For a while none of us spoke a word. After everything we'd lived through today, silence felt normal. There was also this sinking feeling that the planet held way more dangers than we'd first guessed. That thought hit me hard: we had to finish our shelter fast—who knew what else was lurking out there?
The first day dragged on. We finally sparked our very first fire thanks to an old man who, miracle of miracles, still had a lighter in his pocket. Honestly? Super generous. If I'd had one, I probably would've kept it hidden. After that we divvied up jobs. Nikita—the buzz‑cut guy—teamed up with Carmen and the elf to expand the shelter. Amina, the Moroccan girl with the curls, volunteered for night watch. Her job was plain and simple: guard the fire so it never died. We all knew if those flames went out, another friendly grandpa with a lighter wasn't showing up.
That left the Japanese kid and me on wood‑gathering duty.
"Aleks, right? Let's roll!" he said, flashing a grin and tossing an arm across my shoulders like we were old pals.
"Yeah, yeah, let's go," I grumbled, sliding his arm off.
"Wow, those two clicked fast," Amina murmured behind us at the fire.
We pushed deep into the woods. It was cool and dim inside, only thin shafts of light piercing gaps in the canopy. I started ripping branches off trees—and holy crap, the wood was way softer than anything back on Earth. I could tear off thick limbs with my bare hands like they were nothing.
Startled, I glanced at the Japanese guy; he stared back, just as stunned.
"Bro, did you see that? This wood's insanely soft! We can haul a mountain of it in no time," he laughed, giving my shoulder a playful smack. "We'll have fuel for days."
"Soft doesn't automatically mean good," I pointed out. "Because it's soft, it'll burn quicker than hardwood. So we'll actually need a lot more."
His smile faded. He dropped his hand and went back to snapping branches in silence.
Great—nice job killing the vibe, Aleks. I'm garbage at small talk. I need friends here; don't blow this. But what do I even ask him? Wait… what's his name again? Crap. I totally forgot.
"So, uh," he suddenly asked, breaking the awkward tension, "what do you think about the girls back at camp—Amina and Carmen?"
"What? Why is he dropping that on me out of nowhere? What's up with this guy?" I muttered under my breath.
"Seriously—you can still think about girls after everything that went down today?" I laughed, half in disbelief.
He shrugged, grinning. "Your answer'll tell me what kind of guy you are. So—Amina or Carmen? Who do you think is hotter?"
"Uh… give me a sec to think," I said automatically, cheeks heating.
Is he serious right now? People literally died in front of us and this dude wants me to pick a crush?
He leaned closer. "You knew Carmen before all this, right? When you two walked back from the woods it looked like it."
"Yeah, that's right—she's a friend from my child—"
He stopped ripping branches, voice dropping. "Friend? As in… are you two together?"
"No, no. Like I said, just childhood friends. You cut me off."
"Do you have feelings for her?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Really."
He let out a giant breath. "Thank God. I thought you'd be my rival and I'd have to duel you or something. She's totally my type. First time I saw her I legit thought she was an angel. Her beauty just—man, I'm spellbound."
He would not shut up.
"Pretty sure we've got enough firewood. Let's head back," I said, cutting him off.
"Sure thing, bro."
We walked slowly toward camp. The guy—still no clue what his name is—kept talking about Carmen the whole way.
"You know her personally, Aleks. Spill some details, pretty please?" he nagged, voice sing‑song.
He paused mid‑stride, slid the bundle of wood onto his shoulder, and pointed. "What's that over there?"
I followed his finger. He was aiming at the ruins Carmen and I had found earlier.
"That's the place Carmen and I told you about," I said.
"Then let's see what's inside." His eyes practically sparkled.
"I really don't think that's smart. Let's get back to the others first," I argued—but the warning didn't stick. He was already marching toward the doorway.
"Hey, wait!" I called, jogging after him.
"Do you think something lives in there?" he asked, still glued to the shadowed entrance.
Something? We'd already watched a real dragon fly overhead—and God knew what demonic nightmares we'd seen on Earth. My gut screamed yes, definitely.
"Come on, let's go in," he urged.
"What—oh hell no!" I blurted.
"Scaredy‑cat," he laughed.
Screw it. Things can't get any crazier, right?
I shot the structure one last glance before stepping inside. A tall archway carved into a low hill, made of black stone etched with winding patterns. From the entrance all you could see was endless darkness.
We dumped the firewood next to the doorway and slipped inside. Pitch black swallowed us. My boot found a step, and I realized we were walking down a staircase. Each step sank us deeper; the air grew cooler, damper. The smell reminded me—strangely—of an old church.
"Look," the Japanese guy whispered.
He didn't point, but I saw it too: up ahead, an eerie glow. Light—this far underground? How was that even possible?
I drew a slow breath, swallowed hard, and kept moving. The silence down here was unreal—the only sound was the echo of our own footsteps tapping cautiously down the stairs. My heart picked up, syncing to that hollow rhythm.
This was turning into a full‑on horror movie.
"Careful," he whispered as the glow widened ahead.
"No shit," I muttered.
Why am I still going deeper? I should've ditched this dude and run back to camp. Screw him.
At the bottom we stepped into a surprisingly grand hall. Smooth white stone everywhere—columns, friezes—like some Ancient‑Greece fever dream. Lit torches sat in sconces on every pillar, and at the far end loomed a massive closed door. Carvings covered the walls, more detailed than Egyptian hieroglyphs—almost like murals carved straight into the rock. Four of them, two on each side.
