CHAPTER 14: PLANNING
The ruins weren't intact—just the bones of something that had once mattered.
Half-collapsed stone walls jutted from the fog like broken teeth, their edges worn smooth by time and neglect. The central structure had sunk inward, fractured and hollowed, its floor cracked into uneven plates where moss and dry earth fought for dominance. It stood in stark contrast to the marsh surrounding it—wet, breathing, alive in the wrong ways.
Whatever had existed here before had not simply fallen.
It had been erased.
John raised a fist.
The group halted instantly.
Weapons lowered, but none were sheathed. No one relaxed. Not really. The instinct to keep steel ready had already been burned into them by blood and close calls.
"Let's rest here," John said quietly. "For now."
No one argued.
They spread out without instruction, backs to stone, angles covered, lines of sight overlapping naturally. It was the kind of movement that only came from shared danger—the kind you didn't notice until you saw it happening.
Only when a full minute passed without sound—without movement in the fog—did anyone breathe properly.
Nico broke the silence first, because of course he did.
"So," he said, voice deliberately too loud in the stillness, "on a scale from one to 'we're definitely dead,' how's everyone feeling?"
Amara snorted and dropped against the wall beside him, boots sliding slightly on loose grit. "Like you don't already know."
"It's just to make sure," Nico replied, shifting his weight.
He hissed before he could stop himself.
Blood seeped through a ragged cut near his elbow, dark against the sleeve he'd wrapped around it too loosely.
Amara's ears twitched.
She noticed immediately.
"You're hurt."
Nico glanced down, then back up, grinning too fast. "This? This is nothing. Builds character."
She reached out without asking and yanked his arm closer, inspecting the wound. "That's nothing. That's bleeding."
"Bleeding is temporary," Nico said bravely. "Pain is fleeting. Glory is—ow—okay, don't press that."
"Sit still," she snapped, already tightening the wrap properly. "You're useless if you pass out."
Orion smirked and said," Not like he is useful now."
"What you say, you little prick," Nico glared at Orion. "I'm very useful. Maybe not much like this physically, but I still help emotionally."
Amara rolled her eyes.
Nearby, Liora had crouched near the edge of the ruins, gaze fixed on the mist. Her posture was loose, but her attention wasn't. Every sense she had was stretched outward, testing the fog, listening for disturbances too subtle for others to catch.
"Night's closing in," she said quietly. "We won't have long before visibility drops further."
Thalia knelt in the dirt a few steps away, fingers moving steadily as she traced lines and symbols into the soil. Her brow was furrowed, expression focused—not fearful, not distracted.
"This isn't random," she murmured. "The terrain, I mean."
John moved closer. "Explain."
She pointed without looking up.
"Marsh to the east. Ruins north. Forest south. Those are the areas we've identified so far." Her fingers drew boundaries, then arrows. "The monsters differ by zone, but the points don't. Weak creatures are on the outskirts. Most can survive against those, but they give points from one to three maximum, and they are scarcer. Stronger ones are found deeper, which give points from five and up."
Lucian leaned in slightly. "Meaning?"
"If we stay near the edges," Thalia continued, "we won't earn enough points before the time limit. If we go deeper, we face greater risk—but higher yield."
"They're funneling us," Lucian said flatly.
"Toward something," Malric added.
John crouched beside the sketch, resting his sword across his knees. He studied the crude map, then nodded once.
"So staying in one place isn't an option," he said. "We have to move actively and hunt monsters."
Silence followed.
Until Elowen spoke, her voice soft but steady.
"The bracelets said a minimum of one hundred points," she reminded them. "We can't ignore that."
Nico lifted his wrist. "Well I got twelve."
A soft chime followed.
Then another.
Amara checked hers. "Fourteen." She frowned. "Feels low."
"It is," Nico said cheerfully. "Compared to him."
All eyes turned.
Sylas stood apart from the group, leaning against a fractured pillar. Vines coiled loosely around his boots, almost relaxed. His expression was unreadable.
His bracelet glowed brighter than the rest.
Thirty-two.
No one spoke.
Even Nico didn't joke.
Kaelen let out a slow breath. "That's… fast."
Sylas didn't respond.
Nyara tilted her head, humming softly. "Efficient," she said. "I should learn."
John checked his own.
Twenty.
He absorbed the number without reaction.
Kaelen noticed anyway. "You're thinking."
John nodded once. "Points don't matter if you die to something you can't handle. We need to plan for threats before we stumble into them."
That earned a few looks.
Kaelen's group shifted closer—not merging, not submitting. Just… aligning.
One of them was missing.
Kaelen's gaze drifted to the empty space beside him.
John followed it this time.
"…Where's Soren?" he asked.
The name fell into the ruins like a stone dropped into still water.
Nico stiffened.
Amara's ears flattened.
Thalia looked up sharply from the dirt.
Kaelen didn't answer right away.
He stared at the cracked stone beneath his boots, jaw clenched tight enough to tremble. When he finally spoke, his voice was stripped of humor, stripped of deflection.
"He didn't make it."
Silence.
"Soren?" Nico repeated. "The guy who wouldn't shut up about maps? He literally memorized half the fortress."
"He tried to lead two others out of a sink zone," Sera said quietly. Her arms were folded tight around herself. "Pulled one free. The other panicked."
"And?" Amara asked, already knowing.
"And a Mire-Hound surfaced," Kaelen finished. "Half-awakened."
