Day 10
I woke up to the smell of smoke.
But my fire was out. My coals were cold. The air wasn't thick—just tinged—something between burnt metal and singed hair. The smell clung to my clothes. My skin. I washed twice in the river, but I still caught it on my sleeves.
There was no fire last night.
So where the hell did the smoke come from?
I went searching north of my shelter this morning. The terrain dips sharply, almost as if a scar has been carved into the island. I followed the bend of the land and found it:
A fracture. Roughly two meters wide, five deep. Natural? Maybe. But it looked wrong. The walls of the crevice weren't raw rock—they were layered. Fossilized?
No. Too clean.
Artificial?
There were striations like tool marks. As if something had been carved, or tunneled, and then weathered down over time. A kind of soot dust lined the bottom. My heart rate doubled when I saw it.
I took a sample. It smelled like the same smoke I woke up to.
Used my paracord to anchor a climb. Made it two meters before the air shifted. Heavier. Denser. Like I passed through an invisible curtain.
I heard something beneath me. Not breathing. Not movement. Just a low, dull hum.
It wasn't mechanical. It felt... alive.
I climbed back out immediately.
Marked the spot.
Named it: Smoke Line Alpha.
I'll return. But not yet. I need more gear. More oxygen options. I'm not dying blind.
Dreamt I was in the middle of a city. Could've been Tokyo. Could've been anywhere. Everything was gray. Colorless. Buildings melting, but not from heat, from time. Like they were aging in seconds, Windows grew moss. Billboards cracked. Roads crumbled beneath me.
And overhead—nothing but smoke. Endless, suffocating smoke. Not rising. Falling.
When I woke up, the smell was stronger than ever.
At dusk, I saw the figure again.
Closer.
On the ridge, watching and not moving. Still featureless from this distance. But this time, it tilted its head.
Like it recognized me.
Then it walked backward into the trees. Not turned around. Just backward. No noise. No leaves rustling.
Gone.
I've spent ten days surviving. Ten days of building. Fighting off madness one task at a time.
But today was different.
Today, I stopped feeling like I'm surviving nature.
Today, I started feeling like I'm trespassing.
There's something under this island. Not a ruin. Not a bunker. Something older. Something that breathes. Maybe not literally, but it feels like it's watching from below.
I'll go back to Smoke Line Alpha.When I do, I won't be just Riku the survivor.
I'll be Riku the intruder.
And intruders don't get second chances.