Morning came heavy.

  The bronze sky had barely shifted when Sarah’s voice cut through the silence.

  “Has anyone seen Emma?”

  The camp froze.

  Nathan straightened from where he was checking his rifle. “She was on third watch. She should be back by now.”

  Michael rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept—not truly. The implant-heart kept him awake, forcing awareness even when his body begged for rest. Every time he drifted, Kevin’s voice pulled him back.

  {You can’t afford to shut down here.}

  Michael scanned the shallow depression. Boulders. Tall grass beyond. No sign of Emma.

  “She probably just went to take a leak,” Reinhardt said, voice flat. He hadn’t slept either. “Give her five.”

  Five minutes passed.

  Ten.

  Sarah’s hands trembled. “She wouldn’t leave without telling someone.”

  Nathan exhaled through his nose. “We search. Pairs. No one goes alone. Michael, with me.”

  Michael nodded, bow already in hand. Dream source energy flickered along the string like dying embers.

  They spread out in a tight grid. The warm soil swallowed their footsteps. The air felt thicker today, pressing on lungs already tired from yesterday’s march.

  No tracks.

  No blood.

  No Emma.

  After thirty minutes they regrouped. Faces drawn. Eyes hollow.

  “She’s gone,” Sarah whispered.

  Nathan’s jaw tightened. “We move on. We can’t stay here.”

  The group packed in silence. No one spoke Emma’s name again.

  The group had been walking for three hours when Michael called for a halt.

  Nathan wiped sweat from his brow. "What's up?"

  Michael stood at the crest of a shallow rise, scanning the horizon. His eyes traced the distant landmarks—a jagged rock formation to the west, the curve of the river behind them, the way the bronze sky seemed to press lower near the eastern plains.

  "I know this place," he said quietly.

  Reinhardt stepped closer, scope already in hand. "You've been here before? Wait why does this place actually looked kinda familiar? "

  "No." Michael shook his head. "But I've read about it."

  The group exchanged glances.

  "The novel," Sarah said. Understanding dawned on her face. "You mean the story you told us about?"

  Michael nodded. "In the book, there was a settlement. A human outpost—survivors from an earlier summoning. They'd built shelters, had fresh water, defenses against the local predators." He pointed northeast. "It should be about two kilometers that direction. Past the dried riverbed and through the stone columns."

  Nathan studied him. "How sure are you?"

  Michael hesitated. "The description matched. Same terrain. Same sky. Same—" He gestured vaguely at the alien landscape. "—feel."

  "That's not an answer, i read it too. But it doesn't mean it's a gospel. " Reinhardt said.

  "Seventy percent," Michael admitted. "Maybe eighty."

  Jason perked up. "That's better odds than we've had all week."

  Nathan considered, then nodded slowly. "Two kilometers. We can afford that. If it's there, we get shelter, supplies, maybe information. If it's not..." He adjusted his rifle strap. "We backtrack and keep moving."

  "Agreed," Reinhardt said.

  Michael felt something twist in his chest. Please let me be right about this.

  They changed course.

  The terrain shifted gradually—grass thinning into rocky soil, then hardpan earth cracked by heat and time. The stone columns Michael remembered appeared ahead, weathered pillars rising like ancient sentinels.

  "There," Michael said, pointing. "In the book, the settlement was just past those."

  The group moved faster now, hope driving tired legs.

  They reached the columns.

  Beyond them lay...

  Nothing.

  Flat, empty plain. No structures. No walls. No signs of habitation—recent or otherwise.

  Just wind-swept dirt and silence.

  Michael's stomach dropped.

  Nathan scanned the area thoroughly, scope sweeping every angle. "Nothing here," he confirmed. "Not even ruins."

  Sarah turned to Michael, confusion on her face. "You said—"

  "I know what I said." Michael's voice came out sharper than intended. He forced himself to breathe. "The book described this exactly. Same columns. Same riverbed. The settlement was supposed to be right here."

  Reinhardt walked a slow circle, eyes on the ground. "No foundation marks. No fire pits. No refuse. If people lived here, they left no trace."

  "Maybe the book was wrong," Jason offered weakly.

  Michael shook his head. "The author was detailed. Obsessively so. He described every stone, every structure. This place—" He gestured helplessly. "This place was supposed to exist."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Kevin's voice stirred in his mind.

  {The story is broken,} he said quietly. {You know this. The novel you read—it's not a perfect map. Things have changed.}

  "I know," Michael thought back. "But I thought the geography would be the same. The locations. The—"

  {The World isn't the world you read about,} Kevin interrupted. {It's close. But not identical. You're navigating by a map of a place that doesn't quite exist anymore.}

  Michael's jaw tightened.

