Tobias had not yet grown accustomed to the sound of the title.
"Captain."
The word always came with a brief hesitation, as if the speaker tested the air before releasing it. Some soldiers corrected themselves mid-sentence, stumbling over the syllables. Others said it too quickly, almost swallowing it, as if afraid that something—or someone—might hear and object.
Captain because Isaac died.
No. Captain because Isaac came back.
And that was infinitely worse.
There was no ceremony for it. No protocol. Death reorganized the world with the cold efficiency of a blade—but resurrection? Resurrection simply broke the rules and waited for others to clean up the mess.
Tobias had inherited the position the same way he had inherited fear: without warning, without preparation, and with a growing certainty that he was unqualified for either.
The division was camped at the edge of the Dense Darkness, in a stretch where the blackness seemed less oppressive—like a sated predator resting, but never truly sleeping. Fires burned low, more out of habit than utility. Flames no longer drove anything away. They merely marked territory everyone knew was temporary.
Soldiers moved with the economy of those who had learned that energy was a finite resource. Some cleaned weapons they had barely used, movements mechanical and comforting. Others pretended to review useless maps, crossed out and redrawn so many times they no longer represented any real place—only the hope that geography still mattered.
There were also those who simply stared into nothing.
Waiting.
Always waiting for something inevitable to finally happen and end the cruel suspension between life and death they called survival.
Tobias walked among them, feeling the weight of every step. It was not authority he carried—it was responsibility. And responsibility, he had learned too late, did not strengthen anyone. It merely exposed weaknesses you could hide when you were just another soldier.
"Captain."
This time it was one of the lieutenants. Too young. Too thin for the armor he wore. Eyes too large, not yet hardened by enough time in the depths.
"The men are restless."
Of course they are.
Tobias looked at him. "And?"
The lieutenant blinked. "I thought you should know."
"I know," Tobias replied, sharper than he intended. "I'm restless too. You're restless. The Darkness is probably restless. Tell me something I don't know."
The lieutenant opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded stiffly and stepped away.
Tobias immediately regretted his tone. But he did not call the man back. Captains did not apologize. Not publicly. Another unwritten rule he was learning: command was solitude with an audience.
He stopped near one of the fires and extended his hands, not truly seeking warmth. The cold here was conceptual—it did not come from wind or air, but from the growing certainty that the world was fundamentally wrong and no number of fires would change that.
And then, inevitably, his thoughts returned to him.
Isaac.
Alive. Confined. Observed like an ancient weapon unearthed from sacred ruins: too powerful to use, too dangerous to ignore, too valuable to destroy without at least trying to understand.
Fragments of their conversation returned like shards of glass:
"I was touched by something greater."
"Not by the Darkness."
"The evidence is in my old tent."
Just like that. As if rising from the dead were merely a prelude to a scavenger hunt.
Tobias rubbed his face, feeling weeks of accumulated grime. When was the last time he had slept properly? Before Isaac died? Before he returned?
Time had blurred. Days without a sun tended to do that.
"Captain Tobias."
An older voice this time. A veteran sergeant, his face so marked by scars that expressions were difficult to read. But his eyes—his eyes were still human. Tired, but human.
"Sergeant."
"The men want to know how long we're staying here." A pause. "The Darkness doesn't like waiting."
As if the Darkness had preferences. As if it were an entity with opinions rather than… whatever it truly was.
Consequence, Isaac had said. Of physical cause.
Tobias almost laughed. "Tomorrow at dawn, we move."
The words came automatically before he registered the absurdity. Dawn. There was no dawn. No morning. Only slightly less dense intervals of darkness they still called "day" for lack of a better term.
The sergeant did not comment. No one ever did. Everyone used the language of the old world to describe the new one. As if words could create normalcy where none existed.
"And the prisoner?" the sergeant asked, voice carefully neutral.
"No one approaches without direct order," Tobias replied. "That includes you."
"I had no intention," the man said quickly. A pause. "The men have theories."
"Of course they do."
"They want to know what the Captain thinks."
Tobias looked at the fire. "The Captain thinks he doesn't know enough to hold an opinion worth anything."
"That makes them nervous."
"Everything makes them nervous," Tobias shot back. "We're camped at the edge of the Dense Darkness with a resurrected corpse in custody. Nervousness is a rational response."
