That night moved slower than any night they had ever lived through in the First Nest. As if the world itself decided to hold its breath and wait for what would happen to the group that had just returned from the hell of the fourth corridor.
They entered the room with heavy steps, as though every centimeter of the floor was pulling their feet down, forcing them not to move forward. None of them spoke. No complaints, no curses, not even a long sigh. Everything drowned in a dark silence.
But it was not the kind of silence that allows one to recover. This was a swallowing silence. A silence born from loss, regret, fear, and the emptiness of hope. A silence that hung in the air like wet, cold cloth, clinging to their skin and making the small room feel even narrower.
Glenn walked to the corner of the room. He didn't just sit. He collapsed slowly, his back leaning against the cold stone wall as though he needed something solid to hold a body that was almost falling apart. His eyes were wide open, but his gaze was empty. He wasn't seeing the room. He wasn't seeing them. He was seeing something behind the stone walls. Something that existed only inside his mind.
The blue-purple core inside him flickered in chaotic rhythms. Sometimes pure blue. Sometimes soft purple. Sometimes the two colors fought each other in flashing pulses, as though two heartbeats were forcing his body to become their vessel, even though the vessel was clearly about to break.
Glenn's lips moved slowly. Barely visible.
Dean.
Reis.
He repeated the names. Softly. Halting. Fragile. Like someone forcing himself to remember the names of the dead he had just buried. Like a mantra of regret. Or a prayer for souls that had traveled too far to reach.
Dilos approached with careful steps. He knew Glenn was not just mourning.
Glenn was dangerous.
He reached out a hand. His fingertips had not even touched Glenn's shoulder when the voice came. Faster than any greeting.
"Don't touch me."
Glenn's voice was flat. Not loud. Not shouting. But it contained a faint shiver. A tremor of fear. Not fear of Dilos, but fear of the energy thrashing inside his own body.
"I could hurt you," Glenn continued, still staring at the same empty point. "I don't know what's happening with this core. I can't feel its limits. I'm afraid I'll explode if you touch me. And I don't want to hurt you."
Dilos slowly pulled his hand back. He stood there for several seconds, staring at Glenn's back, tense like an overdrawn bow. But he knew forcing anything was useless. Any words would only fall to the ground without a sound.
Across the room, Ted sat with his sword across his lap. His hand moved repeatedly, rubbing the blade that had already been clean for the past ten minutes. He kept polishing the same spot until the shine of the metal no longer looked natural. Then suddenly he stopped. His movement froze.
He looked at the reflection in the blade. But what he saw was not himself.
He saw Dean's severed head falling, rolling across the corridor floor. He saw Reis's empty eyes. He saw blood. He saw mistakes.
Dorde sat not far from him, his back against the wall. He looked at Ted, at Ted's stopped hand, at Ted's empty eyes. Then slowly, Dorde's eyes became empty too.
No tears. No screams. No excuses.
Just emptiness.
The emptiness of someone who had seen death too closely and started questioning the value of his own life.
The air in the room grew colder. It felt like they were inside an iron coffin, not a small hut meant for rest. Their breathing was the only sound that could be heard, rising and falling, sometimes steady, sometimes choking. Like an old rusted machine forced to keep running.
Meanwhile, not far from there, four people stood in a different room. A room with tall stone walls, torches burning in every corner, and a data board full of carvings that delivered its reports without emotion.
Raimon stood closest to the board. He read it slowly, his flat voice echoing in the room and sounding colder than usual.
"The combined group of Glenn and Clive has completed the exploration of the fourth corridor. Two members dead. Dean and Reis. Efficiency down eighteen percent. Three humanoids killed. The rest still roaming."
Odvan, missing his right arm, sat slanted on a wooden chair. He tapped his remaining fingers on the table. Softly. Without rhythm. As if his thoughts themselves were unstable.
"They're still too green for that corridor," he muttered. "The fourth corridor isn't something you conquer just because you feel confident. It's a grave. A grave for people who think they're strong."
Sendley leaned against a metal shelf. His eyes were half-lidded, but his mind was clearly not at rest. His voice was smooth, almost calm, but analytical. Like a doctor examining a wound and already knowing which parts can't be healed.
