Memories swirled in his mind like a storm refusing to calm, each one crashing against him with the weight of a tidal wave. His chest tightened, his eyes stung, and when he opened them, the faint blur of light from his window felt almost mocking. His mouth, dry from restless sleep, filled with saliva as he sat upright, as if his body itself was preparing for something dreadful. Silas Grayson had awakened—not just from his slumber, but into the reality he couldn't escape.
The rusted, green alarm clock on his bedside table blared its shrill tone, cutting through the morning silence like a knife. He slammed his hand down on it, silencing its taunts, but it couldn't drown out the gnawing unease clawing at his chest. Today was the day.
Today, he would abandon the small comfort of reason and march straight into the unknown. Today, he would follow a path drawn by the scribbles of a madman, to a place whispered to hold miracles—or horrors. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed deeply. If only he could shake the sinking feeling that today marked the beginning of something far worse than just a bad idea.
Removing the itchy blanket and stretching his stiff, aching limbs, Silas dragged himself out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom. His reflection greeted him with an unkind familiarity—his hair, now longer and reaching a couple of inches past his neck, was a disheveled mess. He rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratchy texture of a beard that had grown fuller than it ever had before. He'd always wanted facial hair, but it had taken years to get to this point. Now that it was here, it seemed more a sign of his neglect than a mark of maturity.
His gaze shifted to the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes. They had deepened over time, a clear reminder of how elusive sleep had become. Or was it just the quality of what little rest he managed to steal? He didn't know anymore, and he wasn't sure it mattered. Each passing day seemed to carve the wear and tear deeper into his face, as if his body was slowly betraying him, piece by piece.
The cold bathroom air prickled his skin, but Silas barely felt it as he stared into the cracked mirror. The man looking back at him felt more distant with every glance.
"Where did the time go?" Silas muttered dryly, mocking his own grim reflection before splashing cold water onto his face. The icy shock jolted him awake, drawing a shiver that coursed through his tired body. He grabbed his toothbrush, scrubbed away the sourness lingering in his mouth, and spat out the minty foam.
Taking a damp rag, he wiped down his face, the coolness lingering as he dried himself with a towel. With sluggish movements, he pulled a plain black T-shirt over his head, followed by a greenish-brown coat that had seen better days. He wrapped a scarf around his neck, its fabric frayed but reliable. Fully dressed, he strapped on his boots and grabbed his gear—a well-worn dagger and the marked map of their destination.
Stepping out of the makeshift home, Silas was greeted by a gloom that seemed to press down on everything. The sky hung low, darker than it should've been for this time of day. Was it daylight savings? He'd lost track of those things long ago, along with so many other trivial details from the world before.
He wandered over to the same creaky bench he had claimed the day before. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto it, leaning back as his hand instinctively went to rub his chin. "For someone so eager about this, they sure are late," he muttered, his voice tinged with impatience. The thought that they might've backed out flickered through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. "Nope, they're not the type."
His musings were cut short when an arm suddenly slung around his shoulders, startling him. He flinched slightly, turning his head to find Keith grinning down at him. "You're jumpy this morning," Keith teased, his easygoing tone contrasting sharply with Silas's dour mood.
Trailing behind him were four other men. Silas immediately recognized Warren and Thomas among them. "Ah—so you actually came," he said flatly, earning a dramatic sigh from Warren.
"You don't sound excited," Thomas remarked, smirking as he joined them.
"Of course not. I don't want to go," Silas replied, his tone as monotone as ever.
Thomas chuckled, nudging Warren. "So if we find anything, we're not splitting it with him. Got it."
"Like I'll accept that," Silas shot back, his deadpan delivery prompting laughter from the group. Except for Warren of course because he was on the same boat.
Despite the banter, the weight of the journey ahead loomed heavily over them all. The playful exchange was a fragile attempt to mask the unease settling in their stomachs as they prepared to head toward the unknown.
"Got the map?" Thomas asked, his voice breaking the momentary silence.
