No one spoke as they continued to run. They didn’t stop when the trees thinned. They didn’t slow when the ground leveled out. Gravel only called the halt once they had run for hours without rest.

  Even then, no one sat down. They stood in a loose cluster, backs half-turned, eyes drawn again and again to the forest they had fled. Nothing followed them out. No sound. No movement. Just layered green swallowing the path they had torn through.

  Chop wasn’t there. That was the worst part. His absence hung heavier than a body ever could have. They no longer see any blood to look away from. No weight to carry. Just the knowledge of where he should have been—loud, solid, impatient—and the certainty that he never would be there again.

  Wrighty was the first to break. He bent forward, hands on his knees, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His staff slipped from his grip and struck the ground with a dull sound. He didn’t notice.

  “He—” Wrighty started, then stopped. His jaw clenched hard. He swallowed and tried again.

  “He ran ahead of me,” he said quietly. “I was right there. I could’ve grabbed him —stopped him.”

  The group stayed silent as a cloud of emptiness cast over them.

  Snow leaned against a tree, bow hanging loose at her side. Her eyes stayed on the tree line, unfocused, like she was still watching the creature move between trunks that were no longer there.

  “He didn’t hesitate,” she said after a moment. “That was Chop.”

  Gravel stood apart from the group, arms crossed, gaze fixed outward. He hadn’t stopped scanning since they’d slowed. Even now, his attention never fully left the forest.

  “He did what soldiers do,” Gravel said. “He tried to end it fast.”

  Wrighty laughed once. “Yeah,” he said. “That worked great.” He quickly looked down realizing that the joke he made to lighten the mood had only made it worse.

  Five adjusted the straps on his pack, movements careful, precise. Five had an unchanged expression, his face not showing any particular emotion. Shiela watched him from over his shoulder, her hands clasped together tightly enough that her knuckles had gone pale.

  “I-I have shield powers… I could’ve —no— I should’ve tried to protect him. I am so weak, Chop is dead and it’s all my fault.” She spoke as tears filled her eyes and dropped onto Five’s shoulder.

  Five turned to face as best as he could and gave her a weak smile. “Shiela, you know in your heart that right now you can barely control your shields. I am proud you were even able to use it for the demonstration you did a few days back. You couldn’t have saved him, believe me, you didn’t do anything wrong. It's not your fault.”

  Shiela still had tears in her eyes, but it seemed like Five’s words had calmed her down a little. She wiped her eyes before getting control of her emotions. “It didn’t chase us,” she said softly. “It let us go.”

  The boy flinched at that. He hadn’t realized he’d been thinking the same thing. The thing hadn’t lunged. It hadn’t sprinted. It had walked while bending space and the ground. It was able to close distance without effort, and even when the boy was sure it could have crushed them—it hadn’t.

  The boy’s ribs throbbed now that he’d stopped moving. Each breath scraped, shallow and tight. The weight in his chest sat low and silent, heavier than before. What a useless weight this is, thought the boy. It hadn’t answered him. Not when he reached for it. Not when Wrighty nearly fell. Not when Chop died. It had just been there. Useless.

  “I froze,” the boy said suddenly. The words came out before he could stop them. Everyone turned to meet his eyes.

  “I tried,” he continued, voice tight. “I tried to make it happen again. That thing I did before. I felt it—but it didn’t respond. I couldn’t—”

  Gravel looked at him and studied his face. His eyes glanced over him with pity.

  “You’re alive,” Gravel said. “That’s what matters.”

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  The boy shook his head.

  “No,” he said quietly. “Chop isn’t.” The boy wished that his sadness was just about Chop’s demise but he would be lying if he said it was. He also had realized a fact that he didn’t want to accept. He could die without ever figuring out who he was—without ever getting answers.

  Silence closed in again. Knell tilted her head, listening.

  “…it’s far now,” she murmured. “But not gone. I can still hear it. It is still living, I am sure.

  That settled something cold in the boy’s stomach.

  Gravel exhaled slowly. “We have to keep moving. No fires y’all . We don’t take a straight path and we certainly don’t go back the way we came.

  Snow frowned. “What if it follows?”

  Gravel’s jaw tightened.