"Glenn's core is showing signs of energy instability. That purple color is unnatural. This could be an effect from the corridor's light or an interaction with Mola's core. If this continues, Glenn may experience partial mutation."
He paused briefly.
"And after that, there is no turning back."
Near the stone window, Warden Zago stood upright like a statue untouched by time. He stared into the darkness outside, a void that looked like the mouth of the world waiting for prey.
When he spoke, only one word left his lips.
"Good."
Raimon turned. "Good? Two recruits died."
Zago ignored him at first. Then he spoke without turning his head.
"They need to see that truth. Mastering cores is not just about physical strength. It is about mental stability. About resisting temptation. Many fail. Many mutate. Many go insane. If they can't endure mentally, they are not fit for this nest."
Odvan stopped tapping. "Still, two lives lost."
"And a thousand before them," Zago replied, voice flat.
He slowly turned, half his face lit by flame, the other half swallowed by shadow, emphasizing his terrifying authority.
"The fourth corridor is not meant to be conquered. It is a warning. And Glenn's group has just learned the price of entering that place arrogantly."
Sendley looked at Zago. "Do we give them time to recover?"
"No need. Let them grieve. Then give them the same assignment. Corridors one to three. The fourth remains open if they choose to enter."
Zago lifted his chin slightly.
"We want to measure their endurance. Not their strength."
*******
In the darker corridor, Clive sat with his back against the wall. He heard heavy footsteps approaching before the man reached him.
Zorilla sat beside him. His massive body made the floor vibrate slightly. He did not speak. He only stared into the end of the corridor, which was as dark as the mouth of some enormous creature.
Clive finally spoke.
"This isn't just about monsters. There's something in the fourth corridor. Something that gets into your head."
"Mola," Zorilla answered briefly.
"And its purple light," Clive added. "Glenn is already affected."
"We need to pull back," Zorilla muttered.
Clive looked at him with weary eyes. "So you agree."
"We don't have a choice. If we go in again now, we die. Or… become like them."
Silence wrapped around them for several minutes. Then Clive broke it.
"Tomorrow we clear corridors one through three. Gather cores. Increase our strength. Learn to control core energy properly. And keep Glenn from losing himself."
Zorilla nodded. "And look for information about the fourth corridor."
"Raimon," Clive replied.
Zorilla gave a faint grin. "That's a risk."
"Everything in this nest is a risk."
They fell into silence again, each of them thinking about the tomorrow that promised nothing but more blood.
*******
Morning came heavy, as if even the sun hesitated to shine on their day.
A guard stopped in front of their door and knocked three times.
"Your assignment is the same," he said flatly.
Clive stepped out first, Zorilla followed, then Ted, Dorde, and Dilos. Glenn came last. His face was pale, but his eyes were different. There was a colder tension in them. Not the fire of anger, but the frozen steel of hardened resolve.
"I'm coming," he said. "But don't expect me to still be the old Glenn."
Clive looked at him for a long moment before replying. "What we need now isn't the old Glenn. We need a Glenn who can survive."
They began walking toward the processing corridor.
Clive stopped in front of the large door leading to the first corridor.
"We're not entering the fourth corridor," he said firmly. "Not now."
Glenn stayed silent. A brief turmoil crossed his face. Anger. Frustration. Then finally… acceptance.
Clive continued, "We need strength. Cores. Control. And information. Until we have all that, we're not going back in there."
Glenn looked at each of them.
"They died because of me," he whispered. "I was arrogant."
Dilos stepped closer. He patted Glenn's shoulder. This time Glenn did not pull away.
"We all made mistakes. Don't carry it alone."
Glenn looked at them one by one. He saw something that wasn't sadness. It wasn't anger.
He saw resolve.
"We have to get stronger," Glenn said at last. "And when we go back there… no one dies again."
They entered the first corridor.
Monsters waited in the shadows.
But this time, their steps were not the steps of people who were careless. Not the steps of people swollen with confidence.
These were the steps of soldiers who had just lost something… and were determined not to lose anything again.