The sea breeze carried a thick, salty mist that clung to their skin as the survivors stood around the dead beast's carcass. The black blood hissed where it touched the sand, eating tiny holes into the ground. None of them dared move closer.
The silence was unbearable until the tall man finally spoke. His voice was calm, sharp, commanding.
"We can't stay here. Those things are watching us."
He pointed toward the jungle. Between the trees, faint lights blinked like eyes. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
The pale girl hugged herself, trembling. "Then… where do we go?"
"Inland," the tall man replied without hesitation. "There must be water, shelter—something we can use."
The muscular man let out a harsh laugh. "Inland? You saw those eyes, right? We'll be walking into a nest!"
His voice cracked with fear, but anger coated it.
The MC, who had killed the beast with his bare hands, stood apart from the group. His gaze lingered on the treeline, calm, calculating. He didn't argue. He didn't comfort. He simply observed.
Finally, he spoke. "He's right about one thing."
Everyone turned to him. His voice was steady, strangely quiet.
"If we stay here, we die. If we go in, we might live."
No one liked the way he said it. Not hopeful. Not reassuring. Just cold, as if survival was a math problem.
The tall man nodded. "Then we move."
And so they did.
---
The jungle was worse than the beach. Every step sank into damp soil, roots like veins bulging under their feet. The air was thick, heavy, and the deeper they went, the dimmer the light became.
The pale girl stumbled, clutching her chest. "The air… it's so cold."
The muscular man sneered, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Cold? I'm burning up."
The youngest boy tripped over a root and fell hard. When the MC helped him up, he noticed something strange—green lines glowing faintly under the boy's skin, pulsing like veins of light.
The boy's eyes widened. "I-I'm not sick, am I?"
The MC held his wrist for a moment longer than necessary, then let go.
"You'll be fine."
The boy nodded nervously and hurried after the others. None of them noticed the faint curve of a smile tug at the MC's lips.
---
By the time the sun sank low, the mist had thickened again, swallowing the path behind them. They couldn't even see the beach anymore.
"We're lost," the muscular man muttered, teeth clenched.
"No," the tall man said firmly. "Lost means we had a path to begin with." He pushed aside branches and pointed ahead. Through the trees, half-buried in vines and moss, stood a cracked stone arch. Ancient, unnatural.
"Shelter," he said.
The pale girl hesitated. "That… doesn't look safe."
The MC stepped past her, eyes fixed on the arch. The carvings on it pulsed faintly, as if welcoming him.
"It's safe enough," he murmured.
But deep inside, he already knew the truth. This place wasn't shelter.
It was the beginning.