Jonash didn't know how long he stood there, staring at Milo's lifeless body. His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands shaking, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The jungle seemed quieter now, too quiet. The birds had stopped their incessant calls, and the leaves on the trees were still as if holding their breath. It felt like the world had paused for just a moment in time, as if even nature itself was waiting for him to react, to do something.
But he didn't.
Milo, the quiet teenager who had barely spoken since they'd met, was gone. His body was still warm, but it was already becoming cold. There was no mistaking it—he wasn't breathing anymore. The ragged wound at his side had drained him of everything. Jonash had been too late.
Ava, on her knees beside him, looked as though she were in shock. Her hands were stained with Milo's blood, but they were still trying desperately to stop the flow. She hadn't given up on him, not even when it had been clear that it was too late. Jonash had watched her for what felt like hours, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as she muttered Milo's name, urging him to hold on.
But it was useless.
Jonash couldn't look at her anymore. He couldn't bear the sight of her hope slowly slipping away with every shallow breath that Milo took until it stopped altogether. He turned away, trying to control the bile rising in his throat. But his stomach twisted. His mind refused to stop replaying the scene—Milo on the ground, Darion's men laughing as they took everything they wanted and left.
It was supposed to have been their time to survive, their chance to find something more in this hellish world. But instead, it had been ripped away by those monsters—The Apex—those players who didn't care about the consequences of their actions.
He barely noticed Eryk as the man knelt next to Ava, trying to help her with what little he could do. His face was grim, but his eyes never wavered. They were both hardened, accustomed to this kind of loss. Jonash could see it in their expressions. They'd been here before. They knew the reality of this world better than he did, better than he ever wanted to.
"I'm sorry, Ava," Eryk said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her away. "We need to move. It's too dangerous here."
But Ava pulled away from him, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I can't... I can't just leave him like this."
Jonash turned away, his breath ragged as he walked a few steps deeper into the jungle. The weight of what had happened was suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to do something, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. They'd been too weak. They'd been outplayed by people who understood this game in ways Jonash didn't. He wasn't cut out for this. He wasn't cut out for this world.
But then, just as the silence seemed to consume him, the system chimed in. It was a cold, mechanical voice that cut through the fog of grief and guilt.
"Warning: Failure to protect allies decreases survival ranking."
Jonash froze.
The notification flashed in front of him, a bright red warning. His survival ranking. He'd heard people talk about it—players, NPCs, anyone who was living in this game. The ranking was everything. It determined your strength, your chances of survival, how much respect you earned from others.
And now, he was failing. He had failed.
The thought crashed over him like a tidal wave, and suddenly everything felt too heavy. He clenched his fists, the blood pounding in his ears, his breath growing shallow. How could he have let this happen? He could have done something. He could've fought harder. But instead, he'd frozen, paralyzed by fear, just as he had done with Darion's men.
"You can't let them die," he muttered under his breath. His voice was barely audible. "You can't let anyone else die."
A heavy sigh sounded behind him, and he didn't need to turn around to know that it was Eryk. The man's voice was tired, but there was still a trace of that same hard edge to it.
"We need to keep moving," Eryk said again, his tone more insistent this time. "We can't stay here. Not with them still out there."
Jonash could hear the seriousness in his voice. The urgency. The knowledge that they were on borrowed time.
But still, he couldn't bring himself to face the others. He couldn't face the reality that Milo was dead. Not yet.
Ava's voice came from behind him, soft and broken. "Jonash... we can't stay here, either. They'll come back."
Jonash finally turned around, his gaze meeting hers. Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying. There was no more fight in her, no more hope. Only exhaustion. But beneath that, Jonash saw something else—something burning in her eyes.
Survival.
She was still thinking about survival. Still thinking about the next move.
And suddenly, something inside Jonash snapped.
He couldn't let this be the end. Not for Milo. Not for anyone.
He straightened, his gaze hardening. "We leave," he said, his voice thick with determination. "We leave now. And we don't stop until we're safe."
Eryk gave a small nod, the faintest trace of approval in his eyes. "Good." He was already gathering their things, packing up what little they had left.
Ava, too, stood up slowly, wiping away the last of her tears. "We'll honor him later. But right now, we need to keep moving."
Jonash didn't say anything more. He couldn't. Every step felt like a weight on his chest, every moment stretching longer than the last. But he followed Eryk and Ava, stepping carefully through the jungle, the sounds of the night creeping back in around them. The birds, the rustling leaves. Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful, but the events of the day had shattered any illusion of safety.
Jonash's mind was still spinning, but one thought kept piercing through the fog of his grief: he had to get stronger. He couldn't afford to be weak anymore. Not for his sake. Not for anyone else's. He had to protect them.
As they moved through the dense jungle, Jonash kept his eyes peeled for any signs of movement. His senses felt heightened, his instincts sharper. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot. The snap of a twig. He was on edge, every muscle tense.
But it wasn't the sounds of beasts or predators that unsettled him—it was the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that The Apex was still out there, watching, waiting.
Jonash could feel the eyes of the jungle on him, feel it weighing down on his shoulders as they trudged through the underbrush. They hadn't spoken much since they'd left the campsite, and Jonash couldn't bring himself to ask where they were going, what their next move was.
But it didn't matter. He knew.
They were running.
From Darion.
And from everything that had happened.
A few hours later, they set up a temporary camp under the cover of some large trees, hoping the canopy would shield them from any immediate threats. Jonash found a spot at the edge of the camp, his back against the rough bark of a tree. His mind raced with possibilities, with questions. How could they survive this world, a world where players like Darion and The Apex reigned?
And how could he protect Ava and Eryk when he couldn't even protect Milo?
"Jonash," Ava's voice broke through his thoughts. She was sitting a few feet away, her gaze steady and unwavering as she looked at him. "We can't keep running forever."
Jonash nodded, his throat tight. "I know."
"We'll have to face them eventually," she added, the truth of her words sinking in. "You need to be ready."
Jonash swallowed hard, his gaze hardening. He had already made up his mind. He would face them. He would face The Apex. And he would make sure no one else died because of his failure.
A new fire lit inside him, ffierce and determined. He wasn't going to let Milo's death be in vain. He would make them pay.