The Shroud didn't have a sky—just a ceiling of roiling black and gray that pressed down on the world. By the time they found shelter, the lightless horizon had sunk into something colder, quieter, and more suffocating.
They settled in the ruins of what looked like a collapsed district—broken walls, skeletal buildings, and a gutted hall whose roof had caved in long ago. There were enough hollow rooms and half-standing structures to divide the exhausted remnants of the Company by preference, distrust, or instinct.
That, more than anything, showed the fracture.
Roegan gathered his loyalists near the center of the broken hall, their camp bordered by fallen beams and scorched stone. Silas and his faction claimed a reinforced corner of a crumbled courtyard, far enough away that they wouldn't be overheard. The rest filled in what was left—alcoves, half-rooms, and exposed chambers stripped of furniture and history. Small fires cracked here and there, flames dull and smothered by the air.
Bright, Duncan, Link, and Adam picked a slanted chamber made of three walls and part of a roof, the stone blackened by some old fire.
Link sat with his back to the wall, sharpening his daggers with slow, rhythmic drags. Duncan checked the edge of his new fused spear, running a thumb along it with measured satisfaction. Adam was hunched over his half-filled satchel, pretending to rearrange straps that didn't need fixing. Bright's wrist was wrapped in a rough strip of cloth, his sword laid across his lap, uncomfortably one-handed.
The world outside their broken room hummed with restless silence.
"Does anyone else feel like the ground is breathing?" Adam muttered at last.
"No," Link said without looking up, "but now I probably will."
"It's quiet," Duncan said. "Too quiet."
Bright gave him a sideways look. "You're one cliché away from jinxing the entire camp."
Duncan snorted, then sighed. Link's careful scraping resumed. The silence beyond their walls felt like pressure gathering.
"You think that Silas guy will try anything tonight?" Adam asked.
"He's not stupid," Bright said. "Not when there are still Crawlers around."
"That's exactly when he'd do something," Adam replied, tone dry. "When everyone's too scared to expect it. Plus we're missing the elephant in the room, there's probably going to be a food problem soon and I don't think anyone here is good enough to share their rations"
"Let him try," Duncan said, gripping his spear. "I'm not dying in my sleep because of some snake with illusions."
"You assume his illusions work while sleeping," Link said. "Might be worse when you're half-awake."
Bright studied his wrapped wrist. The ache had dulled to a throbbing pulse. "Silas isn't the one I'm worried about."
"Roegan?" Adam asked, glancing toward the center camp.
"No," Bright said, "the Shroud. I keep feeling like something's waiting for us to make noise."
Link stopped sharpening. "It's not the kind of place you shout for help in."
A handful of soldiers argued somewhere outside about watch rotations. Their voices carried thin through the gaps in shattered walls.
"…two on the roof—no, three. I'm not getting dragged off because you can't count your own ass…"
"…if the fog shifts again, I'm leaving you behind…"
"…should've never stepped inside this gods-damned pit…"
The disputes faded into low grumbling and muttering. No laughter. No singing. Just breathing, steel, and fear layered over exhaustion.
Roegan's voice cut through faintly a few moments later.
"Keep the fires small. No shouting or wandering off. If you hear movement, don't assume it's ours."
Someone from his cluster muttered in reply, then footsteps shifted. Bright leaned back against the frigid wall.
Link eventually broke their silence again. "Twenty-six left, roughly. Think we lose ten by morning?"
Duncan frowned. Adam lifted a brow. Bright answered first.
"Not unless someone screams,it's probably gonna sound like a sweet opera to this crawlers ."
"That's optimistic," Adam murmured.
"You want honesty?" Bright said. "I think something's going to test us tonight. I just don't know if it'll be claws or people."
Link gave a small, humorless laugh. "Could be both."
Bright's eyes drifted toward the rest of the shattered hall. The neutral soldiers—maybe eleven of them—had no structure, no leader. They camped scattered among the rubble, forced together only by proximity and violent fatigue. Some leaned on cracked stone, others slept upright with weapons across their chests.
Footsteps crunched outside their walls.
