-----Chapter 27:Beneath a Dying Sun-----
The morning came. But no one felt it.
The air inside the tent was thick, pressing down on them like unseen hands. Sleep had come, but rest had not. The night had given them time to process everything—but it hadn't given them peace.
They sat in silence. Not the kind that meant comfort. Not the kind that meant understanding.
This was the silence of things unspoken.
Sofia sat near the edge of the tent, fingers curled slightly, gaze unfocused. Across from her, Alec leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw clenched.
Neither of them spoke.
Because neither of them could shake the same thought.
"We hesitated."
They had wanted to believe the creatures they fought—the ones that moved like soldiers, like thinking beings—were different from the mindless monsters.
They had wanted to believe mercy was an option.
But they had seen the bodies. Devoured.
And now—that hesitation had turned into something else.
Guilt.
Sofia exhaled, slow and measured.
"At least…" her voice barely lifted, "we gave them proper burials."
It wasn't part of the discussion. It wasn't the topic. But it was the only thing she could say.
Alec didn't look at her.
He only swallowed, his fingers twitching against his sleeve.
On the other side of the tent, Aldric and Varen hadn't moved since last night.
Aldric stood near the entrance, arms crossed, staring at nothing. He wasn't brooding—he was measuring something in his head. Something he hadn't voiced yet.
Varen sat against a crate, head tilted down, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. Slow. Steady. Counting seconds that no longer mattered.
He had not spoken.
Not once.
Not a single joke. Not a single careless remark.
It was wrong. Unnatural.
Varen had always been the one who laughed first, the one who broke the weight of silence with something light.
But now?
Now there was nothing left in his voice.
Something inside him had cracked, shattering his reasoning. And they all felt it.
---
The tent flap rustled.
A sharp sound—too sharp.
Sylvian entered.
His presence carried weight. Not because of what he was—but because of what he demanded.
They watched him in silence. And he watched them back.
Because he knew.
This night had changed them all.
He let his gaze settle.
Then, calmly—without softness, without pause—he spoke.
"I hope you all got enough rest last night."
No one answered.
He didn't expect them to.
Sylvian exhaled lightly, stepping toward the center of the room. His voice didn't shift. It didn't bend.
"Alec. The barracks—report."
Alec blinked, as if pulling himself out of a daze. He straightened, voice clipped.
"The defense line is being established smoothly. Some issues near the river, but it's under control."
"And the people?"
Alec hesitated. Just for a second.
"They're settling." His tone was measured. Flat.
"The conflicts are easing. No more fighting among factions."
"They're adapting."
The words should have carried relief.
But they didn't. Alec tried to meet their eyes—to reassure them.
But when his gaze reached Varen—
He stopped.
Varen still hadn't looked up.
And suddenly, Alec felt it—the guilt digging deeper.
Because he had thought about mercy. He had thought about sparing those creatures.
But he didn't think that—people had died screaming.
The silence pressed down.
Samantha broke it, not wanting the tension to rise.
"The people are forming hunting squads."
The words were simple. But the meaning behind them wasn't.
Every head turned.
"After seeing what the stigma can do… they're pushing themselves."
Her tone didn't waver.
"They want to grow stronger."
A pause.
"Some of them are going into the forests. Hunting monsters. Testing their limits."
And for the first time since Sylvian entered—he moved.
His gaze flickered down.
To his hand. To his mark. To the stigma.
And when he finally spoke—his voice was lower. Colder.
"These marks are strange."
Alec let out a slow breath.
"That's an understatement."
Sylvian ignored him. He took another step forward, resting his gloved hand against the table.
Then, his voice came measured. Unshaken.
"They absorb something from the creatures we kill."
Sylvian continued.
"It's not magic. It's not a blessing. It's something else."
His fingers curled slightly.
"It makes us stronger. We all feel it. Every fight, every kill—we become faster. Sharper."
The words settled like a blade into the room.
Some took it as confirmation.
Others took it as a warning.
Sylvian let them process it.
And then—he said what had been left unspoken.
"The gods were wary of us because of this."
The silence shifted.
It was no longer just uncertainty. It was something worse.
Sofia inhaled sharply. Alec looked down. Samantha didn't move.
Varen finally lifted his head.
" It doesn't matter if we understand it or not."
The air felt colder.
" What matters is that we use it."
A command. A statement.
Sylvian exhaled.
"You will continue using your stigma. You will continue growing stronger."
But, For the first time—he hesitated.
Aldric saw it, Immediately.
He straightened, voice quiet. Measured.
"What's your concern, Sylvian?"
Sylvian exhaled through his nose.
And then, finally—he spoke.
"The stigma absorbs something from any living creature."
The same words.
But this time, one word changed everything.
Any.
