Jory tightened his cloak as he approached the tent, his fingers stiff from the cold, the sharp bite of the morning air a reminder of how far they had drifted from anything resembling warmth. The camp was already stirring, the murmurs of the others curling like tendrils through the mist that clung to the ground. A fire, small and struggling, burned at the center of the camp—its embers just enough to keep the frost from creeping too close. But the cold pressed in from all sides, wrapping itself around every breath, every movement. A damp, thin air settled over the camp, the kind that clung to skin and lungs like an omen, as though something unseen was watching, waiting.
The leader had made his wishes clear: "Do not call me by my name." Not here, not now. "Caelum" belonged to another life. To another time. Here, in this frozen expanse of nothingness, he was Rei. And Rei had given him an order. A simple one—one that any of them could accomplish without a second thought.
Jory swallowed, a tight knot forming in his chest as he gripped the handle of the tent flap. Wake the newcomer. Get him to eat. Simple enough. And yet, there was something about that boy, something unsettling in the way he moved—or rather, in the way he didn't. A strange stillness, a weight to his silence that gnawed at Jory's gut. Something about him felt… off.
His breath fogged in the chill air as he hesitated before the flap. The new one—Veridion, as Rei called him—had slept through the morning stirrings. That was strange. Most newcomers, especially in a place like this, were light sleepers. The oppressive atmosphere of the camp made the slightest sound feel like a warning, a threat. But not him. Not Veridion.
Jory knocked softly against the wooden support, the sound swallowed by the thick silence. Nothing. No movement. No response.
He frowned, his breath quickening as he cleared his throat and tried again. "Veridion. Time to eat."
Still, nothing.
A prickle of unease crept up Jory's spine. He had been closer to the fire the night before, had seen the way the firelight had danced across the boy's face—and how it hadn't quite reached his eyes. Those eyes had been too still, too empty. A distant, knowing sort of stillness. It had unsettled him, and he'd dismissed it. But now, standing here in the biting cold, it gnawed at him like a whisper at the edge of his mind.
He knocked again, firmer this time. "Come on."
And then—a shift. A sound, but not a hurried one. Not startled, not fearful. Just… a movement. A small, almost imperceptible shift inside the tent.
The flap pulled back, and there he was. Erasmus.
Jory blinked, his chest tightening. The boy didn't look like someone who had just woken up. His white hair, the color of bone, fell loosely over his shoulders, and his eyes—too sharp, too aware—were wide open, like he had never once drifted into slumber. Still, he wore the mask of exhaustion perfectly. A subtle frown, a slight furrow of the brow, the heavy weight of a dreamless sleep pressing against his shoulders.
"Morning," Erasmus greeted, his voice quiet, rough as though it had been dragged from the depths of a dream.
Jory forced himself to breathe, the icy air biting at his lungs. "Fire's lit. Food's ready."
Erasmus blinked, as though processing the words a beat too late, before nodding slowly. "Right. Let's go."
—
The campfire burned low, its flickering embers pulsing faintly against the frostbitten earth, casting long shadows that stretched across the gathered knights like dark fingers. Their armor was dull with use, their faces haggard and drawn. The weight of the dead—of all the lives that had been lost and were still lost in this forsaken place—hung heavily in the air, though none of them spoke of it aloud. They didn't need to.
Erasmus took a seat near the fire, just far enough to avoid the heat but close enough to feel part of the group. He didn't quite belong yet, but he would, in time. Across from him, Caelum sat with arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Jory, still feeling uneasy, busied himself with his rations, his eyes flickering from one figure to the next, watching, waiting. The knights around the fire ate in silence, eyes darting about, always scanning, always waiting for something. Waiting for the next challenge. For the next death.
The stillness was broken by a voice.
"Our leader saved you, right?"
It was casual, tossed into the firelight like an afterthought. But the way it hung in the air, the way everyone turned to listen, made it anything but casual.
Caelum glanced at Erasmus, his brow lifting slightly, a silent challenge flickering in his gaze. Erasmus smiled, slow and deliberate.
"You could say that," he answered, his voice easy, smooth—like he was talking about the weather.
The knights leaned in, the murmur of curiosity rippling through them. In a place like this, any distraction—any story that might hint at something greater, something hidden—was a welcome change.