John exhaled slowly.
Soren.
Thin. Sharp-eyed. Always scribbling notes on scraps of cloth. The kid who had argued with Thalia about trade routes and then apologized hours later because he'd been wrong.
Thomas swallowed hard. "He… he helped me during drills."
Lucian turned away.
No one joked.
No one moved.
The ruins felt colder.
"We killed the monster," Kaelen said. "Six points."
He sighed and continued," It really feels unfair."
John nodded once. "It never feels fair."
Thalia spoke again, voice steady but strained.
"If we're talking points," she said, "we need to address the obvious solution before it poisons us later."
No one interrupted.
"Candidate kills."
The word sat between them—ugly and unavoidable.
"We've seen squads doing it already," Kaelen said quietly.
"They move faster," Nyara added. "Less risk."
"They move faster to what?" Nico asked.
"Victory."
"No," John said calmly. "To becoming something worse."
Silence followed.
"We don't hunt other candidates," John continued. "We defend ourselves if forced. That's the line."
"And if we fall short?" Orion asked.
"We won't," John replied. "We adapt."
Malric's hand tightened slightly. "Others won't follow that rule."
"I know," John said. "That doesn't mean we abandon it."
Sylas, from the other side, studied him for a long moment.
"That mercy will be exploited."
"Then we'll learn who deserves it," John replied. "And who doesn't?"
That ended the discussion.
Night crept fully over the ruins soon after.
The fog thickened as the temperature dropped, rolling in low and heavy, swallowing the edges of the broken stone. Shapes shifted at the limits of vision — not quite threats, not quite imagined. The kind of darkness that made every decision feel heavier than it had a moment ago.
They set watches.
John didn't immediately volunteer.
He stood apart for a moment, resting a hand against the cold stone, letting the quiet press in. His body ached in places he hadn't noticed during the planning. Cuts stung now that adrenaline had faded. Fatigue crept into his bones, slow and insistent.
But it wasn't the physical exhaustion that weighed on him.
It was the faces.
Soren's, most of all.
John hadn't known him well — not deeply — but enough. Enough to remember the way he talked too fast when he was excited. Enough to remember how proud he'd been when someone actually listened to his ideas. Enough to feel the wrongness of him simply… not being here anymore.
Six points.
That was all a life amounted to in the Covenant's system.
John curled his fingers into a fist, then forced them to relax.
'I can't afford to think like that,' he told himself.
Leadership didn't allow room for grief — not openly. If he slowed down, others would feel it. If he hesitated, they would hesitate too. And hesitation, out here, got people killed.
Still…
The idea of hunting other candidates lingered in his mind like a bitter taste. He understood the logic. He understood the efficiency. But understanding didn't mean acceptance.
'If survival meant becoming something unrecognizable, then what exactly were they surviving for?'
A quiet exhale left him.
When Liora volunteered for watch, John didn't argue.
He followed her.
because his thoughts were too loud, and he needed air. Distance. Something steady that wasn't strategy or bloodshed.
They climbed to the highest intact section of wall, where the stone sloped outward toward the marsh. Fog rolled below them like a pale sea, slow and deliberate, swallowing sound as much as sight.
For a long while, neither spoke.
John rested his forearms on the stone, eyes scanning the mist out of habit more than necessity. His mind was still half in the planning circle — counting points, calculating risks, weighing lives against numbers he hated thinking about.
It took effort to let that go.
Liora adjusted her grip on the railing, the faint scrape of leather against stone breaking the silence.
"Do you remember what the sky looked like at night before this place?"
John blinked, the question pulling him fully out of his thoughts.
"I… don't remember anything before coming here."
She blinked too — then laughed softly. "Right. Sorry."
He hesitated, then added, "But I bet it's beautiful."
She smiled faintly. "It is."
They stood there, two figures against the dark.
"I used to count the stars," she said. "When things were bad."
"Did it help?"
"Not really," she admitted. "But it felt harmless."
John glanced at her. "You don't seem like someone who needs harmless things."
She scoffed quietly. "That's because no one ever lets me have them."
"You know, if we ever leave this place," she said, eyes forward, "I want something simple."
"Like what?"
"A nice, quiet place I can rest in… a farm, maybe," she said, her voice almost wistful.
John didn't answer right away. Then he nodded. "That does sound nice."
Liora glanced at him, surprised. "Really? You don't think it's a little… childish?"
"Not really," John said. "Besides, even if it were, you are a child, so I don't see the problem." He paused, then added, half-teasing, "No offense."
Her eyes flicked toward him, amused. "You mean we, right? Or are you saying you're not one?"
John blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. "Ah—right. I guess I do look like a kid."
She smiled. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you not only look like a kid you are a kid just...a little more mature."
John went quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Okay. I can agree with that."
Liora waved a hand as if brushing the thought away. "Forget it."
But she didn't let go of the railing. Her fingers tightened instead.
"Then about the farm…" she hesitated, eyes fixed ahead. "Promise me. If we ever escape this hell—let's, make it real."
John felt his throat tighten. He swallowed, then turned to meet her gaze, steady and sincere.
"Yeah," he said. "I promise. I'll help you make it happen."
For a moment, the ruins didn't feel so broken. The night didn't feel quite as cruel.
It was just two people holding onto something fragile.
The fog shifted beneath them, restless and endless—but for now, the night allowed them this.