Waiting."
— "Better than running for your life."
— "Yeah. But at least when you're running, you know you're still alive. Here..." She pointed to the empty clearing. "I just feel like I'm sitting on a grave."
Roy gave a sad smile.
— "Maybe it is one."
Anne straightened up a bit, resting her arms on her knees before continuing:
— "If they listened, they have a chance. If not..."
Roy let out a dry, joyless laugh. "Listening isn't the problem. Understanding is. Half of them still think it's a joke until the claws go into their belly."
Anne didn't respond immediately. She planted her knife in the stump and stood up, stretching her stiff shoulders. "We do what we can, Roy. That's all."
"Yeah," he murmured, more to himself. "What we can."
Silence fell again, heavy. Thirty days earlier, they were in this same clearing, unarmed, terrified, surrounded by faces they would never see again. Aaron had left them to fend for themselves—a cold look, a vague piece of advice, then he had disappeared into the woods.
Roy and Anne, they had chosen another path. Not out of heroism, but because they couldn't live with the idea of letting others die without a word.
A crack sounded in the trees. Anne tensed, her hand gripping the knife. Roy grabbed his spear, eyes narrowed. A figure slowly emerged—a boy, thin, disheveled hair, dressed in the same rough gray as all the newcomers. He held a stone knife, his fingers clenched around the handle. His haggard eyes scanned the clearing before settling on them.
"You're the kid from yesterday," Anne said, slightly relaxing her grip. "The one who was lagging behind."
Leo—because it was him—nodded, barely. He stopped a few meters away, hesitant, as if he feared they would attack him. "You... you said to come back here."
Roy looked him over, an eyebrow raised. "You survived. Not bad. How many others?"
Leo swallowed, his eyes darting to the woods. "I don't know. I ran. I heard screams, but... I hid. All night."
Anne exchanged a look with Roy, then stepped toward Leo. "Sit down, kid. You look like a walking corpse." She pointed to the ground near the altar. "We'll talk."
Leo obeyed, collapsing more than sitting, his knife resting on his knees.
Another figure then appeared. Broad, stocky, face covered in scratches, gray t-shirt in tatters... Marc.
He limped slightly, his left arm in a makeshift sling. A good quality rope still hung from his belt. His gaze swept the clearing as if looking for a trap. When he saw Roy and Anne, he stopped, exhaled loudly, then shook his head.
— "Damn... you were right."
Roy raised an eyebrow.
— "We say that often."
Marc advanced slowly, his body covered in mud and dried blood. He didn't look proud. Just exhausted.
— "I saw people... get..."
He stopped, shook his head.
— "I ran. Like a coward."
Anne replied without softness:
— "No. You survived. And you listened. That's more than many."
Marc slowly nodded. He looked at Leo, then the altar, then sat directly on the ground, without saying more.
A few moments passed. Then a new sound. Light. Like the rubbing of bare feet on moss.
A young man appeared, small, thin with a weasel-like look, his shoulder slashed. He held a crudely carved branch, his other hand on a poorly closed wound.
He saw Roy, and a tired smile lit up his face.
— "You came back."
Roy nodded.
— "We said tomorrow. It's today."
The boy sat down gently, groaning in pain.
— "I slept in a tree. I thought I was going to fall all night. But I held on."
Anne observed him for a long time.
— "Do you have a name?"
— "Jibril."
— "Welcome, Jibril."
Time continued to pass in silence. Then, as Roy thought no one else had survived, they heard a slight crack at the edge of the forest.
A rustling. A breath. A small clumsy step.
Roy frowned, squinting.
A kid appeared between two trunks.
Maybe ten years old. Maybe less.
His hair disheveled, cheeks hollowed.
He clutched a pointed stick to his chest like a talisman. He was trembling.
The kid—a boy, no more than ten—stopped short when he saw them, his small fingers clenched around his pointed stick. His wide eyes moved from Roy to Anne, then to the others, as if looking for a threat or an escape.
All the survivors looked at him, shocked.
Finally, Anne regained her senses.
"Come here, child," she said, her voice softer than ever since her arrival in this world. She slowly sheathed her knife, raising a hand to calm him. "You're safe now."
