The air thickened as the sun sank behind the ruined skyline. What little light had clung to the horizon bled away, leaving the city wrapped in crimson shadows. Above, the massive hourglass turned slowly, its grains of sand dripping upward as if mocking the world below.
Thirty seconds left.
Everyone felt it. The stillness. The pull in their chests. The weight of knowing something irreversible was about to begin. Faces glistened with sweat, hands clutched at weapons or cloaks, and feet shuffled nervously on the cracked stones. No one spoke.
Then the bell rang.
It tore through the city like thunder, deep and metallic, bursting off the ruins. Some flinched, others dropped to their knees, palms pressed to their ears. Grace slightly stiffened.
One by one, glowing screens snapped into existence before every eye. Blue light washed over the frightened faces. The words appeared in sharp lines:
[ First Night For You : Passive Phase : No Horror appear tonight ]
The plaza fell into stunned silence. Some sighed, relief slipping into their chests, as though their hearts had been loosened from chains. Others frowned, suspicious of the wording.
"No horror tonight…" Grace whispered under her breath.
But Tom's eyes narrowed. His calm gaze studied the screen as though peeling away its meaning. Passive Phase. That means active phases exist. And if they chose to warn us now, then worse nights are coming.
Around him, voices began to rise, shaky laughter mixing with exhausted sobs.
Some dropped their weapons, others hugged each other, grateful for even one night's reprieve. Yet the fear didn't fully leave. Not when the air was still thick, not when the hourglass still turned above, marking their fates grain by grain.
Tom glanced toward Elior, who stood unmoved, his bloodstained vest catching the faint blue glow. Elior didn't look relieved. He only stared at the sky, expression steady, as though he knew the reprieve was only a borrowed breath.
Tom sat on a broken stone near the edge of the plaza, the faint glow of his system screen fading away.
The others were busy. Some loosening their grips on weapons, some gathering in small circles to whisper, and a few even daring to laugh nervously at their unexpected luck.
But Tom didn't feel lucky.
His eyes drifted back to the words. Passive Phase. It rang in his head like a riddle, like a whisper he couldn't shake. His jaw tightened as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Could this be more than a night of safety? he thought. Maybe… it isn't about sparing us. Maybe it's about watching us.
The idea crawled under his skin, cold and sharp. What if tonight wasn't a blessing, but a test? What if something or someone was observing them, studying how they acted when they thought no horrors would strike?
His eyes lifted to the massive hourglass turning above the blackened sky. The sand still climbed upward, grain by grain, each spark glinting like an unseen eye. Watching. Measuring.
He felt it again—the pull of invisible eyes on his back, the way a hunted animal senses a predator long before it sees one.
Tom rubbed his temples, forcing his breathing steady. If this is an observation phase, then every word, every fight, every alliance is being judged.
Whoever built this game… they're not done with us. They're learning us.
Elior sat apart from the others, on a cracked stone near the ruins of a fountain. His daggers glinted as he drew a whetstone across their edges with patient rhythm. Each scrape rang sharp, steady, a sound both soothing and unnerving.
Then, without warning, a screen flashed before his eyes, bright enough for nearby faces to notice. Elior leaned back slightly, his calm gaze narrowing as the glowing words spread before him,
[ Limited Time Event ]
[ Hawking's Trojan Chair, Face ]
[ It is available in The Endless Black Ocean ]
[ The time to inherit it is one day ]
[ Additional Rewards : 1000 Coins, Kakin Kingdom's Yari, Dream Fossil ]
A murmur spread among the group. Some craned their necks, some whispered greedily about the treasures, others grew tense at the name,
The Endless Black Ocean.
Tom, however, stayed quiet. He sat on his stone, eyes fixed on the dark screen that had appeared for him as well.
A "Face" again. The very thing he lacked.
His chest tightened. If the System itself was pointing them toward a place where one could inherit Hawking's Grace… then this was no coincidence. He needed it.
He rubbed his palm against his trousers, staring at the faint map now flickering inside his menu. A jagged coastline, a stretch of obsidian waves marked only by a blood-red star. The Endless Black Ocean. Its name alone carried a weight that scraped at the nerves.
Three days.
Three days to reach it. Three days to prove himself worthy or remain powerless.
Tom exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. He had seen what Grace could do with her Fox-shaped Face. He had felt her warp time itself in a flicker, saving lives without even meaning to. He had watched Elior disarm Azmaik with measured skill, his Face's presence like iron forged in fire. And Tom… Tom had nothing but his mind.
That wouldn't be enough for the nights to come.
What creatures will crawl from the shadows next night? What horrors will walk under that bleeding sun?
The question burned in him. Every hunt would demand more. More strength. More power. Without a Face, he was nothing but prey waiting to be swallowed.
His fingers brushed the menu again. The map pulsed faintly, almost alive, as if inviting him forward. The Endless Black Ocean was no promise, it was a gamble. To chase it meant leaving safety, walking into something unknown, perhaps never coming back. But to stay behind meant to be hunted without claws, to fight without fangs.
Tom clenched his jaw. There was no real choice here.
The Face was survival and survival was everything.
Elior rose to his feet, sliding both sharpened daggers back into their sheaths. The firelight of makeshift torches caught the faint lines of age and resolve across his face.
His calm eyes swept over the gathering before he spoke, voice deep and steady, cutting through the chatter like stone dropped into water.
"We cannot stay here."
The noise dulled instantly. Even the few who disliked him quieted, if only to listen.
"This place will not protect us. It's already broken, stripped. Food is scarce, and the System's message proves the game has only begun. If we remain in these ruins, we might die."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"We move, together. We search for an alive place or people who still endure this world. Shelter, resources, knowledge. That is the only way forward."
Most faces turned toward him with silent agreement. Fear etched into their brows, but fear could bend beneath strong words. The majority nodded, some murmuring their support. They needed direction. Elior gave it.
But not all.
The Dominion Seekers stood rigid, Azmaik's glare fixed like a blade at Elior's back. "You speak like a shepherd. But we are wolves. We do not move for survival. We move for conquest." His hand rested lazily on his sword's hilt, and the people around him nodded, fierce and hungry for domination.
From the other side, a lean young man in tattered black grinned wide, raising his voice for the Liberators. "Why follow? Why obey? The System is chains. Break it, and we are free. Free or dead, what's the difference?" His followers cackled nervously, as if laughing against their fear.
Lastly, cloaked figures from the Covenant of Faces bowed their heads together, whispering chants under breath. One lifted their hood slightly, eyes wild with fervor. "The Face is the key. The Developer, the God of whatever built this will guide us. We will not abandon this holy ground."
The plaza split, three currents of resistance breaking the calm surface Elior tried to cast.
Yet most stayed silent, watching. Neutral, uncertain. Their gazes drifted between Elior's steady stance and the snarling edges of ideology.
Tom, sitting on his stone, observed without interruption. His thoughts churned, but his expression remained calm, almost unreadable. He could see the cracks forming some following Elior's reason, others dragged into chaos by belief or hunger for power.
And soon I'll have to move, too.
The map to the Endless Black Ocean printed faintly in his menu by the system itself, whispering its promise of strength. If he was to survive what was coming, he needed his Face. He needed it before the next bell tolled.
For now, though, he stayed still, listening, as the weight of Elior's words tested the fragile unity of the group.