The fire had burned low, but Matthew stayed awake.
He didn't know how long he'd been in Death Land—time felt warped here, stretched thin like plastic over flame. He hadn't seen another living person since he arrived. Only empty streets. Shattered buildings. The game. The mask.
Now, in the darkness, the silence pressed harder.
Matthew stood, gripping a rusty metal pipe he'd scavenged earlier, and stepped out of the ruined bookstore where he'd made camp. The night was strangely quiet. No wind. No sirens. Just that ever-present red sky, pulsing faintly above the ruins.
That's when he heard it.
A voice.
Muffled.
Close.
"Keep moving… just keep moving…"
Matthew turned sharply, pipe raised.
Someone stumbled into the light. A teenage boy, maybe a year older than him, wearing a torn sports jersey and limping heavily. He looked up, startled to see Matthew.
Both froze.
"You…" the boy breathed, wide-eyed. "You're real."
Matthew lowered the pipe slowly. "You're the first person I've seen since I got here."
The boy nodded, cautious. "Same. Name's Luca."
"Matthew."
From behind Luca, another figure appeared—a girl, short, wiry, with a deep gash on her arm and an ice-cold look in her eyes. She carried a sharpened length of rebar like it was part of her.
"Luca," she snapped, eyeing Matthew. "Who's this?"
"Someone like us, I think," Luca said. "He hasn't turned."
"Turned?" Matthew asked.
The girl stepped closer. "Some people… they lose it. Too many games, too much death. They snap. Start treating this place like a sport. Or worse."
Matthew's stomach twisted. "You mean players… kill each other?"
She didn't answer.
Another voice, softer, drifted from the shadows. "He's not one of them. Look at his eyes. He's still scared."
A third person emerged—a girl no older than fourteen. Her clothes were soaked from a red rainstorm that hadn't happened yet, and she held a notebook close to her chest like a lifeline. Her eyes never blinked.
Matthew looked around at them. Three strangers. Survivors. Just like him.
"How long have you guys been here?" he asked.
Luca shrugged. "Two games. Maybe three days? It's hard to tell. You sleep when you can. Wake when the sky changes."
The older girl added, "We lost two of our group yesterday. One in the game. One to the Night Callers."
Matthew's throat tightened. "What are those?"
"You'll hear them. When your time's up."
A silence fell. The youngest girl crouched by the embers of his fire, flipping through her notebook. Matthew caught a glimpse—sketches of strange creatures. Masked figures. Game arenas.
"You draw the games?" he asked.
She nodded. "So I don't forget."
Matthew turned back to Luca and the others. "You can stay here. There's not much, but it's safer than out there."
They didn't hesitate.
For the first time since falling into Death Land, Matthew wasn't alone.
As they sat around the fire, sharing what little they had, an uneasy sense of comfort settled in. He had people now. Names. Faces.
But the night was not kind for long.
Above them, a low chime rang through the air—deep, metallic, like a bell struck underwater.
The red sky flashed black for a moment.
And then a message, glowing across the sky like fire:
NEXT GAME INITIATES AT SUNRISE
GAME: THE KING'S TRIAL
PLAYERS REQUIRED: 4
SURVIVAL RATE: 12%
The flames cracked.
The girl closed her notebook.
Luca's hand tightened around a splintered bat.
And Matthew stared into the dark, knowing this moment—this fragile peace—was already slipping away.
The game was coming.
And now, he had more than just his own life to worry about.