The kid swallowed, trembling from head to toe. He took a hesitant step toward them, his stick dragging in the dirt. Then he collapsed to his knees, exhausted, breathing heavily.
Roy approached, crouching to the kid's level. "Do you have a name?" he asked, his tone softer than usual.
The boy blinked, mouth slightly open. "S... Sam," he murmured, so low they barely heard him. "My name is Sam."
"Okay, Sam," said Roy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You made it through the night with that piece of wood?"
Sam nodded, his lips trembling. "I... I ran. There were noises. Screams. I climbed a tree. I waited." His eyes filled with tears, but he held them back, gripping his stick tighter."I want my mom…"
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Anne turned away, her jaw clenched.
Roy sighed and slowly stood up.
"Sorry, kid. We can't take you to her. Not yet."
Marc broke the silence, his voice rough.
"Four. Four out of what—one hundred? That's your miracle?"
Anne turned toward him, eyes blazing.
"Yeah. That's right. Four's better than zero. You're here, aren't you? So stop whining and be glad you've still got a heartbeat."
Marc grunted but said nothing, folding his arms across his chest.
Leo, meanwhile, was staring at Sam, a shadow crossing his face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then murmured,
"What is this place? Why are we here?"
Roy exchanged a glance with Anne, then sat down on a stone near the altar, placing his spear across his knees.
"Let's keep it simple—we don't have all day. You're in a place with no name. We don't know why or how. One day you're living your life—at home, at work, walking down the street—and the next, you're here. Wearing gray. With nothing but that altar and a hundred other strangers."
Marc slammed a fist into the ground, frustrated.
"And the monsters? Those freaks that chased us last night? Where the hell do they come from? Why are they hunting us?"
Anne shrugged, a bitter smile on her lips.
"We call them Runners. They come from the woods, always on the first night when a new group arrives. We still don't know why—maybe it's some kind of twisted test. After that, they roam. Fewer in number, but never far. We don't know what they are—not human, not exactly animals. No eyes. No nose. But fast. Strong. And deadly. Why do they hunt? I guess because we're here."
Roy added, calmly,
"It's like a test. Or a game. You're prey—until you become something else."
Leo clutched his stone knife tighter, his voice trembling.
"And you? How long have you been here? Why are you helping us?"
"Thirty days," Anne replied. "We came with a group like yours. We were a hundred. By the end of the first night, there were only four of us left. Now, just the two of us. The Runners, hunger, fear—it wears you down fast. As for why we're helping…" She shrugged. "We were alone at the start. Got a few scraps of info and were left to die. If we'd had a warning from the beginning, maybe more people would've made it."
Roy's voice was low, steady.
"We're not helping out of pity. We're helping because in thirty days, another group will show up here. A hundred more people. And if you're still alive by then, you'll be the ones who make the difference."
Marc lifted his head, intrigued.
"Us? Seriously? We can barely stand."
"Exactly," Anne replied, arms crossed. "You've seen the first night. It's the worst. You've seen the Runners. Heard their screams. You ran. You survived. You understand now."
She gestured toward Sam, curled near Leo, and to Jibril, resting his injured shoulder against the altar.
"You're four. But you're four who get it. And that's something we didn't have when we first arrived."
Roy nodded slowly.
"If we can stop the next group from losing ninety-six people in a single night, then maybe we start building something here. A little stability."
Leo looked up.
"You talk like… like we're going to stay here."
Roy looked at him for a long moment.
"Because you will. Even if you don't want to. You're going to stay. There's no exit. No escape. Not for now. Starting today, you'll learn. Not how to live—how to survive. You'll learn to eat. To hide. To fight. And most importantly… not to waste your points."
Marc frowned.
"And these… points? What exactly are they?"
Roy replied,
"A kind of currency. You earn points by killing monsters, and you spend them at the altar to buy items—or upgrade your abilities. It's like a progression system. The further you go, the more expensive everything becomes. And the stronger you get, the more you can take. But there's a catch."
He nodded toward Leo.
"If you kill a monster with someone else… you get zero points."
Silence.
Jibril muttered under his breath,
"Seriously?"
Anne nodded.
