By the time Ji-hoon spotted the wooden towers of the Trader's Camp in the distance, the sun was already sinking behind the ridge. Orange light poured over the walls, giving everything a golden glow that looked almost peaceful—almost safe.
But Ji-hoon didn't feel safe.
He hadn't spoken since the forest. Dusty's steps were slow, steady, but the tension in the air hadn't left. Every leaf that twitched in the wind, every bird that took off from the trees made him flinch. His mind replayed that flickering sky again and again. That whisper. That glitch. That impossible moment.
He crossed the perimeter checkpoint. A guard leaned on his rifle, chewing something and giving a lazy nod.
"Back already?" the man said. "Guess you didn't get eaten."
Ji-hoon tried to laugh but it came out weak. "Still breathing."
The guard waved him through. "Ada's looking for you. She said if you're late again, she's feeding you to the hounds."
"Good to know."
The camp hadn't changed—at least not on the surface. Merchants shouted their prices. Blacksmiths hammered metal in steady rhythms. Campfires crackled and spit smoke into the air. It was a slice of the game Ji-hoon remembered. The part where everything still felt like a game.
But now, he looked at everything differently.
These weren't players.
They were NPCs. All of them. But they talked like people. Laughed. Argued. Got tired. Made mistakes. Their eyes didn't look glassy or dead. They looked alive. Real.
It had never bothered him before.
Now it did.
He dismounted near the stables. Dusty let out a breath, clearly glad to be back in familiar ground. Ji-hoon patted her side and whispered, "Good job."
"Need her fed?" the stable hand asked, a young girl with dirt on her face and sleeves rolled up.
"Yeah. She earned it."
He handed her a silver coin, then made his way through the camp, heading for the command tent. Traders passed him carrying crates, weapons, even food packs. They moved like they had purpose—like survival here mattered. Ji-hoon kept telling himself: It's all part of the script. They're just programmed to act this way.
But then why did it feel like they weren't?
He pushed open the canvas flap of the command tent.
Ada looked up from a pile of maps, one eyebrow raised. "Took you long enough."
Ji-hoon stepped in and let the flap fall behind him. "Got a little turned around. Made it back."
She gestured at the table. "The supplies?"
He unhooked the leather pouch from his belt and dropped it on the table. The silver inside clinked softly.
"Good," she said. "That should cover our ammo resupply for now."
Ji-hoon nodded, trying not to show how tight his chest felt.
"Something wrong?" Ada asked.
"No. Just… tired."
Ada stared at him a beat too long.
He looked away first.
"You're not the only one," she muttered. "People are jumpy lately. Reports of weird sightings near the ridge. One guy swore he saw a man with no shadow."
Ji-hoon tensed.
"He was probably drunk," Ada added quickly. "Still. Be careful if you're heading back out."
"Yeah," Ji-hoon said quietly. "Sure."
He turned to leave.
"Oh, one more thing."
Ji-hoon stopped.
"You've proven useful," Ada said. "Not just a rookie with a death wish. If you want more work, come back tomorrow. Something big's coming. I can feel it."
Ji-hoon nodded and left without another word.
That night, the campfire crackled as Ji-hoon sat on a log near the supply depot. The stars above were clear. No glitches. No whispers. Just wind and flame.
He stared into the fire, thinking.
If this world was really falling apart, would anyone else even notice? Could these NPCs feel it? Did they know they weren't real? Or worse—what if they were?
He opened his system menu one more time, half-hoping it would have changed.
Still no logout button.
Still no player list.
Still no messages from the outside.
He was alone.
Ji-hoon closed the menu and looked at the people around the fire. A guard talking with a cook. A merchant polishing a rifle. Two kids chasing a dog.
They weren't real.
But they acted like it.
And tonight, they were the only people he had.