The silence didn't just return.
It settled into their bones.
---
They had all known.
They had all felt it.
But now, in the wake of that single word—it felt different.
The stigma had made them stronger. They knew that.
But it hadn't just absorbed from monsters.
It could absorb from anything.
Anyone.
Everyone went still.
Because now, they weren't wondering what the stigma was meant for.
Now, they were wondering if it was ever meant for them at all.
And in that moment—
they were afraid of the answer.
---
"Either we kill our own lies… or we face the truth for what it is."
Varen's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Cold. Detached.
Not the usual casual, half-bored tone they had come to expect from him. No dry wit. No sharp-edged humor. Just words that hit like stone against steel.
"But the truth doesn't fade."
He lifted his head. His eyes, once always carrying the faint glimmer of amusement, were empty.
"We have to become strong. Strong enough to defend ourselves from whatever is coming."
The weight of it hung in the air.
Alec had expected something else—some sarcastic remark to dull the edges of this conversation. But this wasn't the same Varen who had made light of death, who had always found a way to make things feel a little less unbearable.
That person was gone.
Alec barely managed to hold Varen's stare before he looked down. He couldn't face him.
Because the truth was—he wasn't sure if Varen was wrong.
Sofia broke the silence next, her voice soft but steady.
"The ones we lost… the ones we found…" She exhaled. "We gave them proper burials."
It wasn't the discussion at hand. But it was meant for Varen.
An offering. A small mercy in the midst of all this.
Varen didn't react. Not at first.
Then—without looking at her—he spoke.
"And that changes what?"
Sofia froze.
He wasn't dismissing her. He wasn't angry.
But there was nothing behind his words. Nothing at all.
Like the thought itself didn't reach him.
Like it never would.
Aldric shifted, sensing the tension rising. His voice came steady. Grounded.
"For now… we have to focus on what's ahead."
He turned, looking directly at Sylvian. Bringing the conversation back to him.
"We grow stronger in the meantime. Right?"
Sylvian nodded once. Simple. Direct. Absolute.
And that should have been the end of it.
But it wasn't.
Because then, Sylvian spoke again.
"The scouts found something."
That got their attention.
His gaze swept across the room.
"Fourteen kilometers north of our base—there is a labyrinth."
Silence.
Then, finally—someone spoke.
"What kind of labyrinth?"
Samantha. Her voice was sharp, controlled. But there was an edge of unease.
Sylvian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he measured his next words carefully.
"One that the gods are after."
The room shifted.
That changed everything.
Sofia, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. "Can we trulyface it?"
Sylvian's answer was immediate.
"We don't know."
More silence. More tension.
Then—Sofia exhaled sharply.
"So we're supposed to just go marching in there?" Her voice was different this time. Tighter. More controlled.
Sylvian's eyes barely moved.
"We investigate. We find out what it is before they do."
The words were final.
A decision.
But a decision wasn't enough.
No one was going to back down easily.
---
The tent felt smaller.
Not physically—but the weight of the conversation was pressing in on them, suffocating.
The labyrinth.
The gods were after it. That meant one thing: it mattered.
And if it mattered to the gods, it had to matter to them.
But what that meant—how they moved forward—wasn't something they could agree on.
Not easily.
Not without a fight.
Sylvian had already decided.
"We move toward the labyrinth."
His tone didn't leave room for questions. Only acceptance.
But acceptance wasn't what he got.
Because Aldric was already shaking his head.
"We don't know what's inside."
His voice wasn't raised. It didn't have to be. The weight behind it was enough.
"We barely survived the last fight. The troops are still recovering. We can't keep throwing them into the dark, hoping we come out alive."
His arms remained crossed, shoulders squared. Unshaken.
"We have no idea what threats are waiting for us there."
Sylvian didn't move.
"Then we find out."
Aldric exhaled sharply through his nose.
"And if it's worse than anything we've faced before? If it's not something we can fight?"
Sylvian met his gaze.
"Then we adapt."
The words were simple. Too simple.
And that was when Alec stepped in.
"I get it," he said, voice controlled but clipped.
"The gods want something inside that place. Fine. That's concerning as hell, sure. But what's the rush?"
His tone didn't carry humor. Just sharp-edged realism.
"We just set up defenses here. The troops are barely standing on two feet, let alone ready to dive into another fight."
He gestured vaguely at Varen.
"We've got people who aren't even sleeping right."
His words hung in the air.
But Varen didn't react.
Not even a glance in Alec's direction.
And that silence—that lack of anything—made Alec shift uncomfortably.
"If we're going to war again," Alec muttered, lower this time, "let's at least give them time to be ready for it."
"No."
The single word cut through the discussion like a blade.
All eyes turned to Samantha.
She was stiff. Her posture straight, unmoving.
