The four of them sat together in the lustreless bunker, the smell of dust and faint smoke still hung in the air.
Elior leaned forward over the old metal table, a crumpled map spread open between them. The candlelight flickered against his half-shadowed face, the lines of fatigue showing clearly beneath his eyes.
Rosario leaned against the wall, chewing on a dry biscuit like it was a five-course meal. Grace sat beside him, still looking pale but recovering, a mug of something warm between her hands. Tom was half-listening, half-doodling with a stick in the sand that had blown in through a cracked window.
"We don't know from where and how Azmaik will strike next." Elior said, tone calm but sharp. "His patterns are not random, he's setting pieces one by one and push us in a corner."
Rosario nodded, crumbs falling from his mouth. "Corner, huh? Feels like we have been living in a corner for a while now."
Grace sighed softly, "We can't keep running blind like this. If we could just understand what he's really after.…"
Tom, who had been poking his stick through the sand like it was an excavation site, suddenly looked up.
"Wait," he said, voice thoughtful. "In the Carna Forest.... when I went there for that quest a while ago, I found something weird. Another lore."
Elior's head turned slightly. "Carna Forest?"
"Yeah," Tom said, scratching the back of his head. "It was just a tablet at first, half-buried under moss. But when I touched it, it saved a record in my system. I never opened it though."
Grace blinked. "You're telling us this now?"
Tom shrugged sheepishly. "I forgot. After i returned, I never got the time in this mess to check it up."
Rosario let out a low chuckle. "Tree politics, huh? Maybe they voted for the wrong root this time. I have some Lores too, but I now use them to trade."
Elior gave them both a dry look but gestured. "Open it. Let's see."
Tom nodded, straightened his back, and opened his interface. A faint holographic glow shimmered before his eyes, unseen by the others.
"Alright," he muttered, navigating. "Let's see.… Lore Archive…. Carna Forest…. Ah, here we go—" He froze mid-sentence.
"What?" Grace asked, leaning forward.
Tom's expression tensed. "It says.… something about a deity. The name, wait, this is strange? It mentions Crescent Aurora Hive."
Elior's brow furrowed deeply. "Crescent Aurora Hive? Huh? Is that forest related to Crescent Aurora Hive? The god of the hive's origin?"
Tom nodded slowly, kept watching the screen and telling. "I don't know…. and the forest's name ' Carna ' comes from 'Carnnay,' meaning 'of the light,' in the old tongue. It says the Hive God's origin was there.…"
He suddenly stopped. His expression turned off again.
His eyes darted away. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Uh… guys, I'll—uh—be right back."
Elior raised his left eyebrow. "What?"
"Yeah, yeah," Tom said quickly, standing up, brushing his pants. "Important stuff. Urgent. Nature calls, y'know? Can't argue with biology."
Grace gave him the kind of unimpressed look that could kill a man twice. "Seriously? Now?"
Rosario smirked. "Man's about to drop a lore bomb, but he's the one about to explode first."
Tom pointed dramatically at him. "You laugh, Rosario, but never underestimate the call of destiny and digestion."
Elior sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just don't get lost in there, hero."
Tom gave a thumbs-up, already halfway out the door. "If I die, tell my story right that I went down a brave man, facing.… natural consequences."
Grace muttered under her breath, "Go already."
Elior leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering candle. "He better not forget what he was about to say."
Grace crossed her arms. "Oh, he'll remember. Just not soon enough."
The room fell back into soft murmurs and half-smiles that strange moment between dread and laughter that only survivors knew.
Tom leaned against the mirror above the rust-stained sink, the flickering bulb overhead humming like an old radio losing signal.
The bunker's washroom smelled faintly of metal and soap that had lost its scent years ago. He splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing it in roughly, trying to cool down the heat behind his eyes. His hands trembled faintly as he gripped the edges of the basin.
The reflection stared back at him, tired eyes, unshaven jaw, the face of someone carrying too many invisible boulders none else can feel.
He took a deep breath. "Arlong…." he muttered. "You idiot, you really went and did that." His voice cracked halfway through. "Could've just… waited."
He bent again, throwing another handful of water over his face. When he looked up this time, his reflection didn't follow.
It was still there, but the timing was wrong. It blinked a second too late, moved a heartbeat off-sync. The reflection smiled like a horror game figure.
"Hey," it said, voice identical to his own, but softer. "You're really stuck on him, huh?"
Tom stepped back, his heart thudding. "Oh, it's you again."
"Relax," the reflection said calmly, leaning closer inside the mirror. "You're acting like you saw a monster."
Tom frowned. "Go away. You're not me."
The reflection chuckled. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm what's left when you stop pretending you're okay."
Tom's lips tightened. "If you came here to make it worse, you will have to crawl back into the grassy fields."
"I didn't," it said simply. "If you keep sitting in Arlong's memories, you'll end up like him, gone, remembered for a few moments, then forgotten. Is that what you want?"
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Arlong wasn't useless."
"Then don't make his death useless," the reflection shot back. "You think he would want you crying in a bathroom while the world turns into coal and ash?"
Tom didn't answer. The reflection tilted its head, a smooth metaphor was brightening. "He gave everything, Tom. That kind of sacrifice? It's a message, not a chain of sorrow. You need carry it forward, not down."
Tom's hands clenched. "You talk too much sometimes, it is true though."
"Funny, I was about to say the same."
A small, tense silence filled the space. Then, the reflection straightened, its expression softening. "You've done well, you know. For all the fear, all the confusion. You're still standing. That's something."
Tom looked down, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Standing doesn't mean I'm winning."
Their gazes locked for a moment longer. Then the reflection leaned forward, whispering, "Don't waste him, draining yourself in Illusions of dead people, deads won't remember you."
The light flickered and the reflection was gone. The mirror was just a mirror again.
Tom stood there quietly, the silence of the bunker heavy around him. He leaned over the sink, splashed water over his face one more time, and let the cold run down his neck.
He whispered, barely audible,
"I won't."
....
Elior sat on one side of the table, arms crossed, the familiar glint of thought resting behind his eyes. Rosario leaned against the wall, chewing something.
A habit he picked up whenever tension lingered too long. Vera sat silently near the far end, sharpening his trident again, though there was no fight waiting for him.
Grace, wrapped in a blanket, was sitting quietly beside the furnace, her expression softer than usual. She was recovering, but still pale face and her gaze was distant, lost in thoughts she didn't share.
The bunker door creaked open, breaking the stillness. Tom walked in, looking unusually calm, wiping his slightly wet hands on his pants.
Rosario raised an eyebrow. "Took you long enough. You went to wash your soul or what?"
Tom sighed, slumping into his chair. "An Old woman called me for a hand on the way back."
Elior smirked faintly. "Okay then, begin yapping."
Vera looked up from his trident, deadpan. "There's no one old here except Rosario."
Rosario scoffed, leaning off the wall. "I'll remember that when you're the one crying for soup in your eighties."
Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, she looked old. Whatever."
Grace smiled faintly, her voice weak but steady. "You always manage to find weird excuses, Tom."
"Not excuses," he replied, glancing at her. "If someone asks help then what I can do?"
Elior watched the exchange, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The faint hum of the bunker's old generator filled the pause.
"Alright," Elior said, his tone steady but carrying weight. "Now that everyone's done making jokes about time and ghosts, let's start."
Tom inhaled deeply, recognised the survivors once at all their faces, at the survivors, the friends, the pieces of family they'd become.
"Alright," he said, voice firm but calm. "Let's talk about Carna Forest."