  “Then we don’t let it catch up.”

  Eerie appeared from seemingly nowhere. He took a look around the group before starting.

  “Chop is dead, huh?” Eerie shook his head and sighed.

  Sheath drew his sword and pointed it at Eerie’s neck.

  “Where the hell were you? You left us to die back there—you left him. Traitor.”

  Eerie blinked and looked down at the sword being pointed at his neck. He gave a dull emotionless smile.

  “ I simply ran when I saw bones floating. Am I wrong for running when something so bizarre happens? Judging by your expression a the fate of our dear pal I would stand to say that I am right am I not?”

  Eerie slowly tipped Sheath’s sword away from his neck before nodding his head.

  “I am so sorry for our loss.”

  Sheath grumbled and sheathed his sword, his eyes trained on Eerie’s blank expressionless face. Gravel gave the order and they began to walk once more. They were careful and deliberate, their eyes always shifting. Every snapped twig made shoulders tense. Every low sound drew hands closer to weapons.

  The boy walked near the middle now. He didn’t remember when that changed. As the jungle closed in around them once more, he found himself thinking of Chop—not the way he died, but the way he was once alive. The way he had talked, his mannerisms, everything he could remember. He kept it in his brain, archiving it as a memory he wouldn’t forget. That memory hurt more than his ribs.

  They continued their long journey back to camp as somewhere beneath roots and stone, something that shouldn’t exist continued to press against the world, waiting for the moment it was allowed to move again.

  The group began their long journey home. They did not spend much time talking to each other as no one had anything positive to say. They moved in staggered stretches—walk, stop, listen, move again. Gravel kept them off any straight line, cutting wide arcs through undergrowth, doubling back only to veer away again. They didn’t make fires. They had no loud conversations. Sleep came in shallow shifts, backs to trees, weapons close, eyes snapping open at every sound.

  The days blurred together.

  They crossed streams without stopping, washed blood and dirt from their hands without ceremony. Once, something small skittered along the canopy above them—many-legged, clicking softly. Gravel raised a fist and they froze. The thing passed. It gave them no chase.

  Another time, a low growl echoed through the brush. Snow let loose an arrow before it finished forming its courage. The body fell heavy and still. They didn’t inspect it. They moved on. Whatever followed them did so cautiously. Whatever watched them decided they were not worth the cost.

  That knowledge did not comfort the boy. It sat wrong in his chest, beside the ache in his ribs and the heavier ache beneath it. His power stayed silent through every encounter. When instinct screamed, when fear flared, when something lunged too close—it did nothing. What a useless ability.

  Each time, he felt it there. Waiting. Mocking him with its weight.

  Wrighty stopped joking entirely by the second day. Shiela flinched at sudden movement but held herself together, shields flickering once when something rushed too close before snapping back under her control. Five remained steady, though the boy noticed how often his eyes tracked the jungle’s edges now.

  Eerie walked in silence showing his presence only when Sheath questioned him.

  When they finally reached camp after a couple of days, it felt smaller. The jungle felt as though it pressed closer than before. The tents looked fragile. There was a small cluster of people who met them when the group arrived. The people looked at the group hopefully as they expected news of the expedition. Gravel gave them the news of the events but left out the bones turning into a monster and instead told them that they were forced to drop them to flee a misshapen canine. The boy understood why Gravel lied, telling people about a monster that was dangerous would only cause panic. They were told that Chop had died heroically sacrificing himself to help them escape from another monster, but Gravel made sure to assure them that the monster was defeated by Chop. Gravel spoke so convincingly that the people didn’t question the details but the group knew it was all fibs.

  The mission was not a failure despite the loss. They had gotten several supplies that they collected on the journey. Gravel told the camp that the mission was successful and that they were able to confirm that the last group was in fact dead.

  The boy was solemn though because his mind couldn’t stray from a single fact he was sure of. Whatever turned their bones into that monster was not what killed them in the first place. They were digested and their remains were in a massive tunnel. That could only mean that there was another threat that had eaten the first group. Another threat that had gotten a taste of their blood. When the boy turned to face Gravel he could see in his eyes that Gravel had the same understanding. All they could do now was prepare for the worst.