Step. Step. Step. Step.
8 men emerged from the forest: Silas, Warren, Thomas, Keith, and four others. The walk back was slow and eerie, the weight of the silence pressing down on them. No one spoke a word—not a slick remark, a joke, or even a compliment about the supplies they'd gathered. It was just quiet, broken only by the sound of their footsteps, each one heavier than the last. The air felt thick, like something unspoken hung between them, a shared understanding that no words could fully capture.
A part of Silas was genuinely intrigued by what the man had said before his death, especially about this 'God' he mentioned. What kind of god would ask someone to kill, then turn the weapon on themselves? The man had died with such conviction in his words, as if it was all part of some grand plan. Part of Silas wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, to dismiss it as the ramblings of a madman. But another part of him couldn't shake the question: what if it wasn't just delusion? What if the man was actually onto something?
Were the Collapse Sites real? Were they some kind of divine gift or curse? Silas had seen the way people clung to any scrap of meaning in a world that no longer made sense. And the idea that something out there could give them answers—could give him answers—was… tempting. But he couldn't afford to believe it. The world was broken, and he knew better than most that hope was a fragile thing. But still, as much as he tried to brush it off, the idea gnawed at him.
Shaking his head, Silas pushed the thoughts away. Focus, he told himself. It was easier said than done.
The walk back to the community was long and silent, the weight of what they had just seen pressing down on everyone. The group moved like shadows, their steps slow and heavy. No one spoke. Not a word. There was no need. They were all thinking the same thing—what now? It was as if the whole world had been reduced to the echo of their footsteps and the distant, ever-present hum of uncertainty.
As they neared the community, a few of the residents gathered around them. Their faces, though worn and tired, were full of curiosity. Silas couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes for too long. There was a kind of expectation there that made his skin crawl, like they were all waiting for him to be something he wasn't. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't a savior. He was just a guy trying to survive.
He wanted to pass the responsibility of speaking to someone else, but the others were too shaken, too silent. So, reluctantly, Silas stepped forward. He didn't know what to say, so he let the words fall out of his mouth, hollow and unconvincing.
"We found some canned food, drinks, a couple of animals… and, uh, some coats," he said, his voice quieter than usual, barely more than a murmur. "It's gonna be cold, so… yeah, take them. Should help." His smile felt forced, like a mask that didn't fit right. He handed the supplies over mechanically, keeping his eyes on the ground, anywhere but their faces. It was easier that way. They didn't need to see how much it drained him just to get through this moment.
When it was done, Silas moved away, seeking the solace of a nearby bench. He sat, looking up at the dull, gray sky. He didn't know how to move forward, didn't know what to do next. Part of him wanted to go after those Collapse Sites. They were only a short walk away, just half an hour or so. Maybe it was a trap, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just another wild goose chase. But that part of him… the part that still wanted something to change… wondered if it could lead to something.
He rubbed his eyes and let out a breath, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He wasn't sure what he was searching for anymore. Hope? Answers? A way out? Maybe he just wanted some damn reason to keep going. But deep down, Silas knew it was fading. Little by little, his belief in any of this—any of this meaning anything—was slipping away. Still, he pushed on. What else could I do?
"Uurgh…" Silas muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Why do I even try anymore?" He let the words hang in the air, but there was no laugh to follow them, no sarcasm. The world had drained that from him, too. It wasn't a joke. It was a question he didn't have an answer to.
But even as the thought lingered in his mind, he could still feel the faintest trace of something—something stubborn, something like a flicker of hope—that kept him from giving up completely. It was small, fragile, like the last ember of a fire that had long since burned out. But it was there. And as long as it remained, Silas knew he wouldn't stop looking.
"Giving up so easily?" The old bench creaked under the weight of someone else sitting down beside him. Silas didn't need to look up to know who it was. He could feel the presence, the weight of it—Warren. When he turned his head, Warren's usual grin was absent, replaced by something a little more serious, a little softer.
"I don't blame you," Warren added with a light chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. He glanced at Silas, searching for some sign of change in his expression. But it was the same as it had been for hours. Blank. Empty. The kind of look that told Warren everything he needed to know. Silas was in that place again—the place where nothing mattered.
