The rumble of footsteps reached my ears before the figures themselves appeared. I didn't know what to expect—maybe more monsters, or worse, another enemy—but what I saw was... unexpected.
Four figures walked through the haze of smoke, emerging from the distant ruins. They didn't move like monsters, with their jerky, unnatural motions. No, they moved with purpose—each step deliberate, controlled.
I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. My heart hammered in my chest as they came closer.
But then, as they drew near, I noticed something strange: they weren't hostile. No weapons raised, no menacing stares. Instead, there was a calmness to their approach, an unspoken understanding in their stride.
The first figure—a tall man, dark hair flowing behind him like a shadow—was the first to speak. His voice was calm, and though his presence was powerful, there was no anger behind it.
"Are you alright?" he asked, looking directly at me. His eyes, pale and piercing, softened as they scanned my face. "You seem... lost."
I blinked. "I… I'm fine," I stammered, unsure of how to react. This wasn't at all what I expected. These weren't soldiers, or mercenaries, or even travelers. They looked... out of place in this ruin, but in the gentlest way possible.
The second figure, a woman with short, silver hair and an armor that shimmered with an ethereal glow, nodded at me. "We heard the battle. We came to help."
Help? My mind struggled to make sense of it. "You came to help?" I echoed.
"Yes," she said with a small, reassuring smile. "We're not your enemies." She glanced over at the unconscious mister, then back to me. "But it seems we're not the only ones in need of help."
I couldn't quite believe it. "But... who are you?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself.
The tall man stepped forward, his expression gentle but firm. "I'm Kyron," he said, his voice steady. "And these are my companions: Vira, Jorin, and Tyra."
Each of the others nodded or waved in acknowledgement, their expressions open, friendly. They didn't seem like they had any intention of fighting, or even questioning me too harshly.
"We didn't expect to find anyone alive here," Kyron continued, looking around at the devastation surrounding us. "Let alone someone who was caught in the middle of it."
I swallowed hard. "I—I don't even know how I got here."
Vira gave me a sympathetic look, her silver eyes soft. "It's alright. You're not the only one who's found themselves lost here."
I looked back at the man, still unconscious on the ground. "He's—he's not going to make it, is he?"
Kyron shook his head. "He's not dead, but he's close. He needs immediate care, or he'll bleed out."
I bit my lip, panic clawing at me again. But before I could ask anything else, Jorin, a tall man with dark skin and a gentle smile, stepped forward, kneeling beside Seonwoo. "We can help him," he said with calm confidence. "But we'll need to move him quickly."
"Move him?" I echoed. "Where?"
Tyra, the last member of their group, looked around the ruined battlefield. "There's a safe place nearby," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "It's not far. We can get him there before he loses more blood."
I stared at them for a moment, trying to make sense of everything. These strangers—these figures in the horizon—had shown up without warning, and they were acting like they were here to help.
Suddenly, the book I still held felt heavier than ever, as if its weight was tied to something far bigger than just me. Something I didn't understand.
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my chest start to loosen, if only a little. "Alright," I said, nodding. "Please. Help him."
Kyron gave me a small, reassuring smile. "We will."
Jorin and Kyron lifted Seonwoo's limp body with practiced care, while Tyra led the way across the ruined terrain. Vira stayed close to me, maybe to make sure I didn't fall behind—or run. I couldn't tell.
I kept glancing back at Seonwoo, wondering if he'd wake up. He didn't. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. The blood had slowed, but not stopped.
We walked for what felt like forever, though it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. The world around us remained broken—cracked stone, blackened trees, distant echoes of a place long dead. I hugged the book tightly to my chest, its presence grounding me. Familiar. Heavy.
Eventually, we reached a sunken courtyard of sorts, hidden beneath the remains of what might've once been a temple. Vines twisted up broken columns, and half the roof had caved in, but there was shelter. And quiet.
There were people inside—maybe two dozen, at most. Scarred faces. Worn eyes. Survivors.
They stared as we entered. Or maybe they stared at me.
"This is it?" I asked quietly.
Tyra gave a single nod. "It's safe enough. For now."
Jorin laid Seonwoo on a slab of stone softened with some kind of blanket or cloth. He immediately went to work, pulling out herbs and tools from a satchel I hadn't noticed before. Kyron assisted, his expression serious.
I hovered near the entrance of the courtyard, unsure if I should stay or give them space. Everything felt too quiet. Too surreal. I didn't belong here. Not in this world. Not in this moment.
Then a voice broke through my thoughts.
"So," Vira said gently, "how did you end up in the middle of a battlefield?"
I flinched slightly and turned to her. She wasn't looking at me with suspicion—just curiosity. Even so, I felt like a cornered animal.
I didn't want to answer her question.
Something in me—maybe instinct, maybe fear—warned me not to say too much.
I didn't know who these people were, no matter how kind they seemed. And in a place like this, words could be dangerous.
"He's… my brother," I lied, keeping my gaze low. "We got separated from the others. We were trying to escape."
The silence that followed made my stomach twist. I could feel Vira's eyes on me, could sense her measuring my words.
Then, softly: "That's… terrible."
I looked up. Her face was full of sympathy. She believed me. All of them did.
"We've seen so many torn apart by war," Kyron said, gently. "You're lucky you survived. Both of you."
I couldn't tell them that a book brought me here.
That it still pulsed faintly in my arms like a second heartbeat.
Eventually, they left me alone. Maybe they sensed my unease. Maybe they were just tired.
I was given a corner of a quiet room, a place to rest. I sat against the wall, the book in my lap, untouched since we entered the fort.
But now…
It pulsed again.
Like it was breathing.
The pages flipped without my touch, stopping halfway through. Symbols bled into letters, letters into sentences.
The warrior was saved. The strangers treated his wounds with gentle hands and false kindness.
He ate their food, drank their water. Rested in their walls.
But this place was never salvation. It was a cage.
A fortress not built to protect the living—but to fatten them for the feast.
They found the lost, the broken, and welcomed them in...
Only to devour them when the time was right.
I stared at the page, my throat dry.
By the time he learned the truth, it was already too late.
He had eaten. Drunk. Trusted.
And now... he was next.
My skin went cold.
Voices echoed faintly outside the room. Laughter. Casual conversation. The clatter of dishes.
And all I could think about was that mister—wounded, unconscious, probably being fed something now.
I stood up abruptly, clutching the book to my chest.
This place wasn't a refuge.
It was a slaughterhouse.
And we were on the menu.