"Of course I do. We'd be lost without it," Silas replied, pulling the folded paper from his pocket and giving it a quick wave as proof.
Thomas nodded in approval, leaning in to get a better look at the worn map. He traced a finger over the faded markings, pausing at a specific spot. "This is where we're headed."
The location he pointed to was labeled Collapse Site #8 in scratchy, uneven handwriting. Silas's eyes lingered on it for a moment, his thoughts wandering. There were twenty different Collapse Sites marked across Cinderhaven alone. Who knew how many others existed beyond this ruined city—or how many more had yet to be discovered?
"Eight out of twenty," Keith muttered, glancing over their shoulders. "We sure lucked out, huh? Only twelve more to go if this one's a bust." His sarcasm wasn't lost on anyone.
"Let's not think about the rest just yet," Warren said, crossing his arms. "We'll take it one step at a time. No use stressing over things we can't deal with now."
Silas, still gripping the map, simply nodded. But deep down, the weight of the unknown tugged at his already fraying resolve. There was no guarantee this Collapse Site would offer anything useful—or safe. Yet here they were, standing on the precipice of yet another decision driven by desperation and curiosity.
"Right," Silas finally muttered. "One step at a time."
Silas clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to scold everyone. Seriously!? They planned on going to twelve other sites if this didn't work? Were they out of their minds? The idea of trudging from one dangerous, unknown place to another, chasing some vague hope of answers—or worse—if this first one didn't pan out made his head spin. These guys must've lost their sanity dealing with that madman, he thought.
He glanced over at Warren, expecting some kind of shared skepticism, a sign that at least one of them had some semblance of rational thought. But instead, all he saw was the same determined expression that had been on the others' faces. Warren was just as committed as the rest.
Goddammit, Silas thought, staring at Warren.
He was the only sane one here. Everyone else had clearly gone off the deep end. Warren slightly shivered, feeling eyes on him. It was Silas who was shooting daggers with his eyes alone.
And so, the group began their walk towards the trees. Thomas and Keith were determined, their steps sure and unwavering. Warren, as always, remained silent, his thoughts hidden behind a calm exterior. Silas, however, was not so composed. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to forget about this ridiculous journey. But with an uneasy sigh, he followed, his doubts growing with every step.
The path was long, expected to take around 30 minutes, but nothing they hadn't handled before. It wasn't a grueling hike, just a walk through the forest. Even so, the silence between them felt heavy, and the weight of the decision lingered in Silas' mind.
With that, the group continued their expedition.
…
Silas scanned the surroundings as they walked, the dense forest slowly giving way to barren rocky terrain. The trees thinned, and the ground became uneven, pebbles crunching underfoot with every step. The sharp sound of the rocks shifting beneath their boots echoed in the still air, a constant reminder that they were far from the safety of their makeshift home.
He pulled out the map again, his eyes studying the marked location of Collapse Site #8. The sketches on the map were surprisingly detailed, showing every curve and crack in the earth. Yet, despite the skill of the artist, there was something about the markings that unsettled him. It was clear that the creator had once been focused, methodical, but something had driven them to the edge, a madness hidden beneath the lines.
Tracing the gray markings on the map, he looked around, recognizing the same jagged rocks scattered across the landscape. They were getting closer, and a knot of both excitement and dread twisted in his stomach. He was on the brink of discovering something monumental, yet the feeling of unease lingered, gnawing at him with every step.
"We're getting closer," Silas muttered under his breath, then called out to the group, his voice low but firm. "Just keep walking straight. We're almost there."
The others nodded, faces set in quiet determination, but Silas could sense the weight of their thoughts, the unspoken tension between them all. As they continued on, each step seemed to echo louder than the last, drawing them toward the unknown.
The group pressed on, the crunch of rocks beneath their boots accompanying their every step. Silas, as usual, found his thoughts drifting in the quiet between them. After a few minutes, he broke the silence.
"So, what do you think is actually in there?" he asked, glancing over at Thomas, who was walking ahead.