The sergeant almost smiled. Almost. "So the Captain admits he's a resurrected corpse."
"I admit I don't know what he is," Tobias corrected. "And until I do, I treat him as a potential threat. A threat that may have useful information."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then the problem resolves itself."
The sergeant understood what was left unsaid. He nodded. "The men will want to know where we're going tomorrow."
"We're retrieving some things."
"Things?"
"Documents," Tobias said. "Personal effects of Captain Isaac. From his old tent."
Silence.
The sergeant stared at him. "That area was abandoned weeks ago. It's fully within Dense Darkness now."
"I know."
"That's suicide."
"Maybe."
"Captain…" The man hesitated. Then, more quietly: "Is this his order? The prisoner's?"
"It's verification," Tobias replied. "He claims to have left proof. About… many things. I need to know whether he's telling the truth or lost his sanity along with his life."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then I die and you kill him," Tobias said simply. "Problem solved either way."
The sergeant did not look satisfied with the logic, but he nodded. "How many men does the Captain want to take?"
"None."
"Captain—"
"I'm going alone," Tobias cut in. "If I die, the division needs leadership. You take command. Do not argue."
The sergeant opened his mouth. Closed it. Gave a rigid salute and stepped away.
Tobias returned his gaze to the fire.
Alone, he thought. Because if Isaac is lying, only I die. If he's telling the truth…
If he was telling the truth, then everything they thought they knew about the world was wrong.
And Tobias didn't know which possibility was worse.
When "night" advanced—if it still made sense to call the unchanging darkness night—Tobias slipped away from the camp.
He didn't say where he was going. Captains didn't need to justify their movements. In practice, they simply hid their doubts better than their subordinates.
He took a torch, a blade, and very little hope.
Isaac's old tent lay closer to the edge of the Dense Darkness than any sensible shelter should have been. Tobias remembered that. Isaac had always been like that: one step beyond what was necessary, as if searching for something others avoided seeing.
Or as if he knew something that required constant verification, Tobias thought now, new perspective coloring old memories.
The territory was darker. The torch, which should have illuminated three meters around him, barely reached one. The air was denser, heavier, like walking through invisible water that resisted every movement.
Tobias heard his own breathing amplified. His heartbeat too loud. And at the edges of perception—movement.
Always movement.
Things that vanished when he looked directly at them. Shadows bending in ways shadows should not bend.
He tightened his grip on the blade and continued.
The tent emerged from the darkness like a ghost ship in fog. Worn fabric, partially torn, but still standing. There were no signs of intrusion. No one had bothered to search the space after Isaac's death.
Superstition, perhaps.
Or survival instinct disguised as respect.
Tobias stopped at the entrance, torch raised. The light flickered, and for a moment he swore he saw something retreat deeper into the shadows inside the tent.
Then he blinked, and there was nothing.
Just exhaustion, he told himself. And fear.
He entered.
The interior smelled of ancient dust, aged parchment, and oxidized metal. The smell of the past. Of a time when the world still pretended to be normal and people still believed knowledge could save them.
The torch illuminated a spartan interior. A military cot. An improvised table. Stacks of books someone—Isaac—had arranged with meticulous care.
And in the corner, almost hidden beneath an old cloak…
A chest.
Dark wood, reinforced with iron bands. No mystical seals. No profane symbols. Just ordinary locks—three of them, sturdy but not magical.
Almost disappointing in its mundanity.
Tobias knelt before it, placing the torch in a nearby holder.
For a moment, he felt something close to childish fear. Not of the Darkness. Not of monsters.
But of the possibility that Isaac was right.
Because if he was right about this…
What else was he right about?
Tobias extended a hand. Touched the lid.
The wood was cold. Normal. Completely, mundanely normal.
And somehow, that was more disturbing than if it had been burning or pulsing with mystical energy.
He tested the locks. Locked. Of course.
He searched around. Beneath the cot, he found a small leather pouch. Inside, three keys of different sizes.
He knew, Tobias thought. He knew someone would come. That I would come.
Or he had been so paranoid that he prepared for an eventuality he never truly expected.
One by one, the locks clicked open.
Tobias hesitated, his hand resting on the lid.
Outside, wind that should not exist howled through the Dense Darkness. Or something that sounded like wind.