Warren's chuckle faded, and his face tightened with hesitation. "Can I be honest with you?" he began, scratching the back of his neck as if unsure whether he should continue. "It's something I never told you, Thomas, or Keith." He looked away from Silas, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to reveal.
Silas didn't respond immediately. He didn't need to. He'd learned that sometimes silence was all you needed to let someone open up.
"November 17th," Warren continued, his voice quieter now, filled with a kind of weight Silas hadn't expected. "You know, the day of The Collapse… I wasn't the only one alone." He paused, eyes dropping to the ground. "There were two other students with me in the building. We eventually huddled up together. Everyone was shaken, obviously. Who wouldn't be? I mean, the world was falling apart right in front of us." He finally met Silas' eyes. "But it didn't last long."
The words hit harder than Silas expected, but he didn't flinch. He just waited, his body tense, as Warren's voice dropped further. "The two of them—those two friends—they went into the bathroom. I thought they were just… you know, relieving themselves. But they didn't come back. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. And finally, I opened the door." Warren swallowed hard. "I found them dead on the floor. You can probably guess how it happened. Suicide."
Silas' gaze softened, his eyes briefly flickering with a mixture of sympathy and a quiet understanding. He hadn't known that part of Warren's story, hadn't known how much weight the kid had been carrying. The Collapse—the event that had shattered everything—wasn't just something that had taken away their world. It had taken pieces of them, too. Silas could feel that truth in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't know why I didn't do the same," Warren said, shaking his head as he seemed lost in the memory. "I just started walking, aimlessly, through the hallways. My mind was completely broken. I was on autopilot until…" He paused again, as if the next words were heavy, like they carried too much significance. "Until I met you."
Silas blinked, surprised. Warren's gaze locked with his, the tension between them palpable.
"You startled me. Obviously, I punched the shit out of you," Warren laughed softly, trying to brush it off, but his eyes were serious now, earnest in a way Silas hadn't seen before. "But that punch, man… it made me feel alive again. Like I woke up, like my body remembered what it was to feel something other than numb."
Silas, in spite of himself, felt a brief flicker of warmth. He hadn't expected that. He didn't know how to respond, so he just looked at Warren, letting the words settle between them. Warren's face twisted with that familiar nervous energy, and for a moment, Silas didn't know whether to say anything at all.
"When I met you, and the others, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time or at all during that day," Warren admitted, his voice quieter now. "Hope. Like, even after everything that happened, maybe I didn't have to give up. Maybe there was a reason to keep going. And now I'm here, with all of you." Warren paused again, his eyes darting away as he rubbed his neck. "I'm just saying… You shouldn't lose hope yet. You gave me a reason to keep pushing forward, so I guess I should return the favor."
Silas stared at Warren for a long moment, surprised by the rawness of his words. He didn't often let people see this side of him. Warren, despite his teasing and bravado, wasn't as tough as he appeared. He was just as lost, just as human, as everyone else. And for the first time in a long time, Silas felt something—something like a flicker of connection.
Without thinking, Silas reached out and ruffled Warren's hair. It was a simple, almost absent gesture, but it was enough to catch Warren off guard. "Ack—The hell?!" Warren swatted at his hand, face flushing with a mix of surprise and irritation.
Silas allowed himself a small, genuine smile—a rare thing. "Thanks, Warren," he said, the words softer than usual. "You're not such an asshole after all. It's good to know."
Warren let out an exaggerated tsch, looking away, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Yeah, whatever…" he muttered, but there was a hint of something lighter in his tone.
Silas didn't respond. He didn't need to. The moment felt enough, something small but real amidst the weight of everything else. He was still here. Still alive. And, for the first time today, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.
…
In Silas Grayson's small, dimly lit room, four figures sat together, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of a lantern. Silas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression skeptical. Warren sat on the edge of a creaky chair, arms resting on his knees, looking visibly annoyed. Across from them were Thomas and Keith, speaking with animated gestures as they tried to convince the other two of their plan.
What were they arguing about?
The Collapse Site.
Silas had no interest in it—at least, that's what he told himself. The words of the madman from earlier still lingered in his mind, unsettling and cryptic. Exploring some derelict ruins, ones allegedly labeled "a gift from God," was not something he'd ever imagined adding to his to-do list. It sounded ridiculous, dangerous, and probably pointless.
