The bunker was louder than usual, for now. The fire cracked in the middle, flames licking the air as the scent of Tom's first attempt at steak spread through the crowd. Survivors leaned closer, whispering, some excited, some doubtful.
Tom and Grace placed the pan down carefully. Grace was smiling faintly, proud of how the meat had turned out, while Tom's face was as calm as ever, though his eyes scanned everyone like he was gauging reactions before they happened.
Vera stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. When Tom offered him a slice, Vera didn't even reach.
"It smells like a rotten boar," he said flatly. "You should bury it instead of feeding people."
A few nearby survivors chuckled nervously, unsure if he was joking. Tom just shrugged, showing no change in his face. "Guess more for the rest then."
But before anyone else could dig in, a child burst into tears. He tugged at his mother's sleeve, crying loudly. "I want more! You ate mine! I want a new one!"
The mother bent low, whispering harshly, "Stop it. You already ate enough."
The kid kept wailing, cheeks red. People turned their heads away, uncomfortable. Tom stood silently for a moment, then walked over with his plate. He squatted down so he was eye-level with the child and offered the steak.
"Here. Take mine," he said calmly.
The mother's eyes widened. "No, no, he shouldn't. That's yours."
Tom gave her a faint smile, still offering the food. "It's okay. I can cook later if I get the chance. Who knows if I'll ever get to share again, right?"
The child's tears slowed. He took the steak, nibbling it while still sniffling. The mother bowed her head slightly, whispering, "Thank you."
Tom rose up, his plate was empty now. Grace noticed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She grabbed her slice and walked over, holding it out.
"Here. Take mine," she said softly, almost scolding, as if she were his older sister.
Tom shook his head. "You eat. You've been working all day."
Her stomach growled in betrayal, loud enough for nearby survivors to hear. A few kids giggled. Grace stood, face red, then turned away as if pretending it wasn't her.
Tom chuckled quietly. "See? That's why. We'll share it."
He cut her piece in half, handed one side back, and took the other. Grace took a bite first, chewing slowly. Her eyes widened a little.
"…It's good. Really good," she admitted, sounding surprised.
Tom nodded once. "Thanks. You helped me a lot in it."
She smiled faintly, warmth in her eyes. "You're welcome… Chef Tom."
He sighed. "Don't start calling me that."
Her grin widened. "No, really. Tomorrow maybe you'll make soup. Or bread.... or…. maybe burn the bunker down while trying."
Tom muttered, "I'll burn your hair before that happens."
Grace gasped in mock offense. "Rude! You'd never say that if you really saw me as your big sister."
Tom smirked slightly. "Maybe that's exactly why I said it."
The laughter they shared earlier had softened into a silence that almost felt heavy.
Tom was staring into the flames, eerie mood as always, but his words came slowly and measured.
"Grace," he said, not turning his head, "what if we're not real?"
Her brows knitted. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching the embers crack. "What if we're just… something being read? A story in someone else's eyes. Maybe a toy for a kid's entertainment. What if nothing we do really matters because the end is already written down somewhere?"
Grace blinked, caught off guard. She tried to smile, but it didn't hold. "That's… a dark thought, Tom."
"Is it?" His tone didn't waver. "We fight, we bleed, we laugh, we cry. Somewhere else, maybe someone's just watching. Maybe we're nothing more than a performance."
Her fingers curled around her plate. She wanted to answer lightly, but something about the way he said it pressed against her chest. "If that's true… then what are we supposed to do?"
"Maybe nothing," he said flatly, "maybe everything. Depends how much control we really have." He finally turned his head toward her, eyes calm but piercing. "Do you feel free, Grace?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her lips trembled just faintly. "…Not always."
Tom nodded, as if he expected that. His gaze lingered on her. "I've noticed. You're.… open with me. While with the others, you behave shy. Especially when Elior's around."
Color touched her cheeks. She looked away, hugging her knees tighter. "You notice too much."
"Noticing is survival," Tom said quietly. "But with you, it's different. You look at me like you can talk without fear. You look at them like they'll see something in you that you don't want seen."
Grace swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, deny it but her throat felt locked. Instead, she whispered, "…Then what if you're right?"
Tom turned back to the fire. "Then maybe that's all that matters. Not who's reading us, not if we're just a story. Just the small spaces where we're real to each other."
Silence stretched like rubber between them. Grace's eyes softened, her expression turning into a faint smile even as her chest ached.
"…You sound like an old man sometimes," she murmured.
Tom allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward. "Also you sound like a child hiding behind her own fake emotions."
Her laugh was shaky, but real. "Maybe we deserve each other, then."
Two people asking questions that might never have answers, yet holding on to the fact that they were asking together.
....
Most of the survivors were either asleep or whispering in hushed tones. Inside one of the smaller rooms, a lantern burned low, spilling its yellow light over Johan and Elior.
