My return to consciousness was a slow, painful crawl out of a deep, black pit. The first thing I registered was a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to emanate from the very core of my being. The second was a soft warmth beneath my head and the scent of woodsmoke and rain. I opened my eyes.
The world was a blur of firelight and worried faces. Erica's face was the closest, her eyes wide and luminous, shining with an emotion so raw it was almost blinding. Before I could process it, before I could speak, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder. She hugged me with a desperate, trembling strength.
I froze, completely bewildered. Physical contact was a foreign language I had never bothered to learn. Her embrace was a confusing mix of warmth and restraint, a desperate clinging that spoke of profound fear.
"You're awake," she sobbed into my shirt, her voice muffled and thick with tears. "You're finally awake. We thought… I thought… Dante, you were so cold. You wouldn't wake up. You were bleeding. I thought we lost you. Don't you ever do that again! Don't you ever scare me like that again! You can't leave us. You can't."
Her words were a frantic, disorganized torrent of relief and terror. I remained still, my mind slowly piecing together the events before my collapse. The fight. The victory. The strain of raising Derek's spirit. The weakness. It was a tactical error, a miscalculation of my own limits. A mistake I would not make again.
"He's awake!" Rina's voice, filled with exhausted relief, broke the spell.
The rest of the team crowded in, their faces emerging from the fire-lit gloom. Masha was there, her usual mask of cool composure completely gone, replaced by a deep, weary relief. She placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that was both a comfort and a confirmation that I was truly back.
"You had us worried, Dante," she said, her voice unsteady. "Profoundly worried."
Eric knelt, his massive form seeming to block out the night. He simply looked at me and nodded, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes. In his eyes, I saw not just relief, but the renewed faith of a soldier in his commander. Jin and Talia stood behind him, their expressions mirroring his stoic approval. Even Edgar, who usually kept his distance, offered a small, tired smile.
They were all there. Eight of us. The remnants of our original group. Two were missing. Neil and Juno. Their absence was a gaping hole in our formation, a loss of vital assets. But as I looked at the emotional faces surrounding me, I felt nothing for the dead. No sadness. No grief. I had known from the beginning that this was a trial of attrition. The weak would be culled. The strong would take their place. That is the fundamental law of this world, and every world. Neil's inability to defend himself and Juno's emotional fragility had made them liabilities. Their deaths were not a tragedy; they were an inevitability. They had served their purpose, one with his knowledge, the other with his sacrifice. Their utility was expended.
My team, however, saw it differently. Their relief at my recovery was tangled with their grief for the fallen.
"We lost them," Jin said, his voice low and heavy with a guilt I did not share. "Neil and Juno… Derek's team, they…"
"I know," I said, my voice raspy. I pushed myself into a sitting position, gently but firmly dislodging Erica's embrace. She pulled back reluctantly, her hands hovering as if she wanted to steady me. "I was there."
My cold, detached tone seemed to sober them. The emotional atmosphere shifted, the raw relief replaced by a grim remembrance of the battle. They had wanted vengeance, and I had given it to them. But they were still clinging to the ghosts of our old world, to the sentimental notion that every life had inherent value. They had not yet learned what I already knew. Value is determined by strength and utility, nothing more.
"Their deaths were not in vain," I said, my words a carefully crafted balm for their misplaced emotions. "They bought us the victory that ensures the rest of us will live to see another day. We will honor them not by mourning, but by surviving. By winning."
I let my gaze sweep over each of them, reasserting my control, my leadership. "Rest. We have a long road ahead. The next phase begins now."
Later that night, the camp was quiet. A rotating watch had been set. Eric and Jin, the most physically imposing, took the first shift, their silent forms patrolling the perimeter like bears. The others were asleep, huddled in their bedrolls, finding a temporary escape in their dreams. My five shadow puppets stood motionless in the darkness beyond the firelight, a far more effective security system than any living guard.
I sat alone by the bonfire, staring into the dancing flames. The physical weakness had receded, but a deep, soul-wearying exhaustion remained. The wish. The ultimate prize. It was a secret I now held close to my chest, a weight and a power that set me apart from everyone, even my own team.
A soft footstep on the damp earth made me look up. A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the warm glow of the fire. It was Masha. Her once impeccably styled hair, a symbol of her former life as the respected student council president, was now a messy, practical ponytail. A dark smudge of dirt streaked across one cheek, and her clothes were torn and stained. But the firelight caught the intelligence in her eyes, an intensity that had not been diminished by our ordeal, only sharpened by a deep, weary anxiety.
She sat down on a log across from me, her movements graceful despite her exhaustion. For a long moment, she just stared into the fire, gathering her thoughts.
"Things are really going bad, aren't they?" she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question so much as a confirmation of a terrible truth.
I didn't answer immediately, simply watching the flames dance and writhe.
"We lost two people today, Dante," she continued, her gaze still fixed on the fire. "Not to monsters. To us. To other students. And we… we killed ten. I keep trying to justify it, to tell myself it was self-defense, that they were murderers. But it doesn't feel right. It feels like we've crossed a line."
"There are no lines here," I said, my voice flat. "There is only survival."
"Is that all this is?" She finally looked at me, her eyes searching my face for something, anything, other than the cold, hard logic I always offered. "Just survival? What happens next, Dante? We kill the dragon, and then what? We become soldiers or slaves for some king we've never met? Is that the victory we're fighting for?"
Her questions hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken fears of the entire team. They were the questions of someone still clinging to the hope of a future that made sense, a future with meaning beyond the next bloody fight.
"Will we even survive that long?" she pressed, her voice cracking slightly. "Derek's team was strong. What if there are others like them? Stronger ones? What if the next time, we're the ones lying dead in a clearing?" She hugged her knees to her chest, a gesture of profound vulnerability. "Dante… will we ever go home?"