The voices drew closer, echoing through the fractured tunnel walls until Ashfall could make out the crunch of snow and the scrape of boots on broken stone. He pressed himself tighter into the shadows, holding his breath, but he knew it was useless. Whoever these people were, there were too many of them, and he was already weak.
Seven figures emerged through the dust, their silhouettes cutting against the dim light seeping down from the hole he had fallen through. Ashfall kept still, but his heart thudded painfully in his chest. He counted their steps, their voices, the rhythm of their presence. Seven. At least seven.
Then came a shift. A girl's voice in a soft and sharp tone. She was younger than the rest. She crouched near the collapsed snow where Ashfall had fallen, tracing something in the ground. Her finger followed the trail of his footprints leading away from the collapse. She tilted her head, and though she said nothing at first, Ashfall felt her eyes on him like a blade pressed to his throat.
She leaned closer to the boy standing at the front of the group, her lips moving in a whisper only he could hear. His expression tightened, then softened into something performative. He raised his voice deliberately, the sound carrying across the rubble.
"You don't have to hide," he called out, his tone strangely casual. "We know you're here. And we're not enemies."
Ashfall exhaled through his teeth, bitter. Not enemies. Right. That's what people always say before they put a knife in your back.
He thought about staying hidden, waiting until they passed. But the girl had already seen the tracks, and the boy's confidence told him everything: if Ashfall tried to wait them out, they'd drag him out eventually. Seven against one wasn't survival. It was suicide.
Slowly and deliberately, he tucked away his second silenced pistol, though it burned him to do so. Then, with both hands raised—one empty, the other holding his other pistol pointed harmlessly toward the ceiling—he stepped out from behind the broken slabs of concrete.
The group reacted immediately. Some tensed, shifting weight, ready to draw weapons. But the young man at the front only blinked, surprise flickering across his features. He was close to Ashfall's age, maybe a little older, his stance easy but his eyes sharp. The girl who had found the footprints was crouched beside him, her gaze never leaving Ashfall, so direct it felt unnatural.
Ashfall's eyes looked briefly in their eyes. Timer tattoos, just like his own. Their clock hands were further along than his: three hours marked, minutes crawling closer to the fourth. They had survived longer, fought more. That meant power. Dangerous power.
Behind them stood five others, most the same age, all carrying stuffed backpacks. Their pupils told a different story: their hour hands barely at one, their minutes barely moving. One face stood out to Ashfall immediately. He remembered her complaining back when the Death Squad had forced them through the initiation, boasting about her father's influence. And now she was here, dragging a heavy pack like a mule. Hypocrite, he thought coldly. Guess daddy's money doesn't matter when the stars come calling.
The girl whispered something again into the leader's ear, her lips moving soundlessly. The boy at the front lifted his hands slowly, mirroring Ashfall's posture as if to show peace. His smile was disarming, too casual for a place like this.
"My name's Kael," he said lightly. "These are my people. And you are?"
Ashfall hesitated, suspicion biting at him. He didn't like giving his name. Names had power, connections, weight. But refusing would draw more attention than offering something simple.
"Ashfall," he muttered, voice flat, revealing nothing more.
Kael nodded, as though that was enough. "Ashfall. Good. That makes things easier."
The silence stretched, broken only by the crunch of shifting rubble. Then Kael spread his arms in a half-shrug. "Look, I'll keep this short. We're not here to fight you. We're looking for a place to settle, to build something we can defend. Strength in numbers, you understand? We could use another pair of hands. You look like you know how to survive."
Ashfall almost laughed at that. Survive? If only you knew. Survival is the only thing I'm good at, and even that feels like a curse most days.
He kept his face still, though, his expression unreadable. "And what do you expect from me? Carry a bag? March in line?"
Kael grinned, unbothered. "Everyone pulls their weight. Some of us fight. Some of us carry. Some of us watch. Whatever you're best at, that's your contribution."
He gestured back toward the five loaded-down Timer Agents. Their shoulders sagged under the weight of their packs, but none dared speak. Not one of them had looked Ashfall in the eye.
Kael took a step forward, extending his hand. "Join us. Together, we'll last longer. Food, water; we have plenty. Safety, too. Alone, you'll die down here. With us, you might actually make it."
The girl beside him said nothing. Her eyes followed Ashfall with unbroken intensity, her presence like a silent verdict.
Ashfall studied the hand. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His instincts screamed at him not to trust anyone, not to walk into someone else's rules, someone else's grip. But another voice cut through the noise, quieter, sharper: Alone you're nothing. Alone you'll freeze, starve, collapse. You're already half-mad from the stars. You need them, at least for now.
His thoughts flickered briefly to Calethia. She was out there somewhere, maybe alive, maybe dead. He had told himself he'd find her, but he wasn't a fool. He wouldn't throw himself into the fire for someone he barely knew. She was strong enough to manage without him, or she was already gone. Either way, chasing her blindly would be suicide.
He glanced at the others again. Seven was better than one. Even if half of them were just pack mules, they had supplies. Shelter. A plan... or at least the illusion of one.
He smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. Salvation or ruin. That's always the choice, isn't it? The line between them's so thin you don't see it until you're bleeding.
Kael's hand remained outstretched and patient. The boy's smile was too easy, too practiced, but Ashfall couldn't ignore the logic.
Slowly, Ashfall lowered his pistol, sliding it back into its holster. His other hand lifted halfway, hesitating for a heartbeat longer as if caught between defiance and surrender. Then, finally, he clasped Kael's hand.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if this turns into a mistake, I'll make sure you're the first to pay for it."
Kael only laughed, squeezing his hand firmly before letting go. "Fair enough. Welcome to the group, Ash."
The others shifted, the silent pack carriers glancing at him briefly before looking away. The girl didn't move, didn't speak, her gaze still locked on him as though measuring every breath.
Ashfall fell in step with them reluctantly, the tunnel stretching ahead like a maw. He couldn't shake the question gnawing at the back of his mind:
Is this the beginning of my survival... or the start of my ruin?