Bjorn floated, weightless and adrift, surrounded by an infinite expanse of light and shadow. The space was endless, stretching in all directions, its golden hues blending seamlessly into pools of darkness. It was not cold, nor warm--it simply was. He did not remember how he had come here, nor did he care. The heaviness of his world--the fear, the desperation, the endless struggle--was gone.
He wasn't free in the sense of escaping; he was free in a way that transcended comprehension. Bjorn existed in the moment, far from love, worry, or even identity. It wasn't that he didn't care about his loved ones--it was that he had forgotten them entirely. The pain of life was erased, replaced by the serenity of pure presence.
Here is so beautiful, he thought, the words forming not in his mind but as part of the golden expanse itself. The thought seemed to reshape him, his form dissolving and reforming, a reflection of his ideas. He wasn't human anymore. He wasn't even Bjorn. He was merely an embodiment of thought, shifting and flowing like a leaf caught in the gentle current of an endless sea.
This must be freedom, another thought emerged, and his form changed again, melting into the boundless space. I love it. He became the thought itself, no longer resisting, no longer bound.
"Heeey, Bjorn." A voice broke through the golden haze, soft yet insistent, like a thread pulling him from the abyss. It was familiar but distant, like an echo from another lifetime. "You're scaring me! Stop doing that."
Bjorn's form hesitated, the voice tugging at him, disrupting the tranquility of his new reality. The abyss… it's warmer than this voice. I want to stay here, he thought, attempting to drift further from the sound.
Then, suddenly, sharp pain lanced down his neck, jolting him violently from the dream. In an instant, the serene expanse shattered like glass, and Bjorn was flung back into the cruel grasp of reality.
The cold hit him first. It was biting, sharp, and unrelenting, as if the air itself sought to punish him for his absence. The weight of his body returned next, followed by a tidal wave of memory--the darkness of the forest, the horror of the entity, Olaf's terrified screams, Anna, the children, the endless despair of this brutal world. Everything he had left behind crashed down on him with brutal force.
I want to kill myself. The thought rose unbidden, raw and consuming. Bjorn believed it utterly, the despair clawing at him with sharp, merciless talons. The beauty of existence was gone, replaced by an overwhelming void where love, hope, and meaning had once been.
"You finally woke up, man." Arne's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. Bjorn blinked, his vision slowly coming into focus. Arne knelt beside him, staring at his face with a mixture of relief and concern.
"Why are you naked?" Arne asked, tilting his head with a bemused expression. "And what were you doing? You were all wodo-praying and shit, man. Just like I was last night."
Bjorn blinked again, trying to process the words. He was shivering now, the cold finally registering as it bit into his skin. His body felt weak, and his mind struggled to bridge the gap between the abyssal dream and the brutal present.
"What?" he managed to croak, his voice hoarse.
Arne sat back on his heels, shaking his head. "You heard me. You were kneeling out here, praying like some crazy prophet. Hands up, palms together, the whole thing." He paused, his tone growing more serious. "Just like I was last night."
Bjorn's chest tightened as fragments of memory began to surface--the creature's hollow sockets, the whispers, the endless void of its form. "Where is Olaf?" he demanded, forcing himself upright despite his trembling limbs. The sudden motion brought him face-to-face with Arne, his wide, panicked eyes searching for answers.
"Whoa, slow down," Arne said, steadying him. "It's almost noon now. I barely managed to find you out here, deep in the mountains. Olaf? I don't know where he is."
Bjorn's heart sank. "And the monster?" he asked, his voice low, almost pleading. The cold was gnawing at him now, his body beginning to shake violently. "Did you kill it?"
Arne hesitated, his expression darkening. He pulled off his thick outer jacket and handed it to Bjorn. "Here," he said. "Put this on. I'll explain everything on the way back."
Bjorn grabbed the jacket, his hands fumbling as he slipped it over his frozen shoulders. He could feel the warmth of Arne's body lingering in the fabric, a small comfort against the relentless cold. But it wasn't enough to push away the dread coiling in his gut.
"Get on my back," Arne said, crouching low. "You're too weak to walk."
Bjorn hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his pride swallowed by his desperation for answers. As he climbed onto Arne's back, he asked again, his voice trembling, "The monster, Arne… what happened to it?"
Arne began walking, his steps steady but heavy against the snow. His silence was answer enough.