Thomas scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the rocky terrain around them. "I'm hoping it's more supplies. Something that'll make the upcoming winter… more bearable, I guess you could say." He chuckled lightly, clearly trying to lift the mood. "What about you? What do you want to be there?"
Silas was quiet for a moment, his boots scraping against the ground. He'd never been one to let himself hope too much. "I don't believe anything is there," he said flatly, his voice almost detached. "So I'm not getting my hopes up."
Thomas frowned jokingly, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "If that's the case, then why'd you even come with?"
"Merely for the walk," Silas replied with a smirk, his tone casual as he shrugged, though he knew it didn't quite sound convincing. He could feel Thomas eyeing him, but he didn't give in.
Thomas didn't press further, but Silas could sense the amusement in his expression. He could tell Thomas knew he was lying, but he let it slide. It wasn't like Silas wanted to be here—he didn't particularly care about whatever lay at the end of this journey. But there was something in his gut, some nagging curiosity that pushed him to go along, no matter how much he wished he didn't.
Silas's instincts kicked in as the crunching of rocks became louder, distinct from the steady rhythm of their steps. It wasn't just their feet anymore—there was something else. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. He glanced quickly at Thomas, who was a few steps ahead of him. That's when the sound picked up pace, too fast to be a coincidence.
"Thom—"
Silas's warning was cut off as he felt a sharp tug on his jacket. Thomas had yanked him to the side just in time as a rabid dog's jaws snapped mere inches from his face.
"Ahhrugh—!" Silas gasped, barely able to steady himself as his heart raced. He staggered but regained his footing quickly. His eyes darted around. Everyone was still here, thank God. No one had gotten separated in the chaos. But there were more dogs now, surrounding them in a tight circle. The creatures snarled, saliva dripping from their foaming mouths as they paced around the group like hungry, desperate predators.
Silas didn't dare take his eyes off them, his senses heightened. The others instinctively reached for their weapons, the tension palpable in the air. In that split second, when Silas's gaze shifted for just a moment, the dogs charged.
Saliva flew as the pack lunged forward, and everyone instinctively sidestepped or ducked, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws.
'They're slow?' Silas thought, an odd realization piercing through his adrenaline. 'I guess the lack of food is taking its toll. Their bodies are withered… weakened.'
The group reacted swiftly, their weapons flashing through the air. The dogs yelped as slashes made contact, sending them reeling back. But they didn't retreat—they dodged and circled around, determined to close the gap.
"Don't get too close!" Silas shouted, eyes narrowing. He remembered his childhood warnings about rabid animals. The disease was vicious, almost always fatal if it wasn't treated. And these creatures, with their ragged fur and crazed eyes, seemed like the perfect vessels for it.
The air was tense with danger, each second stretched as the group fought back, trying to keep the dogs at bay.
Warren's foot shifted into the ground, pressing lightly before he launched it forward with unexpected force. The kick didn't connect with the dog, but that wasn't his intention. As his foot made contact with the rocky earth, a spray of dirt and small pebbles shot forward, striking the dog square in the face. The creature yelped, stumbling back as dirt flew into its eyes, causing it to blindly retreat for a moment. The other dogs, momentarily distracted by the noise and chaos, hesitated, giving the group a brief window to strike.
Thomas seized the opportunity. With a swift dash, he closed the distance to the dog focused on him. He planted his foot into its side with enough force to make it stumble, then brought his dagger down in one fluid motion. The blade met flesh, and with a sickening crack, the dog's body went still. Blood splattered across the rocky terrain, mixing with the dust and dirt. The sound of snapping bone echoed in the air, and Thomas stepped back, wiping his blade clean as the dog collapsed.
The rest of the group followed suit, utilizing every tactic they could to keep the remaining dogs at bay. Keith used his makeshift spear to jab and push the animals back, while Warren stomped and kicked, ensuring they couldn't get too close. The dogs fought with desperation, but the humans were quicker, more organized. It wasn't long before they were all subdued, their bodies lying lifeless across the rocks.
