The temperature continued its descent, settling into a bone-deep chill now that the last light had drained from the western sky. The air, heavy with damp forest exhalations, necessitated a response greater than just psychological containment. Survival was not merely about avoiding death; it was about maintaining viability.
Elias was the first to act, driven by pragmatic necessity. "The temperature will drop below freezing before midnight," he stated, his voice cutting through the residual tension of his confrontation with Samer. "We need warmth. A small, controlled fire. We must assess what is accessible without breaking the boundary."
The seven figures began to move, their actions slow, cautious, and synchronized. They established a new, communal perimeter—an inner circle of safety beyond the lethal periphery. Kneeling at the very edge of the gray disk, they used their hands to sweep inward whatever desiccated debris they could reach.
A woman with sharply defined features, whose name remained unheard by most, found a cache of dry pine needles accumulated against the rim. Another managed to hook a crooked, dead branch using a foot, pulling it inward inches at a time until the tip scraped the safety zone. Samer, surprisingly, channeled his nervous energy into diligence, painstakingly gathering fallen bark fragments and brittle, thorned vines that lay within arm's length.
The collected material was meager: a pile of dried leaves, a handful of sharp, brittle thorns, and three thin, segmented sticks—barely enough to sustain a flame for an hour.
"This is finite," Elias observed, staring at the pathetic collection. His tone was not accusatory, merely stating an equation. "This will burn for perhaps sixty minutes. If we ration it, maybe ninety. The nights here will be long, and they will only grow colder. We will require fuel every evening to survive."
He glanced pointedly at the dense, shadowed forest outside. The implication settled immediately, heavier than the cold air. The meager debris within reach would be exhausted by the third, perhaps fourth, night. Then, the equation would change: the cost of warmth would become the cost of life. The AI's logic was becoming apparent—it wasn't just penalizing leaving; it was implementing a system of induced necessity. Survival meant accepting a guaranteed, time-delayed sacrifice.
The first act of communal survival—the gathering of the fire-starter—had already placed a deadline on them all.