"I don't know what monster you're talking about," Arne said as he trudged forward, his voice steady but unsettlingly neutral. "When I woke up, you, Olaf, and the fire were gone. Arvid, Mikkel, and Ugle were already awake. Arvid and I split up to look for you two while Mikkel and Ugle stayed back to calm things down before everyone else woke."
Bjorn blinked, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean no monster?" His voice rose with disbelief. "You shot it with your handgun! I saw you do it!"
"All firearms, including my handgun, were left with Ugle last night," Arne replied, his tone still even, but his gaze distant. "Bjorn, I believe you about the monster, but there's no evidence. When I woke up, all I remember is being in the middle of nowhere with the same position you were in last night—praying like an idiot. I don't know what happened."
Bjorn's thoughts churned, his mind caught between confusion and the chilling certainty of what he had seen. "Maybe Mikkel knows something," he said, grasping for a solution. "Or Olaf. I bet Arvid found him."
Arne didn't respond immediately, his silence as heavy as the fog closing in around them. "Maybe," he finally said, his tone devoid of conviction.
The forest behind them dissolved into swirling mist as they approached the clearing where their camp lay. The light of the fire flickered faintly through the fog, casting faint shadows that wavered like ghosts in the thick air.
As they stepped closer, Arne halted abruptly, his breath catching in his throat. Bjorn, slumped weakly on Arne's back, lifted his head, his heart pounding as he saw what had made Arne stop.
In the center of the camp, Olaf sat upright, his hands resting on his knees, surrounded by Arvid, Mikkel, and Ugle. From a distance, he looked almost serene, the fog curling softly around his still form. Everyone else remained in their tents, oblivious to the grim tableau before them. But something about Olaf was wrong—terribly, unmistakably wrong.
Arne walked forward cautiously, his unease mounting with each step. Bjorn slid off his back, standing on shaky legs as they approached. Terror gripped them both as the details came into focus.
Olaf's face was eerily intact, his mouth slightly open, his lips glistening with saliva that dripped lazily onto his chest. But his eyes—his eyes were gone. Two gaping black holes stared back at them, a grotesque void where his gaze had once been.
Arne felt a deep, primal fear claw at his insides, a sensation older than words, born of the human instinct to recoil from the unnatural. He could not speak; his throat constricted with the weight of what he was seeing.
Arvid, standing beside Olaf, broke the silence. "He was alive when I found him," he said, his voice hoarse. "Praying, fully naked, in some weird position. I tried waking him up, and that's when it happened."
Bjorn's voice cracked. "What happened?"
Arvid's face darkened. "He screamed. He started crying, saying his peace was destroyed and that he couldn't look at the ugliness of this world. Then, right in front of me, he gouged his own eyes out. It happened so fast I couldn't stop him."
The words hit Bjorn like a hammer, each one sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. Arne stood frozen, realizing the same fate could have befallen Bjorn—or even himself—if they had been weaker.
"He's alive," Mikkel added, his voice low and grim. "But he doesn't respond to anything. He doesn't speak, doesn't move. It's like he's... a plant."
Bjorn knelt beside Olaf, staring at the lifeless figure in front of him. His mind raced, desperate for a solution, a plan—anything to bring clarity to the madness surrounding them. Slowly, his expression hardened, his grief twisting into resolve.
"Bandage his face," Bjorn said, his voice like iron. "We'll tell the others a bear attacked him. Then we move. We'll go down the cliff ten times faster if we have to. This... creature, whatever it is, won't let us go back to Altera. If we stay here, it'll take us all. And now we have everything to lose—and everything to win."
The others exchanged glances, their exhaustion and fear mingling with reluctant agreement.
"We'll travel at night," Bjorn continued, brushing the spit from Olaf's lifeless lips with a trembling hand. "We sleep only when absolutely necessary. Am I clear?"
Arvid and Arne nodded slowly, their faces grim. Ugle stepped forward, placing a hand on Bjorn's shoulder. "You've grown into a great leader," he said softly. His words were heavy, not with praise but with the burden of the truth they all now carried.
Mikkel's gaze lingered on Bjorn, his expression unreadable, before he spoke. "This is survival," he said quietly. "This is what we have to do to protect those we love."
Without another word, Mikkel knelt and began wrapping Olaf's ruined face in strips of cloth. The others moved wordlessly, packing up the camp with mechanical precision. The fire crackled faintly in the background, its warmth a cruel reminder of the fragility of their existence.
As the clearing dimmed, the fog pressed closer, and the silent dread that had accompanied them since entering the mountains grew heavier. But there was no turning back. Not now. Not ever.