The figures slowed as they reached the edge of the firelight, hesitation written into every step. Kaizer stayed where he was, crouched near the flames, one hand resting loosely on his knee, ready to activate beast claw if need be. Kaizers other hand was close enough to his spear, he felt there was no way he could be ambushed.

  Kaizer didn’t rise when they stepped closer but tracked them like he would track monsters out of habit. The limp on the left. The stiff arm held too tight against the ribs. The way one of them kept swallowing like their throat was almost raw, like they’d been breathing smoke or dust for days. They carried weapons, but not confidently. Not the way someone carried a blade when they believed it would save them. More like a comfort object, something to hold onto while they waited for the end. The most obvious issue were the children. A few children clinging to a woman, clearly not the mother, fear in their eyes, malnourished and obviously dehydrated.

  The smell hit him next, stale sweat and old blood, rot beneath bandages that hadn’t been cleaned properly, clothes even dirtier than his own, ripped and torn. One of them looked at the fire like it was a miracle and almost missed the step, knees buckling for a fraction before Aaron caught their elbow. Kaizer’s hand drifted to his spear without threat, just readiness, then he forced himself to relax. These people were no threat, they were desperate individuals.

  When one of the individuals almost collapsed yet again, Kaizer nodded them towards the fire. Allowing them to sit and rest. Relief washed over the group immediately. The man who had spoken earlier stared at him like he was seeing a ghost. His eyes dragged over Kaizer’s gear, the scars, the way he carried himself. Slowly, something in his expression cracked.

  “Shit,” he said quietly. “I really thought you were dead.”

  “So did I,” Kaizer replied. “Couple of times.”

  The man, Aaron, huffed, rubbing a hand over his face, disbelief etched into every line. “You remember that night after Dan’s birthday?” he said suddenly, as if testing. “When you tried to convince the bouncer you were sober because you could still do long division?”

  Kaizer shut his eyes. “I still maintain I wasn’t drunk.”

  “You were slurring.”

  “And I was right.”

  A pause. Then someone snorted. Another laugh followed, thin but genuine, like it surprised them as much as anyone else. “You argued with him for twenty minutes,” Aaron went on, shaking his head. “In front of the whole line.”

  “Hey… What can I say. I was committed.”

  “Yeah, so committed, security had to drag you away, you almost spent the night in a cell.”

  “I maintain my position. They just didn’t want to let me in.”

  “What position… That you were sober?”

  “That long division should be respected.”

  That finally did it. A few people laughed outright, the sound rough and uneven but real. The man smiled faintly, relief softening his face. “End of the world,” he said “And you’re still a huge pain in the arse.” Kaizer let off a faint smile. “Aaron, you don’t know what arse pain feels like.”

  Aaron gestured back toward the others. “Mira,” he said, nodding to the woman clutching her clearly broken arm. The bandage wrapped around it was dark and stiff. “She took a hit a couple days back. Infection’s setting in, but she’s stubborn enough to keep moving.” Mira gave a tired nod. “Collins,” Aaron continued, indicating an older man leaning on a sword. “Used to work construction. Knees were already fucked before all this.” Collins grunted. “Josh,” Aaron finished, glancing at a young man in the group. “We found him yesterday, still hasn’t said a word.”

  Josh looked up briefly, eyes wide and hollow, then dropped his gaze again.

  “The rest….” Aaron gestured vaguely. “That’s who’s left.”

  Kaizer didn’t ask about the missing. He turned back to the fire instead, added more wood, and began preparing food. He didn’t announce it. He didn’t offer. He simply started handing portions out, starting with the children.

  Hands reached too fast. People ate in silence, savouring every bite. “Sorry,” they whispered, ashamed, like they’d broken some unspoken rule. No one answered. Another tried to wrap half their portion away, eyes flicking toward the dark, already thinking ahead. Kaizer simply nudged it back toward them, saying there’s more if needed. People hesitated at first but soon, every person sat around the fire, food in hand.

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  They ate in silence for a while. Someone cried quietly, shoulders shaking as they turned away from the fire. Kaizer noticed the way they flinched at sudden sounds, the way they positioned themselves with backs to trees or rocks, the way their eyes kept tracking in the darkness. These were people afraid of the dark, afraid of what comes with the dark.

  The conversation didn’t break until Kaizer spoke first. “You don’t need to worry here. It’s safe unless I say so.” The group continued to visibly relax minute by minute. Conversation returned slowly. Uneven and halting. Small things at first. Questions about how long Kaizer had been alone. Whether he’d seen other groups. How he knew it was safe by the fire. He answered where he could and deflected what he didn’t want to.

  Kaizer was moving around the fire when Aaron squinted at him, head tilting slightly. “I don’t mean to judge, mate,” he said after a moment, voice cutting gently through the quiet. “But you’re not batting for the other team now, are you?”

  There was a brief beat of confusion around the fire, then a startled snort. One of the children burst out laughing, the sound sharp and almost shocking in how normal it felt. “I don’t know,” Kaizer said flatly. “You always did seem to fancy me. Couldn’t keep your hands off me if I remember… What was it ‘wingman’.” That got a better reaction. Aaron let out a loud groan, laughter mixed through, people beginning to relax.

