The fire crackles in a subdued rhythm, and I listen to the soft pop of resin in the wood. Lynn sits opposite me, head tilted as if listening to a distant whisper. Or perhaps she's simply watching me sort my thoughts. I smooth a thumb over the shards of stained glass I retrieved from the cathedral lobby, holding it close to the brooch and the amulet, trying to see if their symbols align more clearly. The lines and shapes seem on the verge of forming a crest I might have once known by heart.
I sense Lynn's eyes on me. When I meet her gaze, she points wordlessly to the leather box. No words can pass her lips in this place, but I understand. Each new expedition teases more knowledge, more fragments to assemble. If I'm ever to break the silence—or at least understand it—I must continue.
Nodding, I open the box and draw the deck into my hands, shuffling carefully. Each time I do this, I feel as though I'm stirring the currents of fate. Three cards come forward, almost as if chosen by unseen hands:
Location: Sealed Bunker Entrance
A heavy blast door lodged in collapsed streets, half-buried and humming with faint energy. A challenge to open, perhaps, and possibly holding secrets or relics from before the world broke.
Event: Barter of the Wisp
A small, glowing entity that offers deals—sacrifice something of value, and in return, it may yield rare resources or forbidden knowledge. But what can I afford to give?
Enemy: Hivemind Shadow
A cluster of small creatures acting in eerie unison, moving like one mind behind many eyes. They coordinate attacks and share senses. A foe that demands careful strategy.
I glance at Lynn. The Sealed Bunker Entrance might shelter old documents or weapons. The Barter of the Wisp event could trade clues for a price. The Hivemind Shadow will not fall easily to brute force. This draws me deeper into a place that perhaps once stored armaments or secrets. If I was a knight or soldier, maybe such a bunker held my command's records.
I gather my courage and approach the mist's boundary. Lynn follows close, her silence taut with meaning. I push the cards forward in my mind's eye, and the world changes.
We step onto a cracked roadway partially buried by collapsed structures. Bent rebar and chunks of asphalt surround a metal door set into the earth. Rusted hinges cling stubbornly to fractured concrete. There's a low, constant hum—like dormant machinery waiting to awaken. Broken street lamps lean overhead, their glass long gone.
On a nearby slab of concrete rests a pale glow. The Wisp. Tiny and wavering, it flickers like a candle flame in a gentle breeze. As soon as I spot it, I feel a pull in my chest—this creature offers bargains. What do I have that it might want? I have scraps of metal, a few cans of food, my rope, my flares. But to gain something truly valuable, I sense I must offer something meaningful.
Before I approach the Wisp, a faint skittering sound draws my eye. Across the collapsed pavement, shadowy shapes slip from behind a ruined car. At first, I think them rats or small beasts, but their movements are too synchronized. The Hivemind Shadow emerges, a writhing cluster of pale-eyed vermin—each no bigger than a fist—scurrying as if guided by one will. They spread out, encircling us, testing the air.
I raise my axe, heart pounding. Lynn touches my shoulder lightly and points to a narrow gap between fallen beams. If I lead them there, I can control the fight, keep them from swarming all at once. I nod, moving slowly toward that choke point. The creatures click and chatter in soft unity.
As I back away, I glance at the Wisp. It bobs, watching. Perhaps it expects me to fail, hoping to claim something precious in the aftermath. I grit my teeth, determined not to be a victim.
The Hivemind Shadow moves. A dozen tiny bodies rush forward in eerie silence. I swing my axe low, scattering a few. Lynn scoops up a chunk of debris and hurls it, forcing another knot of them to scatter. They regroup instantly, a single intelligence evaluating angles. Two leap at my legs. I stomp, crunching one underfoot. Another tries to climb my boot, tiny jaws snapping. I knock it off with my axe handle.
They're coordinated, but we are not helpless. Lynn stands firm at my side, intercepting stragglers with well-timed kicks, while I focus on the main mass. Swing, dodge, stomp—the fight is frantic and grim, but we're holding them back. One bites my calf through my trouser, drawing hot pain, but I ignore it, delivering a finishing blow that splits their ranks.
At last, the survivors flee into cracks in the rubble, leaving a few mangled bodies behind. I breathe hard, wiping sweat from my forehead. Lynn kneels to check the bite, applying a strip of bandage from our dwindling supply. Her touch is reassuring. Though she cannot speak, her actions say enough: We endure.
With the Shadow dispersed, we approach the Wisp. It flutters, producing a faint chime like distant bells. I open my pouch, wondering what to offer. My scraps of metal and spare flare seem too mundane. The Wisp wants something that matters.
I consider the brooch, the shards of stained glass, the parchment—these are priceless clues. I cannot trade them. The amulet helps me read runes, too vital to lose. The canned goods and medkit are valuable, but perhaps too common for an entity of secrets.
Then I recall the Courier's sharpened letter we once traded at the Bazaar. I do have one other token from past encounters: a chipped piece of the Siphon Witch's candle, gathered unseen in the inverted cathedral. A rare, eerie fragment, soaked in silent mystery. I hold it out. The Wisp flutters closer, circling the candle chip, then dips in acceptance.
In return, the Wisp glows brighter and reveals a small scroll coiled in its center. I take it gently. The Wisp flickers twice and vanishes, satisfied with the trade.
The scroll is short and fragile, its surface inked with a symbol I've begun to recognize: the emblem of blades under a shield. Inside, a few words—just a handful—scrawled in careful lines. They are not fully clear, but I can guess their meaning: "Guard the Keepers. Hold the Threshold. Remember the Oath."
My heart tightens. This confirms I was part of a group or order dedicated to protection. Keepers, threshold, oath—these words resonate with the runes, my brooch, the cathedral signs. Lynn presses close, peering at the scroll over my shoulder. She smiles faintly, then looks away, frustrated that she cannot say what she longs to.
At last, we turn to the Sealed Bunker Entrance. The blast door is half-buried, hinges straining. I try to pull it open, but it's locked tight. No handle, no keypad—just rusted metal and stubborn silence. Perhaps I need a key or a certain phrase to open it. Without answers, we cannot breach it now. Still, we've gained the scroll's hint and scattered the Hivemind Shadow. I'll return when I know more.
We pick our way back through twisted metal and broken asphalt, back toward the place where the Eternal Campground waits. The mist stands as a quiet sentinel, parting for us as we approach. One step and we're home, the campfire snapping softly, as if greeting old friends.
I sit heavily, pressing a hand to the bandage on my calf. Lynn kneels, offering me a can of fruit. I eat a few syrupy chunks, grateful for nourishment. My eyes drift to the scroll and the other relics we've gathered. The puzzle grows clearer with each journey. I understand now: I was sworn to guard something sacred, a threshold between safety and despair. And there were Keepers—people or beings worth protecting. If I recall them, maybe I'll understand this place's silence.
The hush remains, but it doesn't feel so empty now. We have words—Guard the Keepers, Hold the Threshold—like a distant echo of my old orders. I share a quiet moment with Lynn as the campfire's warmth wraps around us. I will rest now, then go forth again. I will find the Keepers, learn the threshold's meaning, and restore the memories I've lost.
For now, we have survived, bargained, and learned. The silence still rules, but the oath I once carried beats like a second heart in my chest, guiding me forward into the mist.