"Seriously. One-on-one only. Otherwise, nothing. No sharing. No reward."
Marc grimaced.
"That's messed up."
"Everything here is messed up," Anne replied. "The system punishes cooperation. But without cooperation—we die."
Roy added,
"So we found another solution. We dig a hole, lure a monster into the trap, and finish it off. That's the safest method we've found in a month. Only problem—it's slow."
Marc raised an eyebrow.
"Why's that?"
Anne answered this time:
"We have to rebuild the trap every day. Every day, this world resets the map. Anything that isn't in the line of sight of a conscious being vanishes. Traps, corpses, broken trees—everything. That's what we've figured out so far."
Roy, now sitting cross-legged, his spear across his knees, continued:
"So we dig a new hole each time. Pick a different spot so they don't get used to it. We use bait—meat, guts, whatever we have—plant spikes at the bottom, and pray it works."
Marc frowned.
"And you do this every day?"
"Not at first," said Anne. "We started two weeks ago. Before that, we were running. Now, we're trying to grow stronger. We're doing our best."
Jibril, who had been quiet until now, spoke up:
"So… you were the first ones to kill using this system?"
Roy shrugged.
"Not exactly. The first one was killed by Aaron. Alone. Back then, we still thought we could fight together. Big mistake. When we finished that fight as a group of four… we touched the altar and saw: zero points."
Marc frowned.
"Wait. That's not the first time you've mentioned him."
He sat up a bit straighter, resting his arms on his knees.
"Aaron. Who is he exactly?"
Jibril looked up, curious too.
Even Leo raised his eyes quietly, attentive.
And Sam, curled beside the altar, tilted his head slightly.
Silence.
Anne remained standing, arms crossed.
Her expression darkened slightly.
"Aaron… he's the first."
Roy nodded.
"The very first. When we got here, someone was already here. Him."
Marc raised a brow.
"How long before you?"
"Thirty days."
A small shiver passed through the group.
"He survived a month in this hell? Alone?"
"Yeah," Roy replied. "Alone. No one to help him. No warning. Just him, the monsters… and the altar."
Anne continued, her voice softer, like she was reliving it:
"He found us just a few hours after we arrived. He watched us. Judged us. Then he came and told us what he knew. Not everything. Just what he thought was useful. Then he gave us terms. Three days of protection, if we followed his rules. No more."
Jibril frowned.
"And after that?"
Roy replied, eyes lost in the void:
"He left. Without warning. We woke up one morning, and he was gone. No note. No trace."
"You know where he went?" asked Leo.
Anne shook her head.
"He went to the plains. That's all we know. A more dangerous place. Where the monsters are worse. He wanted… to move forward. To grow stronger."
Marc grunted.
"And what was he like? Strong?"
Roy and Anne exchanged a glance.
Then Roy answered, almost neutrally.
"He was fast. Strong. Calm. Too calm. Never spoke more than necessary. He looked human, but…"
He stopped.
"…but deep down, he looked at this world like he was already halfway out of it."
Anne murmured, more to herself:
"Like he'd decided that compassion was a luxury."
A silence.
Jibril broke it, almost reluctantly.
"So… was he an asshole?"
Roy shook his head.
"No. He saved us. We owe him our lives. But he wasn't here for us. He never pretended to be."
Anne looked up at the gray sky, her gaze hard.
"He left because he knew staying with us meant wasting time. Because he understood that in this world, the longer you delay, the slower you die."
Leo, sitting cross-legged, asked:
"You think he's still alive?"
Anne didn't answer.
But Roy said simply:
"If anyone can make it out there… it's him."
Then, after a pause:
"But if he comes back… he won't be the same man."
A silence fell over them, as the group looked at each other.
Each of them digesting the same truth:
Someone had survived two months here.
Someone had seen this world before them.
Someone had understood… and chosen to leave it behind.
Marc, finally, exhaled:
"So he's the one we're supposed to catch up to?"
Anne answered, her voice calm but sharp:
"No. You need to survive. If you try to catch him, you'll end up dead in a hole."
She pointed to the altar.
"The only thing to follow here… is this. The rest? They're ghosts."