"I'm telling you," Thomas said, his tone almost pleading, "if there's even a chance there's something valuable there, we have to check it out. Food, medicine, anything—it could be a game changer for everyone here."
"Or it could be a wild goose chase," Warren cut in, his voice sharp. "We already have enough problems without chasing some lunatic's fever dream."
Keith frowned but kept his tone level. "I get it, Warren. I really do. But what if it's real? We've seen stranger things since The Collapse. Are we just going to ignore the possibility?"
Warren scoffed and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "You're talking about walking straight into a death trap based on the ramblings of a guy who literally shot his entire crew before killing himself."
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension hanging thick in the air.
Silas, who had been quiet up until now, glanced down at the floor, his brow furrowed. He wasn't the type to take risks unless he absolutely had to. He liked things simple, calculated, and as safe as possible in their chaotic world. But this time… this time was different.
Despite everything—the madman, the danger, the absurdity of it all—there was something gnawing at him. Curiosity.
Silas didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was intrigued. The Collapse Site wasn't just any ruin. It was tied to something bigger, something mysterious, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Silas felt a spark of interest in something.
"I don't like this," Silas finally said, his voice low but firm. The others turned to him, surprised that he was speaking at all. "But…" He hesitated, his gaze distant. "I'm… curious. If there's even a chance there's something worth finding, it might be worth the risk."
Thomas's eyes lit up, and even Keith's usually stoic face showed a hint of relief.
"You're kidding me," Warren muttered, shooting Silas a look. "You? Of all people? I thought you were the let's not die today guy."
Silas shrugged, his expression guarded. "I still am. But…" He trailed off, unwilling to admit outright that he was as intrigued as they were. "If we're doing this, we're doing it smart. No rushing in blind, no heroics, and if anything feels off, we leave. Agreed?"
Thomas nodded eagerly. "Agreed."
Keith gave a small nod as well.
Warren sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. "This is a terrible idea. But fine. If you're in, I guess I'm in, too. Someone's gotta keep you idiots alive."
Silas let out a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle. "Great. Let's hope that man at least spoke some truth."
As the group settled into a tense but unified agreement, Silas couldn't shake the feeling in his gut—part apprehension, part anticipation. For once, he was stepping into the unknown willingly, and for better or worse, he had to see it through.
The group agreed to set out on their journey the following morning. Nightfall was creeping in, and venturing out in the dark would be reckless. Silas couldn't help but feel a chill run through him at the thought of all the things that could go wrong. If something happened to them under the cover of darkness, no one would find them in time to help. He hated how his mind worked—always conjuring worst-case scenarios—but he also knew he wasn't wrong. The truth had a way of being uncomfortably sharp.
Warren broke the silence, his tone heavy with lingering doubt. "So… what do we bring? Any specific supplies?" His reluctance was still clear, but with everyone else committed to the trip, he wasn't about to stay behind alone.
Thomas tapped his chin in thought before answering. "If it's the four of us, we should bring at least two others. Safety in numbers and all that. Don't you think, Silas?"
Suddenly, the group's eyes turned to Silas, who had been staring off into space, lost in another grim train of thought. "Huh? What? Uh… what'd you say?" He blinked, his voice thick with confusion.
The others exchanged looks of disbelief and mild annoyance. Keith shook his head with a smirk, standing and stretching his arms. "Guess that's our cue—it's getting late. Just make sure you're ready tomorrow, alright? Don't be scatterbrained." His teasing tone hung in the air as the group started to disperse, each heading to their rooms.
Silas stayed seated for a moment longer before retreating to his own room. As he flopped onto the creaky mattress, he stared at the ceiling. His stomach churned—not from hunger, nor from anything he ate. It was that sinking, gnawing feeling of unease, the kind that settled in when something wasn't quite right.
The thought of tomorrow's adventure loomed over him like a storm cloud. He didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. Still, a part of him was curious, and maybe that's what unnerved him the most. Curiosity could be dangerous. But he'd already agreed to go, and there was no backing out now.
With a deep sigh, Silas shut his eyes, willing his restless mind to quiet. Eventually, the tension in his body melted away, and sleep claimed him—though the bad feeling lingered, just out of reach.