Both men sat opposite each other, elbows on the wooden table between them. Neither touched the mugs of tea that Grace had left earlier. The weight of their talk made it taste like ash.
Johan leaned back, his face half-shadowed. "Durkan Legion is burning again. You've heard?"
Elior's eyes narrowed. "Not the first time. But this fire isn't natural, is it?"
"No," Johan said, voice cold. "They say whole districts vanished overnight. Not destroyed but vanished. Like the land had folded in on itself. The only trace left is a line of glass stretching for miles. People whisper the glass still screams if you press your ear to it."
Elior exhaled slowly. "That sounds like the kind of work tied to a ritual. Something beyond men."
"Exactly," Johan said. He lowered his tone, almost a growl. "Apollo's Twilight Sect."
Elior's gaze sharpened. "I thought they were weakened after the Annular Solar Eclipse years ago. The rites were supposed to cripple them."
"They weren't crippled," Johan replied. "They adapted and the worse is they've been silent for too long." His jaw tightened. "Every Sect performs the Divine Act at least once every four months. It's their law. An offering, a prayer, some form of acknowledgment to their Godhoods. But Apollo's sect… nothing for seven months."
Elior's fingers tapped the table, slow and deliberate. "If they've ceased, two reasons: Either their god turned away… or they're bowing to another."
Johan nodded grimly. "That's what I fear. If they're binding themselves to something else, something tied to the Eclipse… then maybe they've aligned with the Overseer itself."
The word Overseer hung between them like poison.
Elior broke the silence first. "If that's true, then the disease Tom nearly carried through his veins isn't a random affliction. It's seeded. Designed."
Johan tilted his head, eyes flashing with cold amusement. "The Hhan Jdu…. just a test run."
Neither spoke for a long moment. The lantern hissed.
Finally, Elior's voice came low, deliberate. "Vincent and Sassy. They've been gone too long. Their absence isn't chance. Could Azmaik be connected to this sect?"
Johan leaned forward, his smile dry, humorless. "If Azmaik has indeed bent to Apollo's Twilight, then they've moved faster than we thought. He isn't just resurrected for revenge."
Elior's jaw clenched. His thoughts turned dark. A vessel for the Eclipse itself… or worse, for what sleeps beneath it.
Johan's tone grew heavier, almost reluctant. "Some say the Annular Eclipse is not just a sky-phenomenon. That it's an eye. A lid half-shut, peering down. Every time it opens wider, Overseers stir in their slumber. If that sect has tied themselves to that gaze, then…" He didn't finish the line.
Elior looked down at his hands. The faint lines of scars etched across his knuckles. He thought of the hourglass. The night is about to begin. "We are walking in someone else's scripture," he murmured.
Johan smirked without warmth. "That's generous. I'd say we're bleeding ink into a page already written."
The lantern sputtered, shadows clawing across the walls.
Elior spoke again, voice deep, almost shaking. "Then our time is shorter than we thought. If Apollo's Twilight Sect is guiding the Overseer, this isn't just survival anymore."
Johan leaned back into the shadows, his eyes glinting like knives. "No. This is war against Authors. We can sit here speculating forever, Elior. Or we move."
Elior raised a brow. "Move where?"
"Durkan...." Johan's tone carried no hesitation. "....Legion's ruins. Apollo's Twilight have a camp there. Not their true nest, but enough. A place to pry open, see what they're whispering to in the dark."
Elior leaned forward, suspicion edging his voice. "You're saying we march into their claws before the Hunt even begins? With what little strength we have?"
Johan smirked faintly, though it lacked humor. "Better to stab a shadow than wait for it to crawl into your throat." He set his elbow on the table, rubbing the cut on his cheek absentmindedly. "Besides, I've lived through enough Hunts to know waiting never saves you. Investigating does."
Elior studied him. There was no arrogance in Johan's words. Just fact. That made them heavier.
"Who goes?" Elior asked at last.
"Me." Johan tapped his chest. "Tom. He needs the experience. His Face is still green, but his instincts aren't. One more.... someone sharp enough to keep watch but quiet enough not to slow us down."
"Grace won't allow it."
"Then not Grace," Johan cut in. His eyes flashed toward the sleeping quarters. "Maybe Vera. He hides it well, but he's itching for a fight. Quiet blade when needed."
Elior exhaled through his nose, weighing the risk. "You'll have less than a day before the Hunt starts. If you aren't back by then—"
"Then burn the camp yourself." Johan stood, pushing the chair back. "But if I find what I think I'll find, you'll thank me."
Elior's jaw worked, but he didn't argue. He only nodded once, slow.
Johan smirked faintly. "Good. Then it's settled."
The lantern flickered again, shadows stretching long on the walls.