We found cover near the river—a collapsed stone arch, half-swallowed by moss and roots. It was dry underneath, just enough space to lie down without sleeping in mud. Thalia kicked away some debris. I pulled together a few fallen branches to form a loose barricade toward the trees. Not much, but something.
No one said anything for a while. Just the sound of the river and our breathing.
Eleanor shifted beside me. "I'll hunt."
I shook my head. "Calixtus should go."
She frowned.
"He's the best choice. Lightest on his feet. He can phase if it gets bad."
I looked over at Calixtus. He gave a tired nod and pushed off the stone without complaint. None of us were in good shape, but he moved well enough. He faded into the trees without a word.
"Both of you get some sleep," I said.
Thalia hesitated, then laid down beside Eleanor under the overhang. Neither argued.
I crouched by the river. The water looked clean, but that didn't mean much. I focused, pressing mana into my palm until it buzzed faintly, then lowered my hand to the surface. Vibrations passed through the current. Small clumps drifted toward me—silt, bits of leaf, other things I didn't want to think about. I drew them aside and cupped a handful to my mouth.
They were asleep within minutes. I sat with my back to the barricade, facing the trees. Hunger clawed at my gut, but there was nothing we could do about that now. Everything worth eating had burned in the blast.
I listened to the river and kept my eyes on the dark.
Some time passed and Calixtus returned with some sort of beast. I walked over and helped him with it.
I let him catch his breath before speaking.
"Wake the others."
Calixtus nodded and stepped over to them. A quiet shake was enough. Eleanor blinked up at him, then sat up wordlessly. Thalia followed a moment later. No complaints. They'd already caught the scent.
We dragged the beast closer to the riverbank where the ground was flat. It looked like some kind of lean forest runner—long-limbed, sinewy, maybe twenty pounds. Not much meat, but it was something.
We had no knives, no proper tools.
Calixtus phased two fingers halfway and used the blurred edge to slice the hide open. Eleanor held the carcass steady while he worked. They were methodical. Efficient. The rest of us gathered dry branches, bark, and some stringy grass.
Thalia crouched beside the pile, striking stones together. I pressed a sliver of mana into the flint to sharpen the spark. It caught on the dried moss, smoldering, then slowly bloomed into flame.
The smoke was thick, the fire small, but it worked.
We cut long branches into skewers with mana-pressured hands—shaping edges through friction or precise cuts. The meat sizzled unevenly over the fire. But it was nutrients that we needed.
We didn't talk much. We just ate. Slowly. Letting the warmth settle in our guts.
When we finished, I stood and glanced toward the tree line.
"Thalia, you take watch."
She nodded, already rising. She stepped to the edge of the arch and crouched low, gaze sharp but calm.
Calixtus lay down first. Then Eleanor. I followed a moment later, the fire casting faint shadows across the stone above.
I fell asleep.
The darkness didn't come all at once.
It slowly started creeping up my spine.
One moment, I was standing.
The next, I wasn't sure if I had legs.
Then I saw it.
A clearing. Wrong in shape. Too round, too perfect. The trees circled in a spiral instead of a ring, bending inward as if watching something in the center.
Mist clung low, swirling, glowing. Violet.
The feeling of dread was taking over my body.
In the middle stood a puppet.
One of them.
Faceless.
Its limbs, once again, dangled and threw themselves around.
It was like each limb was a separate being, rather than it all being the part of the Faceless.
It didn't walk toward me.
It danced.
At first, it swayed.
One leg sliding across the dirt in a slow arc. One arm raised, bent too far at the elbow. Its movements were jerky, off-tempo—intentional missteps, like it had seen dancing once and remembered only the outline.
Its torso twisted too far, vertebrae making creaking sounds, sounds like something was breaking, rearranging.
I heard it, now louder, behind my ears.
It spun suddenly—then stopped, head tilted, staring at me without eyes.
And then it bowed.
Just like before.
Only this time, it stayed down.
Head tilted forward, arms limp, unmoving.
Waiting.
The silence stretched.
And then it snapped upward without warning—no transition, no motion—just there, inches from my face.
I didn't move.
Couldn't.
It raised one hand slowly and pointed—not at me, but at my chest.
My heart.
The finger pressed forward, and I felt it—not pain, not touch, but entry.
Like the thread passed straight through skin, bone, and blood—and tugged.
I choked.
There was something inside me. Something left behind. Something waking.
The puppet didn't speak.
But I heard its voice.
Not in sound.
In gesture.
The head tilted. The limbs raised. It danced again.
This time, not awkwardly.
Now it danced like me.
My posture. My stance. My movement.
Mirrored.
Mocked.
It was learning.
And then—
It bowed again.
And vanished.
The clearing collapsed inward, folding like paper soaked in oil.
I woke up, silently gasping.
Sweat cold across my back.
The fire had burned low. Thalia still sat on watch, gaze toward the dark. The others slept.
My hand trembled.
I calmed myself down, surged mana slowly.
No pain.
But I could still feel the weight of the thread.
This feeling—it wasn't just fear.
It was something older.
Something buried deep, beneath every lecture, every sparring session, every constructed layer of control they'd forced into me since childhood.
It clawed its way up my spine like cold nails through marrow.
Primal. Absolute.
The kind of fear that doesn't scream—it waits. Breath held. Muscles tight. Eyes wide and searching the dark for something that shouldn't exist.
I didn't shake.
I didn't panic.
But inside, I was fissuring. Quietly. Inwardly. Like a perfect blade hairline-cracking under pressure no one else could see.
I didn't sleep again after that.
Not really.
I kept my eyes on the fire's edge as it died to embers. The warmth meant nothing now.
"Thalia, let's switch. Have a good night's sleep."
She glanced over her shoulder at me. Her eyes studied my face for a second too long—like she could tell something was off.
But she didn't ask.
She just nodded, stood, and stretched her arms briefly before slipping over to the others and curling up near the edge of the fire.
I took her place, sitting at the perimeter, back to the stone.
The trees were still. Mist drifted low over the roots like breath that never left.
I listened.
The forest offered no answers. Just the slow rhythm of the river and the occasional distant rustle too faint to trace.
The thread was still there.
The fire was down to embers.
The forest was quiet again.
I kept watch, listening to the river, waiting for morning to come.