Ruvian stared at the sky as the dusk bled across the horizon, the last threads of amber light unraveling into the creeping ink of night, the darkness drifted in so much as if pouring over the land with tenebrosity. It felt less like the turning of hours and more like an oncoming tide.

The plain offered nothing but itself—an open stretch of dry grass that whispered under the wind, each brittle stalk bending in the same direction.

Squad 69 moved without speaking, the group working efficiently. They all knew that lingering in the open after nightfall was a mistake one shouldn't make.

At the center of their loose formation, Arlok crouched, his broad frame folding low as he pressed one calloused hand to the ground.

The soil shivered in answer, a deep, muted tremor rolling outward, and then the surface began to rise. It moved in the steady, implacable way of stone worn into shape, curling upward into thick, slanted walls that sank half their mass into the ground itself.

The earth spell was for concealment—a sunken hollow, open to the sky only through a jagged slit that would let them see the stars without letting the stars see them.

Within those earthen walls, the wind dulled to a faint hum, the cold air settling heavy and still.

They gathered what fuel they could without excess—dry grass, thin twigs, nothing more than what was needed to keep a low flame alive until morning. Out here, fire was not for warmth or light. It was for survival, and that was best done in the shadows…

Kneeling by the shallow pit, Yerin and Shima worked patiently. Being hastened would waste more than it saved. The Crestbeak Fowl lay before them. Their knife moved without flourish, the edge tracing along the muscle with a measured pressure that separated flesh from fat effortlessly.

Thin strips came away under their hands, each cut placed where it would yield the most without wasting a scrap.

One by one, they threaded the meat onto sharpened sticks planted in the hard-packed earth, their angled tips pointing toward a bed of heat hidden beneath a skin of stone.

The embers beneath the stones breathed a slow, muted warmth that would coax meat into cooking without sending a single flicker of light into the dark beyond their shelter.

The scent came first, entering Ruvian’s nostrils—rich and heavy, weaving through the cold air like a lure… and for a moment, the night seemed as it should be.

Then the sky convulsed.

‘It's coming now.’

One heartbeat held the copper wash of dying light stretched thin across the horizon, the day clinging stubbornly to its last edge.

The next heartbeat found it gone, torn away as if an ancient being had ripped the horizon in half. Darkness slammed into place, sudden and merciless, its obscurity swallowing the earth entirely.

Then silence followed.

Even the wind seemed to have been cut from it, leaving only a stillness so deep it felt wrong in the bones.

They had known this would happen.

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The warnings had been too plain to ignore—which was how the lesser creatures slipped away long before the sun touched the edge of the horizon, vanishing into burrows and shadowed hollows.

Shima had scouted ahead in those last thin minutes of light. They all looked above. It was not a night in any form they had known. Just an unfantomable emptiness that stripped the very shape from the sky.

Arlok sat with his back against the earthen wall, his eyes fixed on the jagged slit of sky above. The fire’s muted glow caught the edge of his grin, though his voice stayed low, as if unwilling to say it loud.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “my great grandfather used to say dark skies like this meant the Ancient Gods had turned their face away from the world. Said the darkness was their shadow stretching over everything He’d abandoned. Never put much faith in that… until now.”

Across from him, Shima shifted, the movement small but enough to catch in the corner of Yerin’s eye.

She rarely humored Arlok’s wandering superstitions, but this time she did not dismiss him. A faint shiver worked its way across her skin, raising the fine hairs along her forearms.

“…For once,” she said quietly, “I think you might’ve been right.”

‘So, there's a superstition that I didn't know?’

Horren sat nearest the embers, his body folded in on itself, arms locked tight around his ribs.

The light touched his face in uneven flashes, and even here, barely two paces from the heat, the fire gave no real comfort.

“Haha, this doesn't feel like any night,” he whispered, voice thin. “It’s more than just dark… it’s—” He stopped, swallowing hard, as if naming it might make it worse.

Yerin’s eyes moved from one to the other before lifting to the slit of sky. There was nothing there. Not emptiness in the way a winter night could be empty.

The longer she stared, the more it pressed in, until she could almost feel it leaning toward her. She blinked, tore her gaze away, and reached for one of the skewers near the stones.

“Well, the skewers are mostly done,” she said dryly, though her tone carried no real levity. “Eat while it’s quiet. Whatever’s out there doesn’t need the sound of your teeth to find us.”

Yerin raised a hand, drawing out the faintest thread of mana. A spark answered, thin and reluctant. She let her senses spread outward, brushing against the edges of the world beyond the light.

Her brow tightened. “The mana flow is thin.”

Ruvian looked up at that, tasting the air with his own senses.

‘Of course, the usual pulse of mana that lay beneath everything was shallow now.’

By the fire pit, Arlok sat turning a skewer with slow, idle movements, the glow painting his face in pale white, as though the darkness had absorbed any real colours.

“I wanted to fight at night,” he muttered. “But thinking about it now… better we wait for morning.”

The meat hissed softly as fat fell onto the hot stones, the thin curl of smoke sliding upward and disappearing into the dark above.

Yerin tested a piece with the point of her knife, felt the heat in its center, and pulled it free. She had cooked it slowly, letting the warmth reach all the way through without blackening the skin.

They ate without hurry, passing the skewers from hand to hand.

Horren broke the silence first, exhaling sharply and clicking his tongue. “Feels like we died and nobody bothered to mention it.”

Arlok didn’t look up from his food. “Ha! If we’re dead, at least we still get to eat.”

Shima’s short snort was the only laugh.

Arlok chewed for a while before speaking again, voice low and flat. “If this darkness really is some old thing swallowing the land… I hope it has the decency to give us another day. I still haven't met the woman of my life...”

Shima accidentally choked.

“What!!? Is it the truth, no?”

“Haa~ that was so unexpected coming from you.”

After eating, they all rested, the shelter only gave the sounds of occasional snap of an ember and the faint shift of cloth as someone adjusted their sleeping position.

The dark pressed closer, heavy and patient, its weight more than the absence of light.

After a stretch of stillness long enough for the fire to settle into a quieter burn, Arlok’s voice cut through again, unchanging in tone. “…How long has it been night?”

Ruvian did not hesitate and replied. “Almost two hours.”

“Damn it, am I the only one who felt like it's been more than just 2 hours?” Arlok complained.

“No, you're not wrong. The rumours said that time works differently on this Island at night.” Yerin said.

Shima let out a slow breath, leaning back until the curved wall met her shoulders. “I’ve heard some stories from the seniors too,” she said, each word placed with care.

“Stories about why this land drowns in darkness every night…” She paused, her gaze on the fire but her thoughts far beyond it.

“…and why some nights never end.”

PP= 4300

ME= 510