Day Two — The Game Truly Begins
When morning came, the memory of the night before still weighed heavy on every heart. Ecko's eyes instinctively searched for Rovan and found him standing tense, uneasy. One by one, the others stepped out of their homes, gathering in the damp silence of the village square.
Then, as if the air itself split open, Meril's voice descended:
"Good morning, children. Unfortunately, while most of you slept, certain events took place."
The words spread a shiver through the group. Faces turned, suspicious and searching. Those who knew nothing looked around in confusion, blurting questions: "What happened? What does she mean?"
Meril answered with unsettling calm:
"Last night, your friend Enid suffered an… accident. Some of you tried to help her. But she refused that help. She left the safety of her home and returned outside. There, she suffered another accident—and lost her life."
The moment the words left her mouth, Rovan's hands began to tremble. Eyes darted between one another, wide with disbelief. Ecko froze—he had heard nothing, and his ears never missed a sound. If Enid had truly wandered out, he would have known.
"How do we know you're not lying to us?" Ecko demanded.
Meril gave no reply. Instead, a shadow stirred above the fire. From the heavens, Enid's body descended—broken, mangled, torn apart. Limbs severed, eyes forced grotesquely from their sockets. Gasps ripped through the group. Simay couldn't take it; she turned away and vomited.
Then, without warning, the corpse plunged into the fire. The pyre erupted, exploding in a roar of flame. And as the embers reached for the sky, Enid's screams ripped through their minds, echoing in every skull.
Above the fire, in the drifting sparks, words formed:
INNOCENT: SILENT FOOTSTEPS.
The air grew heavier. Rovan broke into sobs, his grief spilling out. Simay followed, and even Gusto's tears came at last. Rovan's voice cracked as childhood memories seized him—how the others had mocked him, calling him "dirty child" for his love of soil. How Enid, mischievous, once planted carrion flowers in his room so insects would swarm. Even then, he had loved her.
Carl swallowed hard, his voice trembling with rage. "What is the meaning of this? Why would anyone do this to their own family?"
Gusto, tears brimming, muttered: "Silent footsteps… What does that even mean?"
Meril's voice returned, as cold as ever:
"The truth of every death shall be revealed. Enid's gift was the ability to walk barefoot without a sound. It was a talent with great potential. But her potential went unfulfilled. Now, new tasks await you. And remember: tonight, one of you must hang."
The words struck like knives. Mira snapped, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face:
"What kind of monster are you? You're killing us! This is your fault!" Her scream became a sob. "She read me stories when I couldn't sleep… She was like a sister to me!"
But Meril's reply was ice:
"I bring only the inevitable forward. Did you truly think you were safe at the orphanage? At least here, you have a chance. Find the cursed one among you, or perish. This is a test—not just of your powers, but of your worthiness to wield them."
Saru's voice thundered across the square, raw with fury:
"We were children! All we wanted was to play, to laugh! You turned us into your lab rats, your weapons—and now this! Another cruel experiment!"
"Enough," Meril cut him off. "No more questions. Your tasks await."
Sheets of parchment fell into their hands. Day Two: Tasks.
Ecko glanced up, shaken. His eyes found Carl, Simay, and Rovan in turn. And then his mind replayed the sounds from last night—the strange noises from Bren's house, the claw marks, the unease. A creeping fear gnawed at him. He wanted to speak, to warn the others. He strode toward Carl, but Carl's eyes widened, darting subtle warnings—not now.
Ecko understood. If they were the only ones whispering while others worked, suspicion would fall squarely on them. He gave the smallest nod of agreement.
Then he unfolded his parchment. His task: gather mushrooms in the northern forest. He frowned at the time limit—seven hours. The tasks were growing harder.
"Seven hours… The game is changing," he muttered to himself, then set off.
The forest loomed ahead, dark behind its stone boundary. Inside, the air felt heavy, oppressive. Four winding paths stretched before him. He held his breath, straining to listen—when behind him, footsteps crunched the earth. Heart racing, he darted into the first path, sprinting until his lungs burned.
But silence followed. No pursuer. Only towering trees, blotting out the sun, stealing his sense of time.
"I have to find the mushrooms quickly," he told himself. "If I fail the task…"
Then he smelled it—earthy, pungent. Mushrooms. Truffles, nestled beneath roots. A basket already lay waiting beside them. He hesitated, then filled it, relief flickering through him.
But his ears caught something else. Heavy, labored breathing. Then the thundering charge of a wild boar crashing through the underbrush.
"Here! This way!" a voice called.
Ecko ran toward it without thought. To hesitate was to die. He burst through the brush and found Simay, crouched behind a tree. She pointed toward the ground—toward leaves concealing a trap.
Ecko leapt over it just as the boar thundered forward—straight into the pit. The trap snapped shut.
Breathless, Ecko gasped, "Simay—what are you doing out here? That trap…?"
"My task was to dig trenches," she answered. "I didn't expect you, but I'm glad I was here."
"You saved me," Ecko said, embracing her. His voice shook, but his relief was genuine.
They spoke quietly, exchanging tasks, walking together until they reached the forest's edge. There, they parted ways—Simay to the forge, Ecko to the marketplace.
The day dragged on. Rain fell, sudden and violent, lightning splitting the sky. At the carpenter's shop, Ecko found claw marks gouged into the timber, a chilling echo of Enid's wounds. Terror seized him. He fled, stumbling into Simay again at the forge, where they worked together—fighting collapsing roofs, broken furnaces, even fire itself.
By the time the storm cleared, their tasks were finished. But one truth lingered, unspoken between them: tonight, someone had to die.
As dusk descended, the survivors gathered in the square. Shadows stretched long, the fire crackled low. Then Meril's voice rolled once more across the heavens:
"Good evening, my dear villagers. I see you are wet, weary—your tasks today must have been quite the challenge. But I have something new for you. From tonight onward, you may conceal your faces and voices… but only for five minutes. Such privileges, of course, require extra work. Think carefully how you use them."
Saru spat, "This is madness!"
"It is opportunity," Meril corrected. "You venture into the night not to help each other, but to sharpen yourselves. And now—" Her voice sharpened. "The moment you've been waiting for. Cast your votes. Decide who among you shall hang. You have ten minutes."
Her words fell silent.
Rovan cursed under his breath: "She even puts a clock on our deaths—psychopath."
Then Carl, his voice shaking but strong, cried out:
"Let's vote one by one. And give your reasons. No secrets."
The others, reluctant but resigned, nodded.
And so the first trial began.