  Nathan approached, voice carefully neutral. "How long to backtrack?"

  "An hour," Michael said. "Maybe ninety minutes."

  "We've lost two hours then." Nathan didn't sound angry—just tired. "Plus whatever time we spent here."

  "I'm sorry," Michael said. "I thought—"

  "You thought you were helping," Nathan finished. "I know." He sighed and addressed the group. "We backtrack to the fork. Resume original heading. Move efficiently. We're burning daylight."

  As they turned back, Michael caught Reinhardt's gaze.

  The man said nothing.

  But his eyes carried a weight Michael couldn't quite read.

  Doubt.

  They walked in silence for twenty minutes before Sarah fell into step beside Michael.

  "It's not your fault," she said quietly.

  "I got us lost," Michael replied. "Wasted hours. Drained morale. That's on me."

  "You were trying to help."

  "Trying isn't enough." His voice came out hollow. "I keep thinking I know things because I read about them. But I don't. Not really. The story I read..." He shook his head. "It's like a ghost. Close enough to recognize, but not solid enough to trust."

  Sarah was quiet for a moment. Then: "We all make mistakes here. The difference is—most of us are guessing blind. You at least have something to work with, even if it's incomplete."

  "Incomplete knowledge is worse than no knowledge," Michael muttered. "It makes you confident when you should be cautious."

  "Maybe," Sarah conceded. "But it also kept us alive in that dungeon. You knew about the monsters. The traps. The—"

  "And now I've led us into a dead end based on a book that might as well be fiction." Michael's laugh was bitter. "Some 'Reader' I am."

  {You're learning,} Kevin said. {Painful lesson. But necessary.}

  "Doesn't make it hurt less," Michael thought back.

  {No,} Kevin agreed. {It doesn't.}

  By the time they reached the fork and resumed their original path, the bronze sky had deepened toward dusk.

  Nathan called another halt near a cluster of boulders. "We camp here. Short rest. Double watch."

  As the group set up, Michael noticed the looks.

  Not hostile. Not angry.

  Just... wary.

  The kind of look you give someone you're not sure you can trust anymore.

  Jason still smiled at him. Sarah squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

  But Reinhardt watched him differently now.

  And Nathan—Nathan's trust felt thinner. More conditional.

  Michael sat near the edge of camp, back against stone, and stared at the darkening sky.

  {You'll recover from this,} Kevin said.

  "Will they?"

  Kevin didn't answer.

  Because they both knew the truth.

  Trust, once cracked, never quite fit together the same way again.

  Afternoon brought training.

  Nathan gathered everyone near the boulders. The survivors were battered—exhausted from gravity, grief from Ramirez, Emma and Elliot, fear from the raptors.

  “We’re not dying like this,” Nathan said. “This planet wants us dead. We fight back by getting stronger.”

  He demonstrated first: slow squats, controlled lunges, push-ups that made shoulders scream. The gravity turned every rep into torture.

  “Focus on breathing,” he said. “In through nose, out through mouth. Feel the weight. Use it.”

  Michael joined in. His body adapted faster—Kevin’s influence, or something deeper. Muscles burned, but the burn felt… productive.

  Sarah struggled. Jason nearly collapsed after five push-ups. Reinhardt moved like the gravity didn’t touch him.

  Nathan walked among them, correcting form, offering quiet encouragement. When he reached Jessica—a SWAT member with short-cropped hair and steady eyes—he paused longer.

  “You’ve got this,” he said softly.

  She met his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

  Michael noticed.

  He didn’t say anything.

  Another day bled into dusk.

  The camp was quieter now. Fewer jokes. More glances over shoulders.

  Michael woke from a half-sleep—Kevin had let him drift for twenty minutes, a mercy. He sat up and froze.

  Blood.

  Thin trails of it circled the camp. Not pools—deliberate smears. Dragged lines across boulders. Scratches gouged into stone—three parallel marks, deep enough to fit fingers.

  Sarah saw it first. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Emma…” she breathed.

  Michael’s stomach dropped.

  The scratches weren’t random. They formed patterns. Circles. Arrows. Pointing inward.

  Toward the camp.

  Toward them.

  Michael stood slowly. His bow materialized in his hand, dream source energy already coiling.

  “We’re being watched,” he said.

  And this time, no one argued. And somewhere in the tall grass, reflective eyes blinked once—then were gone