Lit torches meant someone—or something—had been here not long ago.
"Check this out," the Japanese guy said, eyes glued to one mural. I joined him.
The carving showed a wide landscape with humanoid figures kneeling, backs to us. Too hazy to tell if they were humans, elves—whatever. They all faced a huge sphere radiating beams of light, as if worshipping it. Along the border ran a script I'd never seen.
I squinted, trying to make sense of the letters—and jerked back. I could read them. Not letter by letter, but the meaning just bloomed in my head, like I'd always known the language. Same freaky feeling as when I suddenly understood elves and dwarves earlier.
I shot him a look. "Can you read this too?"
He locked on to the script and started reading aloud, voice low and clear:
"We were the First. The First Children. Made in His Image. We were blessed, eternal, untouched by decay. The world was ours. We knew no war. We knew no hunger. We knew no loss. We were loved."
"Whoa—how am I even able to read this? This place just keeps getting creepier," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Let's check the next mural," I suggested.
He nodded, and we stepped to the panel beside it. The layout was identical, but the glowing sphere was gone. The kneeling figures were still there, praying into empty air.
While I studied the scene, the Japanese guy read the inscription aloud:
"Then the Sky fell silent. His voice, which had always guided us, was no more. We waited. We prayed. We searched the heavens.But no answer came."
Our eyes met—yeah, that sounded bad. We crossed to the third carving. This one was a mess: only a few figures remained on their knees. The rest looked terrified, some sprinting away, others turning on each other. In one corner, something was scratched in—a creature that looked eerily like the monsters that attacked Earth.
He swallowed and read the next inscription:
"Not through war. Not through disaster. But through emptiness. Without Him, there was nothing. And so we became nothing."
We moved to where the fourth mural should have been… and found a gaping hole instead, as if the stone had been ripped clean out.
"Dang," he muttered.
"Yeah. Let's get out of here," I said, already backing up.
"Hold up, bro—what about the big door? Don't you wanna know what's behind it?"
I shook my head hard.
"If you're scared, you can head back alone. We'll meet at the shelter," he teased.
I glanced up the stairs. Only the first few steps were visible; everything above that was swallowed in pitch‑black. Oh, hell no. Rule number one of horror movies: never split up.
He stepped forward and shoved his shoulder against the massive door. "Argh—this thing's heavy. Hey, bro, help me out, yeah?"
I moved closer, but before I could touch the wood a piercing scream cut through the crack. Something was actually behind the door—and we were not alone. The scream sounded female, so loud I thought my eardrums would explode. Our faces went ghost‑white. In the same heartbeat we bolted back up the stairs. Seconds later we burst outside, and I swear I'd never been so happy to gulp fresh air.
"Dude, what the hell was that?" he panted, bent double with his hands on his knees.
"No idea, man. No idea," I wheezed, crouching to catch my breath.
"What just happened stays between us, okay?"
"Fine," I nodded.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Then let's get the hell out of here," he said.
First smart thing he's said all day.
We grabbed the sticks we'd left beside the doorway and headed back toward camp.
"Hey, Aleks," he asked as we walked.
"Yeah?"
"Who do you think they were talking about?"
"Who?"
"In those texts—the ones I read aloud. They kept mentioning someone who'd abandoned them. Who was that, Aleks?"
"God," I answered quietly.
"God, huh? Now that I think about it… kinda makes sense. Those murals showed them praying to something." He fell silent, lost in thought as we trudged through the trees.
He slowed for a moment, eyes fixed on the dirt path. "Do you think God's abandoned us too?" he asked quietly.
"Huh?" I blinked.
"Never mind," he said, brushing it off.
Soon our shelter came into view. The sun had already dipped below the treeline. While we'd been out gathering wood the others had done serious upgrades—our lean‑to now looked almost like a real hut. A skeleton of thick branches formed a wide triangle, the roof packed with smaller sticks and a quilt of leaves. Nikita and Carmen were still up there, tucking fresh foliage into the gaps. Off to the side Amina knelt by the fire, feeding it more logs.
But my attention snapped to Cealith. The elf was ringed by half a dozen of his own people. You'd think being with his kind would calm him, yet his face was pure panic. He stood rigid, shoulders hunched the way mine used to when Brad wound up a punch.
Suddenly one of the elves shoved him. Another drove a fist into his ribs. Cealith gasped and dropped to the dirt.
"H‑Hey—what the hell?" I whispered, dropping my bundle. "Cealith looked totally chill before. Why are they beating him?"
The Japanese guy's eyes widened. "No clue, but we can't just watch."
We threw the firewood aside and bolted. Nikita glanced up, confusion flashing across his face, but we were already sprinting past him. One of the elves drove a knee into Cealith's ribs; another raised a clenched fist, ready to swing again.
"Stop!" my companion shouted. I felt the word tear from my own throat too, but the sound seemed to shatter in the thick night air.
Cealith tried to crawl away, blood streaking his lip. The tallest elf grabbed a fistful of his silver hair and yanked him upright—just as we reached the edge of the firelight.
The attacker turned, eyes burning, and lifted something that gleamed orange in the flames.
I skidded to a halt, heart punching my ribs.
Please don't be a blade…