Night had fallen over the valley, but the dark didn't feel natural anymore. It shimmered faintly, alive with quiet motion, a thousand unseen threads of light twisting through the fog. The survivors set their camp among the cracked stones, building low shelters from scavenged tarps and twisted steel.
No one dared light a real fire. The storm below still pulsed on the horizon, spilling faint waves of radiance that made shadows crawl. Every few minutes, the air hummed, and the ground beneath them shivered as though breathing.
Lira walked the camp's perimeter, her boots sinking into soft dust. Her lantern flickered, dim and uneven. She tried not to look toward the south, where the Dominion's glow still lingered, faint but constant, like an open wound in the world.
Behind her, murmurs drifted through the camp. The survivors spoke in low voices, their words sharp with exhaustion and fear.
"They said the Dominion sleeps," one man muttered. "But that storm looks wide awake."
"It's following us," another whispered. "You saw what it did to the lights, it's in the ground."
Lira stopped listening. Fear spread faster than truth. She'd learned that much since Ares fell.
At the center of camp, a child cried softly. Mira knelt beside her, humming under her breath, wrapping a blanket tight. Lira watched them for a moment. That small sound, hat trembling, human sound, cut through the hum of the world.
When Lira finally sat down, exhaustion came in waves. Her hands trembled when she unrolled the map they'd salvaged. The lines and symbols felt meaningless now, a language for a world that no longer existed. Still, she traced their path northward with a finger, whispering to herself, "Just a few more days."
Darek approached, shadows under his eyes. "You should rest," he said.
She looked up, her mouth curving in a tired smile. "That an order?"
"A plea," he said. "You've been walking since dawn."
"I can't sleep," she admitted.
He sat beside her, silent for a while. The wind carried faint static, making the air feel thin. "You still think he'll come back," Darek said finally.
Lira didn't answer.
"Whatever Aiden became," he continued, "it's not one of us anymore."
Lira's fingers tightened on the edge of the map. "He came back," she said softly. "That has to mean something."
Darek shook his head. "It means we're part of something we don't understand."
She sighed. "We've always been."
A sudden crack split the air, not thunder, not quite. The ground quivered. Several people screamed. Lira was on her feet before she realized she'd moved, scanning the ridge. The light of the Dominion flared briefly in the distance, brighter than before, then faded to a dull pulse.
"Stay calm!" she shouted. "It's miles away!"
But calm was a foreign word here. A few of the younger survivors tried to run, only to be stopped by Mira and two others. The air buzzed again, and the fog thickened.
And then came the voices.
They started faintly, like whispers through broken radios, just beneath hearing. Words stretched and distorted, carrying no meaning, only intent. Some people clutched their heads. Others turned toward the sound, eyes wide and unfocused.
Lira's breath caught. She'd heard that sound before, down in the tunnels, when the Dominion had first awakened.
"Cover the transmitters!" she ordered. "Wrap the receivers! Anything metal, ground it!"
They scrambled to obey. The voices grew louder, resolving for a moment into something almost human, a phrase half-heard, half-felt:
We remember.
Then it was gone. The hum faded. The fog stilled.
The survivors stood frozen, their faces pale in the ghost light. Mira came to Lira's side, her expression grim. "It's not stopping," she said. "Whatever this is, it's spreading."
Lira looked toward the south. "Then we keep moving north," she said. "Every mile we gain buys us a little more time."
Mira hesitated. "And when there's nowhere left to run?"
Lira didn't answer.
Later that night, as the camp finally quieted, she sat alone on the ridge, her rifle across her knees. The stars above were faint, pale points behind shifting veils of light. The world felt thinner somehow, the boundaries less certain.
She thought of Aiden again. Of the way his voice had sounded, hollow, but human beneath the strange echo. Maybe he was fighting it still. Maybe part of him was holding the Dominion back, giving them this chance to flee.
She wanted to believe that.
The wind carried faint whispers again, but this time they weren't from machines. They were from memory, her team, her city, the lives they'd lost.
Lira closed her eyes and whispered into the dark, "We'll survive. For him. For all of us."
When she opened them, the horizon glowed faintly, and for just a heartbeat, she thought she saw a figure standing within the storm, distant, watching, a flicker of silver light where no one should be.
Then it was gone.
Lira stayed awake until morning, her eyes fixed on that place where the light had been, waiting for the world to decide whether it would wake as itself or something new.