Duncan's hand shot to his spear, Bright's fingers tensed around his sword, and Link rose slightly. A moment later, a familiar voice whispered.
"Hey—hey, it's me."
Bessia stepped into the narrow entrance, arms folded over her chest, shoulders hunched. Her clothes were stained with dirt and dried blood.
"You look happy," Bright muttered.
She gave him a flat look. "Silas's group is arguing over who takes first watch. I'd rather stand near people who know they might die."
Duncan smirked. "Welcome to the optimists."
Bessia glanced over them, then at Adam's satchel. "You all managing?"
"For now," Link said.
"You shouldn't be here long," Adam said. "If Silas finds you gone—"
"He won't." She crouched near the half-wall, arms draped over her knees. "His illusions don't work well on people who don't trust him and he's not my fucking boss, I don't even know the guy, I don't know anyone really, each and everyone of you could end up in the jaws of some beast, I think I'm okay being an acquaintance."
"Comforting," Bright said dryly.
Outside, one of the neutral soldiers—tall, broad-shouldered, face hidden in shadow—was still awake, staring into the emptiness with his back to a collapsed arch. Another man sat near him cleaning his boots with a sleeve.
Roegan's men spoke in low tones, sharpening blades and whispering about formations. Silas's faction flickered with faint candlelight and animated gestures—Silas's silhouette recognizable from the way he moved his hands when manipulating perception.
"Anyone else hear that?" Duncan asked suddenly.
They froze.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then, distant… something shuffled. Not claws. Not boots. A drag. A slide. Then silence.
"Could be the wind," Adam whispered.
"In a place with no wind?" Bright muttered.
They waited. The noise didn't return.
Bessia stood slowly. "I should get back. Before someone decides I'm disposable."
She hesitated. "Watch each other's backs. It's going to get worse before it gets better."
"Comforting," Adam said dryly.
She slipped away without another word.
The flickers of low campfires died to embers. Someone outside coughed. Someone else whispered a prayer Bright didn't recognize. Night in the Shroud settled like a lid closing.
After another hour, most voices faded. Link slept lightly against the wall. Duncan sat with his spear laid across his lap, eyes half-closed but alert. Adam pretended to sleep but his hand was near his bag.
Bright leaned his head back, feeling the cold seep through the stone. His eyelids drooped, then snapped open each time fatigue threatened. The danger sense core almost completely assimilated.
At some unknown hour, a faint crunch echoed through the hall.
He straightened, listening.
One of the neutral soldiers—the one who'd been sitting with his back to the broken arch—was no longer there.
Bright squinted through the gloom. Maybe he'd laid down somewhere else?
A soft scrape… like something brushing against rock.
"Link," Bright whispered. "Wake."
Link's eyes opened instantly. Duncan stiffened. Adam raised his head.
"What?"
Bright pointed toward the neutral group's side of the hall. "There was a man sitting over there."
Duncan blinked, trying to shake sleep. "Maybe he moved."
"No," Link said quietly. "He wouldn't go alone in the dark."
They watched a moment longer.
No figure returned. No footsteps. No whisper. Just a scuff-mark in the dust where the man had sat—a line trailing into shadow.
"I'm not checking that alone," Adam said.
"I'm not checking it at all," Duncan whispered.
Link peered through the dark. "If something dragged him…"
"Then it'll drag again," Bright said quietly. "Stay alert."
They didn't wake the others. There was nothing to warn them of except fear, and fear was already everywhere.
Time passed without measure. Eventually, some slept, others drifted in and out. The restless dark pressed closer.
By the time the gray dawn-haze of the Shroud filtered in, voices were rising across the ruins. Arguments sparked as people noticed the absence.
"…he was right there—he was right there—"
"…don't tell me you just slept—"
"…shut up, we're not searching in the dark—and I'm not dying for him—"
Roegan's voice cut across them all. "Silence."
The morning air was thicker, colder. No body. No blood. Just the fact that someone was gone.
And that it would not be the last.
Bright flexed his injured wrist and met Link's stare. Duncan said nothing. Adam tied his satchel closed with careful fingers.
All four understood it then without speaking—
The Shroud wasn't just hunting.
It was choosing.