Inside the tent, the torch flickered violently, nearly extinguishing itself.
Now or never.
Tobias opened the chest.
The interior was organized with obsessive precision.
Documents. Dozens of them. Arranged in bundles tied with cord. Each bundle labeled in Isaac's small handwriting:
"Pre-Fall Records — Primary Testimonies"
"Comparative Analysis — Stellar Disappearance vs. Historical Phenomena"
"Forbidden Texts — Partial Translation"
"Academic Correspondence — Suppressed"
Tobias picked up the first bundle, his hands trembling slightly.
He opened it.
And began to read.
An hour later, he was still kneeling. The torch had burned halfway down. His eyes burned.
But he couldn't stop.
Because Isaac wasn't insane.
Worse.
Isaac was right.
The documents were meticulous. Cross-referenced. Testimonies from multiple sources. Analyses Isaac had clearly spent years compiling.
And all of them pointed to the same impossible conclusion:
The Long Night had not been an accident.
It had been invoked.
Not by mad cultists or demonic ritual.
By consensus.
By deliberate choice of leaders, philosopher-kings, academic-mages who decided they could do better. That they had to do better. That they deserved to do better.
And when they failed…
When the ritual meant to elevate them destroyed the sky…
They chose to forget.
To rewrite history.
To call a deliberate choice a "natural phenomenon."
Tobias read testimony from a scribe who had been present. Read the confession of a repentant mage. Read correspondence between academics discussing how to "manage the public narrative" of the "celestial incident."
He read. And read. And read.
Until denial was no longer possible.
Finally, at the bottom of the chest, he found a sealed envelope. Different from the others. More personal.
His name was written on the front.
"For Tobias — in case I do not survive to explain in person."
With hands now visibly trembling, he broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet. Isaac's handwriting, but less formal. Almost intimate.
Tobias,
If you are reading this, it means I died before I could convince you in person. Or that I survived, but you needed proof that did not come directly from me.
I do not blame your distrust. I would blame your credulity.
Everything in this chest is true. I verified it. Re-verified it. I spent years doing so because I needed certainty before accusing the entire world of a fundamental lie.
But now I know: the Darkness was not an accident. It was consequence.
And the most terrifying part? Those who know… are still alive. Still powerful. Still ruling what remains.
Why? Because admitting the truth would shatter the last illusion of control that keeps civilization functioning.
So they lie. And they keep lying. And we die in the darkness they created while they tell us it was cosmic misfortune.
You know me, Tobias. You know I am not a mad conspirator. You know I check sources. That I question everything.
So I ask you: question this as well. Verify it yourself. Do not believe me.
Believe the evidence.
And when you can no longer deny it…
Decide whether you wish to die in a comfortable lie.
Or live in an unbearable truth.
— Isaac
Tobias folded the letter slowly.
His hands had stopped shaking. Not because he was calm, but because he had reached that point beyond shock where the body simply gives up on reacting properly.
He looked around the tent. At the carefully organized books. At the meticulously preserved documents.
At the evidence of years of obsessive labor by a man who knew the world was lying and could not let it stand.
And then he died, Tobias thought. And then he came back.
And now I know why.
Because the truth had to survive.
Even if it cost resurrection.
Tobias began packing the documents. Not all of them—too many to carry. But the essential ones. The irrefutable ones.
As he worked, Isaac's words from the quarantine tent echoed again in his mind:
"I was touched by something greater."
And now, with the chest open and the truth exposed, Tobias finally understood.
Isaac had not been touched by the Darkness.
He had been touched by something that hated lies.
Something that valued truth above comfort.
Something willing to break even the rules of death itself…
Just to ensure that someone knew.
Tobias grabbed the last bundle of documents and stood.
The torch was nearly spent.
He needed to return before it went out completely.
But now he returned with more than he had come for.
He returned with a terrible certainty:
Isaac was telling the truth.
And if he was telling the truth about this…
What else was he right about?
And more terrifying still:
Who else knew?
And what would they do to keep it secret?
Tobias left the tent, arms full of evidence, mind full of horror.
And for the first time since becoming captain…
He wished he were only a soldier again.
Because soldiers only followed orders.
Captains had to decide what to do when they discovered the entire world was built on a lie.
And that decision…
That decision could kill them all.
Or worse.
It could force them to live knowing the truth.