But her eyes—they carried something colder.
"This isn't about waiting or preparation." Her voice was measured, steady. "This is about knowing when to move and when to stop."
Her gaze landed on Sylvian. Firm.
"We don't even know if the gods are still watching. What if this is a trap? What if they're luring us in?"
Alec let out a slow breath.
"And what if it's not?"
Samantha's eyes flickered.
"Then we still need to be careful."
She turned back to Sylvian, arms folding across her chest.
"And what if it isn't just gods we're dealing with? What if there's something inside that even they don't control?"
That question sat in the room.
For far too long.
Sofia, who had been silent this entire time, finally moved.
Her fingers brushed against the map, tracing the edge of where the labyrinth was marked.
Her voice came quiet. Curious. Calculated.
"If the gods descended for these places…" she murmured, half to herself, half to them. "Then whatever's inside is worth something."
Her tone wasn't eager. It wasn't excited.
It was cold logic.
She lifted her gaze.
"That kind of knowledge is dangerous." A pause. "And if we don't take it, someone else will."
The room had split.
No clear side. No obvious right answer.
And then—
"We don't have the luxury of safety."
Varen.
His voice wasn't loud. But it cut deeper than the rest.
"We can't hesitate."
The words stung.
Because they echoed something he had told Aldric the night before.
His gaze lifted—straight at Samantha. Straight at Aldric.
"Waiting doesn't make us stronger."
"Fighting does."
---
"That's not the point!"
Samantha's words snapped out before she could stop them.
But she didn't care.
She wasn't going to let this spiral into blind aggression.
"Charging in without knowing what we're facing isn't bravery, it's recklessness."
She wasn't wrong. But neither was Varen.
And that was the problem.
Alec leaned forward, voice sharper now. Less calm.
"She's right. If we rush this, we'll just be running blind into whatever nightmare is waiting inside."
Aldric sighed through his nose, pinching the bridge of it.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud.
But it cut through them.
"We're not going to agree on this easily. So let's settle it here."
And then—Sylvian spoke.
"We move."
That wasn't surprising.
But what was—was his next words.
"But not all of us."
The room froze.
Sylvian let it sink in.
"Some will stay behind to secure our position here. Some will go forward and investigate."
His gaze flickered toward Aldric.
"You wanted caution? You have it."
Then to Alec.
"You wanted time? You'll get it."
Then to Samantha.
"You wanted restraint? We won't throw everything away blindly."
And then finally—to Varen.
"But we will move forward."
No one objected.
Not because they fully agreed.
But because there was no better answer.
No safer alternative.
The decision had been made.
But it did not bring relief.
It brought movement.
It brought preparation.
The tent emptied, and the world outside was already shifting.
The camp was no longer a makeshift shelter.
It was becoming something else.
The barracks were taking shape—wood and stone, hammered together by tired hands. Soldiers moved with purpose, reinforcing walls, sharpening weapons, testing armor.
Hunting parties formed—not for food, but for power.
They had seen what the stigma could do.
And now, they were testing it.
They returned from the forests bloodied, but standing.
Stronger. Faster. Something different.
They had felt it. The way the stigma pulled at their bodies, the way the energy from the creatures they killed sank into their bones.
Some whispered about it.
Some didn't speak of it at all.
But they all knew.
Something was changing.
And they weren't sure if they were ready for what came next.
Sylvian and Aldric stood near the barracks, watching.
They had begun selecting knights. Not all of them would go.
Some would remain behind, holding the camp, fortifying their position.
But those who would march toward the labyrinth?
They needed to be chosen carefully.
This wasn't about numbers.
It was about survival.
Aldric exhaled, gaze sharp as he assessed each knight that passed.
"We're sending them into something we don't understand."
Sylvian didn't look at him.
"We never understand, Sir. But we must persue truth... before it'stoo late."
Aldric's jaw tightened.
"And that doesn't bother you?"
A pause.
Then, finally, Sylvian turned.
"It does."
He didn't elaborate.
Because he didn't need to.
They both knew the truth.
There was no choice.
---
Varen watched from a distance.
He didn't join the training. He didn't test his stigma like the others.
He just watched.
The hunting parties. The knights. The ones growing stronger.
And then, finally—he spoke.
Not to anyone.
Not loud enough for anyone to hear.
Just a whisper.
"I'm still your knight... right... Mom?"
His fingers traced his stigma.
The wind didn't answer.
But he hadn't expected it to.
---
The camp quieted as the sun began to set.
Fires burned. Shadows stretched.
No one spoke of fear. But it was there.
They had made their choice.
Now all that was left was to see if the unknown would swallow them whole.
None of them spoke as the sun fell. But in the silence, they all thought the same thing—What if this is our last march?