The silence that followed Anne's words was thick, almost suffocating.
Then Leo spoke, his voice cracked:
"He… didn't seem like he wanted to be a hero."
Roy smiled—without joy.
"Because he wasn't."
Anne nodded.
"He never claimed he was saving anyone. He didn't give us speeches. He didn't try to motivate us. He just told us what we had to do not to die."
Jibril frowned.
"But isn't that… what a hero does?"
Anne looked at him for a long time.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"Being a hero means taking the hits for others. Aaron only took his own."
Roy continued:
"He warned us. Gave us tools. But he also said clearly: it's up to you what you do with them. He forced no one."
Marc sniffed.
"You talk about him like he's a legend. A lone guy against monsters, some dangerous plains, stats higher than anyone… Seriously, isn't that a bit exaggerated?"
Anne raised an eyebrow.
"You want to see for yourself? Go into the plains. See how long you last."
A silence. Marc looked down, jaw tight.
Then Sam, in his small but clear voice, dared to ask:
"If he's so strong… why didn't he take you with him?"
Roy stayed quiet. It was Anne who replied:
"Because we wouldn't have kept up. And he knew it."
"We would've slowed him down," added Roy. "And he couldn't afford that."
Marc, calmer now, asked:
"And you two? Do you want to be like him?"
Roy stared at the flames.
"No."
Anne answered more quickly:
"Me neither."
Jibril seemed surprised.
"But he's alive. He's stronger than you. He understands this world. Why not?"
Anne looked at him.
"Because we don't want to end up alone. Not like that."
Roy added:
"Aaron might still be alive… but at what cost? He's cut off every connection. He lives in a world of silence and monsters. Us—we're trying something else. We're trying to build."
Silence. No one argued.
Just quiet thoughts, eyes lost in the distance.
Then Leo murmured, more to himself:
"Maybe he didn't turn his back on you. Maybe he's clearing the path ahead… so we can follow."
Roy looked at him for a moment, surprised by the maturity of the thought.
He gave a small, genuine smile.
"Maybe."
Anne added, more softly:
"Maybe one day, he'll come back. And we'll see if we can still talk to him… or if he's become just another monster."
No one spoke for a while.
Because in this world, the idea of meeting someone stronger than the monsters…was both terrifying and inspiring.
Anne sniffed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
— "Anyway, back to the main point: that's how this world works. No cooperation. No shared rewards. You want to get stronger? You do it alone. Otherwise, you stagnate."
Leo leaned forward slightly, his eyes on the small campfire Anne had just lit between two stones.
— "And what if we refuse? What if we don't kill?"
Roy looked at him for a long time.
— "Then you stay weak. And here, being weak is a death sentence with a delay."
Sam, still curled up near the altar, gripped his stick tighter. He didn't speak, but he was listening. Every word seemed to carve itself into him.
Anne spoke again, her tone softer this time:
— "We know it's hard to hear. But you want to know why there were only four survivors out of a hundred? It's not because the others were stupid. It's because they didn't know. Because they panicked, or hesitated, or… hoped someone would come."
Roy added, his voice firmer:
— "But no one is coming. Not today. Not in ten days. Not in thirty."
A silence settled.
Then Jibril asked:
— "So we're on our own?"
Anne shook her head.
— "No. There are four of you. And now, you have us. We're not here to carry you, but we're here to show you what we've learned. What we wish we had known at the start."
Roy pointed toward the altar.
— "And you have that. The system. It's cold, ruthless—but it's consistent. If you understand it, if you play by its rules… you can survive. Maybe even more than that."
Marc exhaled through his nose, a bitter note in his voice.
— "And one day, what? You hope to go back home?"
Anne didn't answer right away. She looked up at the sky—that gray, starless ceiling without direction.
— "No."
Then her gaze shifted to Sam.
— "But maybe, one day, it'll be more than just survival. Maybe we'll last long enough to build something. A corner, a zone, a place where we don't have to keep running."
Roy nodded.
— "And if we don't make it… at least, when the next group arrives in thirty days, they won't be alone."
He gestured toward the four worn-out faces—young and old, wounded but still breathing.
— "You're proof that it's possible."