Finally, August managed to sit up, gasping from the pain. Everything around him spun and looked broken down, full of shadows and pieces of what used to be a great place, now covered in dust and forgotten for ages. The sun barely gave any light, just a faded spot in the sky, and long shadows stretched everywhere, moving slowly across old, cracked stones as if they didn't want to go away.
The pain receded to a dull, persistent ache as August pushed himself to his feet. His body felt untrustworthy—a borrowed vessel, stiff and clumsy beneath him. The cracked flagstones pressed unevenly into his soles, faint grit biting at his skin with each cautious step. The ruin itself was thick with the stale musk of old dust, the ghosts of long-lost fires, and a raw edge that tasted like panic.
He forced himself onward, drawn by a flicker of uncertain light that cut through the gloom—first a single promise, then, as he drew nearer, the scattered glow of campfires dotting the plain beyond the ruined walls. Smoke curled up in slender ribbons, painting the twilight with ghostly trails that stung his nose. The settlement was little more than huddled tents, scrap-wood lean-tos, and warped blankets arranged in tight clusters around the dancing fires, each flame throwing restless shadows onto the haggard faces of those who had made it through.
Statues stood everywhere, crowding the edges of the camp—adults, elders, older children—stone bodies frozen mid-stride, some arms thrown around loved ones in desperate protection, others reaching blindly for something or someone they'd never grasp. Fear, defiance, resignation—a tapestry of final moments etched forever in gray. Some faces were twisted in terror. Others seemed calm or angry or simply tired, but every form was caught by the same impartial curse. Not a single grownup escaped. Even older kids—adolescents shivering in a last gesture of childish fear—had been claimed. Only the youngest children, too small and uncertain to understand, were spared, left on the periphery like fragile seeds in a dead garden.
The scent of woodsmoke deepened as August passed a group gathered around a fire, their voices hushed to near-silence. Nearby, a woman knelt at the feet of a statue—a young man, perhaps her husband. His stone face was raw, his mouth open in a voiceless shout, one hand forever reaching toward two smaller forms—children, August guessed, who huddled close in a pose that spoke of panic and longing. The woman's shoulders shook. She pressed her cheek to the statue's arm, breath ragged, her hands roaming the stony fingers as if, just for a second, she could will life back into them.
August stopped, held in place by the terrible intimacy of her grief. A heavy iron mallet lay in the dirt and an elder, shoulders bowed and face hidden behind a tangle of gray hair, placed their hand on the woman's back. For a moment, no one moved. Then the woman straightened—her face streaked with soot and tears, lips trembling. She lifted the mallet. Her hands shook so badly the metal clattered against stone before she gathered herself. Her whisper—the words barely audible under the crackle of flames—wavered between prayer and farewell. "l love you. I'm sorry." She brought the mallet down.
The statue shattered with a sound that seemed to tear the quiet open, stone splitting around the children's feet as well. Only the eyes of the statue bled dark red liquid, which was not blood for sure. The corruption hissed away into the night. The woman collapsed forward, sobbing as elders gathered her in. August's fists clenched. He felt the brutality of her mercy in his bones. It was impossible, monstrous, and somehow the only kindness left.
He turned away, blinking hard. The warmth of the fires, the chorus of low voices, the sharp tang of tears and smoke—all pressed in, threatening to overwhelm. Around him, the camp's shadows leapt across stone faces and trembling survivors alike. The whispers in his mind, so quiet now, still pulsed with that sick resonance from the shattered statue. August clung to the memory of small comforts—a sister's smile, the taste of rain, the way hands used to feel alive.
A noise nearby drew him from his thoughts. Leaning against a crumbling wall was a man —his lower body still gripped in stone but slowly, painfully coming back to life. No frantic chipping, just the slow undoing of the curse as the stone loosened and flaked away. The man's face was older, lined and sunken with exhaustion, but his eyes met August's with a desperate friendliness.
"Need a hand?" August managed, though his own voice was threadbare.
The man gave him a lopsided thanks. "Feels like I've been rooted here for decades. Legs hardly remember what soft feels like." August stepped closer, steadying him as the curse faded and numb flesh became muscle and ache again. Most people nearby were still lost in shock, but a few glanced over, hollow-eyed and wary.
"You're new to all this," the man said after a moment, scanning August's face, his hands. "Never thought I'd see someone standing this steady right after the change."
August didn't quite know how to reply. He braced the man's shoulders as the last shell of stone slid free from his calf. The man groaned, flexing weakly. "Thanks. You can call me Kael."
"August." The name felt strange on his tongue.
Kael's keen gaze didn't let go of him. "You walk like a man born yesterday—new to the weight of stone, new to the fear. But you're too old for that. No-moon Night took everybody." His frown deepened, searching August's face for something he couldn't name.
August looked back toward the shattered family. "That's what did this? The No-moon Night?" The shards glittered faintly in the firelight. The campfire smoke suddenly seemed thicker, the world weighed heavier against his ribs.
Kael nodded, voice low and grim. "When there's no moon, the stars call—louder than you can stand. And the curse comes for anyone above a certain age, no matter how clever you are or how much you want to fight. Nothing stops it. You wake up in stone, and if you're lucky, you wake up at all. Some... come back wrong." He hesitated, then nodded toward the site of the mercy killing. "That's what we do for them, before the whispers take more."
August shivered. The smallest children clung together around the fires, eyes huge and hollow. "We used to hope we could save each other. But there's no fighting it. The only thing left to do is to help whoever's still standing, and mourn the rest."
Kael's gaze lingered, suspicious and gentle at the same time. "How do you not know what this is, August? Everyone here's lived it—again and again—since the day we were old enough." He looked away, as if weighing something unspoken. "You... never mind. Not my place. No one keeps their secrets for long here, but I won't pry."
August nodded, swallowing the taste of ash. There was nothing else to say. He helped steady Kael as they took slow, uncertain steps toward the fires in the distance.