"How did you meet?"
The question was perfectly timed. A thin thread of tension hung between them, just enough to pull them in closer, to make them hungry for more.
Erasmus let the silence stretch, letting the weight of their expectation settle like a stone in the air. And then, slowly, he sighed, a soft sound that spoke of weariness, of something deeper.
"It was a mess," he said, his voice low.
A half-truth, carefully crafted, built upon a foundation of lies. It was enough.
The knights waited, their eyes fixed on him, eager for more.
"I was half-dead when I found him," Erasmus continued, his voice smooth and measured. "Wandering, starving. I don't even remember how long I had been walking. But when I collapsed, guess who was already there, waiting?"
A pause, long enough for the knights to lean forward, their breaths held in anticipation. Erasmus gave Caelum a slow glance.
"He didn't hesitate. Didn't ask who I was or if I was worth saving. Just dragged me up and kept moving."
The knights exchanged looks, their expressions flickering between skepticism and intrigue.
"If it weren't for him," Erasmus added, his voice low, deliberate, "I'd be bones in the dirt."
A heavy silence fell. The knights didn't speak, but their eyes said enough. The weight of his words settled over them like a thick fog.
Then Jory, his voice wide with disbelief, murmured, "Of course he did."
Caelum sighed, the sound thick with impatience. "That's not exactly how it happened."
Erasmus arched a brow, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Oh? Feel free to correct me."
Caelum paused, his gaze flicking to the fire before finally shrugging.
"Close enough."
Laughter rippled through the camp, light and easy.
Erasmus let it settle, let the warmth of it wrap around them. Another thread of trust, tied just tight enough to hold.
—
As the fire dwindled to embers and the camp settled into its uneasy rest, a strange stillness fell over the camp. The air seemed to thicken with expectation, as though the world itself were holding its breath. Erasmus lay still, his body unmoving, but his mind was a different story.
He didn't sleep.
Instead, his thoughts threaded through every detail, every shift in the air, the movement of shadows. He could feel it—a sense that something was wrong, something was missing. Not a presence. Not a sound. But a lack of something. Something vital, something that should have been there.
And then, the scream.
It was short. Sudden. Cut off before it could fully take shape.
Erasmus was already moving, fluid and swift, rising from his bedroll and stepping into the cold. The camp was already stirring, figures moving in the dark, their voices sharp with alarm, panic already setting in.
And then—before he could move—he heard it.
A sound. Faint. Almost imperceptible. Like something thin and brittle scraping against wood—hesitant, but deliberate.
Not the wind. Not an animal. Something else. Something unnatural.
Erasmus stepped forward, his breath fogging in the air as he moved closer to the flickering light of the campfire. He saw it before the others—a body, sprawled in the dirt, its outline dark and unnatural against the pale glow of the embers.
Jory stood nearby, his breath coming fast, his face pale with terror. The others gathered, forming a loose, hesitant circle around the corpse.
Erasmus stepped closer, his boots silent against the frozen ground.
A body. Or what should have been a body.
It was a hollow shell. A husk of flesh and skin, emptied completely. The cavity where the innards should have been was clean—too clean. No blood. No viscera. Just an empty frame, as if something had peeled the insides away without disturbing the surface.
And then it hit him. The thing that had been missing.
The air. The night itself.
A pocket of silence had existed before the scream—a gap where something should have been moving, should have been making noise. But it hadn't. It had simply watched.
A silence deeper than fear settled over the group, pressing down on their shoulders, on their chests.
Jory swallowed, his voice trembling as he asked, "W-what could do that?"
Erasmus tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracing the remains. A flicker of something dark and calculating passed across his face, his gaze narrowing as he examined the body.
The cut was too precise. Too clean.
This wasn't the work of an animal, of some mindless beast. Something intelligent had done this.
A realization settled in him, cold and final.
Erasmus exhaled softly, his voice calm, quiet, and measured as he glanced at Rei.
"You still don't feel fear?"
Rei's jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. "No."
A pause stretched between them, heavy and thick.
And then Erasmus, with the softest of smiles, answered, his tone as calm as ever:
"Then you're not thinking hard enough."