No one spoke for a long moment after that.
Twenty-eight pairs of eyes kept drifting back to me. To the word UNKNOWN. To the number beneath Deaths. Why could they see my stats anyway? Shouldn't these things be private? Who made this system?
I hugged my arms around myself, more aware than ever of the cold air against my skin. It felt sharper now, as if being observed had made it worse.
"Maybe it's a glitch," someone walked close to me and said finally. A woman with short brown hair and hollow eyes. She sounded like she was trying to provide some comfort. Helping others did help people feel better sometimes, so he could understand, but he also didn't care. "This is… whatever this is, right? A system. Systems glitch."
A few people nodded eagerly.
I didn't.
Because if this was a glitch, it was a very specific one. It couldn't be a coincidence that the one thing I couldn't remember wasn't listed,, so what did this mean? Was the system based off of our own perception of reality? Maybe... I didn't much care what they calledme,e, but I diwonder if,r if,r if I picked up a ni,a,if it would register intsysystem. em? It was an interesting thought. In the end it was just a name.
"Does anyone else have that?" Daniel asked, gesturing vaguely in my direction. "The missing name? Or missing anything?"
This question spurred everyone to explore their own system screens. Some murmured no. Others let out gasps at what they discovered.
Before anyone else could interject, the ground shifted beneath our feet.
Not an earthquake—not exactly. The grass around the edges of the clearing began to sway, even though the wind had died down. The stalks bent and brushed against one another, whispering louder than before.
Someone laughed nervously. "Okay, I don't like that."
Neither did I.
The movement spread.
The wheat leaned inward, toward us.
"Hey," a man said sharply. "It's moving."
The field closed in.
The stalks dragged along bare skin, brushing calves and arms, wrapping around ankles. Someone yelped and stumbled, falling forward with a startled cry. The grass swallowed them up to the waist before two others grabbed their arms and hauled them free.
"Get back!" Daniel shouted. "Everyone, stay together!"
We retreated toward the center of the clearing, backs nearly touching, the tall grass forming a shifting wall around us.
My heart started to pound faster—still slow, but heavier now. Each beat felt deliberate, like my body was rationing them.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
High-pitched. Close.
I turned just in time to see a woman—reaching desperately,tely snatchfistfulsulls of the long grass to slow descent—get—get pulled down as the grass wrapped around her legs. She fell hard, disappearing into the stalks with a thud and a panicked shout.
Hands shot out to grab him.
They missed.
The wheat surged.
The stalks twisted together, tightening like rope. The woman's scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet, choking sound.
"No—no, no—!" someone sobbed, trying to push forward.
The grass snapped back violently.
And the woman was gone.
For half a second, the clearing was silent.
Then the screams started.
People scrambled backward, some tripping over each other, others clawing at the grass in blind terror. I stumbled too, my foot catching on a root or maybe just uneven ground.
Something wrapped around my ankle.
Cold panic shot up my spine.
I fell.
The wheat swallowed me.
Stalks pressed against my chest and throat, bending and tightening. The air vanished in an instant. I clawed at the grass, fingers slipping uselessly over smooth, unyielding stems.
I tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Pressure crushed my ribs. My lungs burned, desperate for air that wasn't there. My vision narrowed, darkening at the edges.
So this is how it happens, a distant part of me thought.
Strangely, I wasn't angry.
I wasn't even afraid anymore—just overwhelmed by the sensation of my body failing, piece by piece. The cold deepened, spreading inward until it drowned everything else out.
Then—
Darkness.