The camp was born in silence.
The fire burned like a secret — low, shy, almost ashamed of its own light.
The tents, raised with haste and exhaustion, formed a half-circle at the foot of Mount Arf — a giant that breathed even while asleep.
The fading sunset draped the stone edges in copper, and the wind carried a rustling that wasn't quite wind — it sounded like something dragging its soul across the ground.
Arthur adjusted the blanket over his shoulder and looked around.
The group was nearly all lying down — some trying to sleep, others just pretending.
Alexius remained seated — sword resting on his knee, eyes open, alert to everything and nothing.
Mia, closest to the fire, watched the flames as if they held an answer.
Kazuko lay on his side, face turned to the stones, mumbling words no one could catch.
Kidero and Shirō took turns keeping watch, while Ayame cleaned her metal gloves with a dirty cloth — a repetitive motion that seemed to keep her mind from thinking too much.
Night fell fast.
Cold spilled across the valley, and the fire became the only living color.
Arthur leaned back, feeling the weight of his body more than the weight of sleep.
The mountain ahead seemed to move from within — not with sound, but with rhythm, as if it pulsed.
— Sensei, — Mia called softly, without rising. — Do you hear that?
Alexius lifted his gaze.
— What?
— Nothing. — She hesitated. — That's exactly it.
His eyes narrowed.
The silence around them was so pure it hurt.
No crickets, no rustling leaves, not even a hint of wind — only their own breathing.
Then Shirō moved, staring into the dark beyond the firelight.
— There's something there, — he muttered.
Kidero scoffed, but already had his hand on his sword hilt.
Arthur turned.
At the edge between light and darkness, something moved.
No — something didn't move.
It was an absence of shape, a tear in the night itself.
The fire flickered, and for an instant the silhouette was visible — tall, thin, bent in ways a human body shouldn't allow.
Then it was gone, erased from existence.
— You saw that? — Ayame whispered.
— I did, — Arthur answered.
No one said another word.
The fire crackled once, then shrank — as if the air had become too heavy to feed it.
Alexius stood slowly.
There was no sound of his steps — the earth swallowed the noise.
— Stay close, — he said, voice barely audible. — Don't look too far.
Mia approached him. — Are they shadows?
— They are, — he confirmed. — But not the kind that attack. These… watch.
Kazuko sat up suddenly, eyes feverish.
— I can feel them. They're looking. It's like they remember something I forgot.
— Shut up, — Kidero snapped, trying to hide his own unease. — It's just tricks of the dark.
— Tricks don't breathe, — Shirō muttered, voice tight.
The wind shifted.
The flame bent to one side, and behind it, three, four, five figures appeared — all identical, yet each different.
They had no faces, but they felt like eyes.
They stood still, forming a distant circle around the camp.
None moved.
They only watched.
Arthur felt Dimensional Magic brush beneath his skin — like a muscle trying to wake.
{Not now. Not yet.}
He breathed slowly, searching for calm he didn't possess.
— They don't cross the fire's edge, — Mia observed. — Something holds them back.
— The fire… or us, — Alexius replied, staring at them. — Stay inside the light. No one crosses it.
Time began to stretch.
Each minute dragged like melted wax.
The shadows didn't approach, but neither did they vanish.
The night refused to end.
Kazuko lay down again, eyes open, staring at a point only he could see.
Arthur tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same shape — tall, bent, unmoving.
At some point, the fire died.
It wasn't extinguished — it simply ceased to exist.
And even without it, there was light — a pale shimmer, like bone shining beneath skin.
The shadows were clearer now. More human.
Or maybe it was the humans who were becoming more shadow.
Ichika's trembling voice broke the stillness.
— Sensei… are they closer?
— No, — Alexius said, then corrected himself after a pause: — Not yet.
Arthur looked up.
There were no stars — only a gray film stretched across the sky, as if the world itself had cocooned.
Mia moved closer, her shoulder brushing his arm.
— Arthur…
— Hm?
— If they come in—
— They won't. — He lied, and knew it.
Kazuko turned to the side. — They don't come in, — he murmured, — because they haven't decided who goes first.
The silence that followed screamed.
Even the dead fire seemed to want to reignite.
Alexius raised his eyes toward the mountain.
The darkness clinging to the rocks looked like ink running downhill.
A fissure flashed once at the peak — blue, then violet, then gone.
He narrowed his gaze.
{The dimensional barrier reacts on its own… as if the mountain itself is testing who dares sleep here.}
He looked at the group, one by one — weary faces, tightened jaws.
And he understood: fear held them together more firmly than duty ever could.
It was a fear that breathed with them.
When the first light of dawn touched the horizon, the shadows began to withdraw.
They didn't vanish — they retreated, as if summoned elsewhere.
The cold stayed, but the air started to move again.
A thin wind crossed the camp, scattering sand and erasing the night's last traces.
Arthur opened his eyes, unsure if he had slept or fainted.
Mia was still beside him, awake, her head resting on his shoulder.
Kazuko slept with half-open eyes, whispering something incoherent.
Alexius stood, eyes locked on the mountain.
— They're gone? — Ayame asked, voice hoarse.
— No, — the sensei replied. — They were never gone. They only hide from the light.
Arthur stood, muscles stiff.
The mountain ahead looked the same.
But the air had changed — heavier, older.
It felt as if the world had remembered their existence during the night.
— Pack up, — Alexius ordered. — We climb.
The group broke camp in silence.
While collecting his sword, Arthur glanced back one last time.
For a heartbeat, he thought he saw movement among the stones — that same tall, slender figure, standing exactly where it had the night before.
{Watching. Still watching.}
He looked away, pretending not to notice.
But the feeling lingered — cold, pulsing:
Mount Arf did not sleep.
Mount Arf waited.