But Silas didn't join in the chaos of slashes and strikes. He observed for a brief moment, then took a different approach. His fingers worked swiftly, removing his scarf and wrapping it around the neck of the dog closest to him. The animal struggled, its teeth snapping at the air, but Silas was determined. He looped the fabric around its throat twice, then pulled with all his strength. The dog's body writhed and barked weakly, but Silas didn't let go, his grip tightening until the animal's movements slowed. Spittle sprayed from its mouth, soft, desperate barks escaping its throat. With one final tug, its body went limp.
Silas released the scarf, and the dog collapsed, its lifeless form sinking to the ground. His breath was steady, but his eyes lingered on the creature for a moment longer. It had been a clean end, but still… a necessary one. As he stood, he wiped the remnants of saliva from his hand and glanced at the others, who had already begun to regroup, their eyes scanning for any more threats.
The group's eyes settled on Silas, still panting slightly from the struggle. For a moment, the air felt heavier, and the weight of the recent violence hung over them. Silas, noticing their gaze, glanced up with a furrowed brow. "What? Is there something on my face?" he asked, a slight rose hue creeping up his cheeks, unsure of why he was getting so much attention.
Warren broke the silence with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "Not that… Just didn't expect you to go to such extremes," he said, his eyes still lingering on Silas. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he continued, "Sure you didn't get possessed? Or maybe there's some part of you who loves to kill."
Silas's eyes narrowed in annoyance, but the joke didn't seem to faze him as much as it might have before. He stood up straighter, brushing the dirt off his coat with one hand as he spoke, "I didn't have a choice, you know. If I could've escaped without any casualties, then I would've." His tone was flat but sincere, and his gaze shifted to the others as he adjusted his dagger on his side, the tension from the battle still lingering in his body.
Warren raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin softening. "Alright, alright. I get it," he said, a light chuckle still in his voice. "But you've got to admit, you handled it… well, differently. Don't know whether to be impressed or scared."
Silas shot him a look that was hard to read, then simply turned to face the path ahead, signaling that it was time to continue. As they moved forward, the group fell into a comfortable silence, the earlier tension easing—at least for the moment. But Silas couldn't shake the feeling that the moment had marked a subtle shift in the group dynamic. Whether they were willing to admit it or not, they had all crossed a line today.
"Let's continue." Keith patted Silas on the back, his hand heavy and reassuring. He pointed straight ahead, his voice carrying a sense of purpose. "Go straight, correct?"
Silas gave a curt nod, the weight of the past events still lingering on him. "Yeah, just keep going straight."
"Alright… well, let's stay on the lookout," Keith added, his tone shifting to one of caution as he scanned the surroundings. The others nodded in agreement, their expressions hardening as they took up their positions, ready for whatever the path ahead held.
…
A pathway made of stone, weathered and ancient, loomed in front of the squad, its shadow stretching like the maw of some great beast. The jagged edges of the entrance and the eerie quiet surrounding it made the place feel less like a destination and more like a grave. Silas glanced down at his map, tracing the lines to confirm what he already knew, then looked back up. This was it. Collapse Site #8.
Warren stepped up beside him, his eyes wide as he took in the foreboding sight. "Ooooo~ Looks… eerie," Warren muttered, his voice trying for humor but tinged with unease.
Silas nodded, his skepticism melting away, replaced by a strange mix of dread and satisfaction. Against all odds, they'd made it. Despite his doubts, he smirked slightly, the corner of his lip curling as he turned to address the others. "Yeah… Don't you agre—"
His words caught in his throat.
Thomas and Keith stood just a few feet away, their faces blank, their clothes drenched in red. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, sharp and overwhelming. It wasn't their blood—nor was it from the rabid dogs they'd encountered earlier.
Silas's eyes darted downward, and there they were—the pale, lifeless bodies of the two men who had joined them on this journey. They lay crumpled on the rocky ground, faces frozen in shock, throats slit clean.
Silas froze, his mind racing. It didn't take a genius to put it together.
Thomas and Keith had murdered them.