The camp bustled with activity as the guards prepared for departure. Wooden carriages, reinforced with thick metal plates and drawn by muscular, Ithra-infused horses, were lined up in rows. The sheer size of the operation was impressive, but Zack couldn't ignore the stark reality: there were only about 500 survivors.
He remembered the cruise ship and its thousands of passengers—the laughter, the chatter, the life that had filled every corner. Now, most of them were gone, lost to the whirlpool, the Ithra-infected, or worse. The emptiness of it all weighed heavily on him.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Josh said quietly, standing next to him.
Zack nodded, his eyes scanning the remaining people. Families huddled together, clutching what little they had left. Others sat silently, their faces blank with exhaustion or grief.
"Let's just get to this city," Zack muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag.
The carriages were packed but manageable. Zack and Josh climbed into one near the back of the convoy, sharing space with a few other survivors. The mood was somber, the only sounds coming from the creaking wheels and the faint murmurs of conversation.
As the convoy set off, the guards took up positions around the carriages. Their presence was a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked outside, but it was also reassuring. These people were strong—Zack had seen it firsthand.
The road was uneven, cutting through dense forest and open plains. The landscape was unlike anything Zack had ever seen, a mix of Earth-like features and alien strangeness. Towering trees with glowing blue leaves lined the path, their light casting eerie shadows that danced across the carriages.
It wasn't long before Zack noticed movement in the undergrowth.