  Kaizer glanced down, realising why the comment was made. On his arm, a glowing pink bracelet was wrapped within the silver fur, clearly visible. The pink was a shade brighter than when it first turned in the dungeon, pulsing as if it had never left his arm. Kaizer stared at it for a second, jaw tightening, then tugged at it. It didn’t move.

  “It’s cursed,” he muttered, then added “obviously.” He let it go and looked back up. “It’s just too good not to wear.” A few people exchanged knowing looks and no one pressed him. System recognised items weren’t strange at this point. Everyone knew the benefits they could bring.

  Aaron sat down heavily on the log opposite Kaizer, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. All the joking, laughing, it was a cover. His cousin was struggling to keep it in, Kaizer could see that. For a while, Aaron just stared into the fire, jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter.

  “You want to know what actually happened?” he said finally.

  Kaizer didn’t answer straight away. He shifted slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs, posture open but grounded. “Only if you want to tell me,” he said. Aaron let out a humourless laugh. “That’s the problem. I didn’t want to listen when it mattered.”

  The firelight caught his face properly then. He’d always been the good-looking one. Tall, broad-shouldered without being bulky, blonde hair that refused to stay neat no matter how short it was cut. Even now, worn down and hollow-eyed, there was something about him that made people look twice. Kaizer had spent years joking about it. Aaron got the smiles. Kaizer got the drinks. The wingman thing hadn’t been a joke so much as a standing arrangement.

  Aaron stared into the fire a moment longer, jaw tight, before continuing. “We had about thirty people at the start,” he said. “Not all at once. They just… collected.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Neighbours. A few coworkers. Some strangers who didn’t look completely unhinged.” His mouth twisted. “At first, it worked. We found water. Took turns keeping watch. Even had rules.”

  Kaizer nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the flames. He could picture it without trying. Small decisions stacking on top of each other until they felt like structure. Until it felt like safety. “Anyone I knew?” Kaizer asked quietly.

  Aaron hesitated. That was enough of an answer. “Your aunt’s neighbour,” Aaron said after a beat. “The bloke who used to bring his dog to family barbecues. And… Mark. From the warehouse. You remember him. “I… also confirmed something else.” Aaron swallowed hard. “My parents didn’t make it. First day, they didn’t get past the first few minutes.” His voice wavered then, just slightly, and he looked away from the fire.

  Kaizer’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes went cold. “I’m sorry,” he muttered but Aaron just waved it off. Kaizer brought the story back. “I remember Mark, good bloke.” Aaron continued after that. “None of them made it,” he said, not gently, but honestly. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The kids made it harder. You tell yourself you’re protecting them. That you have to be careful. That every risk needs to be justified.” His voice roughened “But being careful just meant we stayed longer. Got louder. Started believing nothing bad would happen because nothing had yet.”

  Kaizer’s fingers flexed, claws coming out slightly in the memory of what had occurred at his camp.

  “Eventually, people started talking about moving,” Aaron said. “Not because it was smart. Because they were scared and needed to do something.” He glanced briefly toward a well-dressed man in the group, clearly an influential figure. “Some people are good at turning fear into momentum.”

  He swallowed.

  “I didn’t stop it,” Aaron said. “I knew we weren’t strong enough, none of us took it seriously. I argued and warned them, but I didn’t draw a line.” His voice dropped. “I told myself compromise was the way to lead.”

  The fire popped, sparks lifting into the air.

  “One day… they just split off,” he continued. “Took food, tools and people… some of them even left their kids behind.” His eyes closed briefly. “I watched them walk away and told myself it was better this way.”

  Kaizer didn’t interrupt.

  “We heard it, within minutes,” Aaron said. “Screaming, pleas for help, growls.” His jaw clenched. “By the time we got there, it was already over. So… bloody.” He ran a hand through his hair, dragging it back roughly. “That’s when everything broke. Panic. People ran in different directions, stopped thinking. That was it, the group fell apart, people died… I saw them die. I got what few together I could and we made a run for it.”

  Silence settled between them.

  “I need to get stronger, but I can’t not with this group,” Aaron said quietly. “I’m looking for somewhere to leave the kids. Somewhere they can be protected. Then… I want to fight, I don’t want this place to leave me behind.”

  Kaizer finally looked at him properly then. He thought for a bit and nodded. “It’s good you still have the spirit.” Kaizer was quiet for a long moment after that. Then he raised his arm, pink bracelet and all. “I got this arm fighting,” he said. “Fighting the avatar of a god. Lost the first one doing it.”

  He let the claws extend fully, silver fur bristling as they caught the firelight. Gasps rippled through the camp, fear and awe mixing freely. Kaizer didn’t look at them. “I learned,” he continued. “How to hunt. How to survive. How to recognise when something needs to end.”

  He pointed south. “There’s a camp that way. Two days for a group like yours. I don’t know what’s left of it.”

  Aaron frowned. “What happened to it?”

  Kaizer met his eyes. “I did.”

  Silence fell hard.

  “Slavers,” Kaizer said. “I lost control. I won’t pretend otherwise. But they’re gone.

  Aaron studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “If there’s shelter,” Aaron said.

  “There will be,” Kaizer replied. “Just don’t let it make you weak.”

  They sat for a while, firelight painting both of them in orange and shadow. Two men who had survived by very different methods. “Thank you,” Aaron muttered. “We’ll leave at first light.”

  Kaizer tempered the fire and set up watch. He allowed the kids to sleep… God knows they’d had a tough run.

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