The crowd gathered on the hill in just five minutes.
A murmur of voices, sharp cries, hurried footsteps, and the stomping of frightened people clutching sticks, bags of supplies—or simply each other.
Rain poured down, turning the ground to mud, but no one paid it any attention.
Among the gathering were people holding torches. But these weren't ordinary torches—their flames glowed cold, pale blue, like the light of dead stars.
They lit only a third as far as normal fire, but they never went out—no matter the wind or rain. These torches didn't burn, but their glow pierced the darkness. They were the kind used in mines and dungeons, where real flames could spark explosions from the gases trapped inside.
Gloomer stood apart, breathing heavily, assessing the situation. He was shaken, but not broken.
In this brutal world, he'd been thrown into enough chaos that fear had long since become familiar—almost indistinguishable from exhaustion. The only thing that truly worried him now was his friends' safety.
The fire consuming the village helped him orient himself. He knew where they were. He knew where to go. And he had seen what brought death here.
Skeletons.
They were everywhere now.
Gloomer had been prepared for this. He had known it would happen.
Without hesitation, he leapt down from the hill and rushed south—toward the Great Mine, rich in resources and well-protected. That's where the fifth member of their group worked. That's where the strong guards were, even those with anomalous powers.
He remembered an old conversation.
— Kid, are you really that scared of this cave? — a large man had chuckled, casually resting a massive sword over his shoulder.
His laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the nearby guards had laughed along with him.
— Remember this, boy: down here, deep below, you're safe. What you should fear is not the darkness under your feet—but what's outside. Out there... it's much worse.
Back then, Gloomer hadn't understood what those words meant.
Now he did.
The mine wasn't just a fortress. It was the last line of defense. And the guards wouldn't back down easily.
But just as he took a few more steps, he tripped on a root and crashed into the mud.
— Damn it... Even now, I can't catch a break...
His friends just stood there, watching him from the top of the hill.
— Gloomer, wait. It's better to stay with the crowd, — said Ars.
He only said it seriously after Gloomer had already made the descent.
— If you die down there, your only excuse will be your stupidity, — Lark snorted, already having pulled himself together.
Gloomer lifted his head, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face, and gave them an irritated look.
— Why the hell are you still standing there?! We need to get to the mine! It's the only safe place left. The village is already lost—and most likely, the others are too.
— Gloomer, you idiot, — Lark stepped forward, his eyes flashing with anger. — Who told you the mine is safe? Didn't it ever cross your mind that the monsters might've taken it already?
— And did it ever occur to you that the mine is better guarded than any village? — Gloomer shot back. — Do you really think those creatures can handle the people working down there?
— It's too much of a risk!
— Staying in this damn place is an even bigger risk. Please, for once, try using your damn brain instead of relying on your imaginary gods!
— You're crossing the line, bastard. I'll break every bone in your body.
— Mm-hm. Go on, then. I'm waiting.
The tension between them thickened, the air itself turning into a heavy, invisible wall.
Lark felt the overwhelming urge to jump down and slap Gloomer across the face.
But both of their friends stopped him instantly—before he could move, before he could say a word.
Vale and Ars were sick of their endless arguments. But there was nothing they could do.
Harry, one of the ordinary villagers from Blackwater, glanced wearily at Daemon.
— Sir… where did all the adults go? What's even happening? Feels like I just woke up from a long, dragging nightmare—and it still isn't over.
Daemon slowly lifted his gaze, as if surfacing from deep thoughts.
— I'd give a lot to know that myself, — he said quietly.
He looked away and shrugged.
— But it's too early to give up.
Daemon still looked calm, composed—completely sure of himself.
Among all the teenagers, he stood out. He was the only adult.
People started arguing about where they should go next.
Daemon ran through everything he knew, rapidly flipping through the archives in his mind. Useless facts, fragments, stories—things that once seemed pointless. But now, they clicked into place. This was all happening because of the Dark Island.
Maybe, if he could remember more, he'd figure out the best direction to take.
Someone laughed again—but looking at the grim scene around them, his tone grew more serious.
— Maybe… we should all just pray?
— Or hide somewhere?
The atmosphere was awful.
Then, suddenly, a strong, steady voice rolled across the hill.
— We're heading south. To the mine.
The arguing fell silent.
Everyone turned toward the voice.
Daemon.
The one adult. The mysterious stranger.
There was something about him—strange, unknown, but trustworthy.
Compared to the ragged crowd, Daemon looked like a true citizen of the Main Green Island. His clothes, though worn from travel, were still neat, and far cleaner than the tattered, dusty rags around him.
Clear skin. A steady posture. Everything about him spoke of a different life—a life far from dirt and desperation.
And if even he said the mine was their only hope... then it was.
The argument was over.
They set off.