Chapter 55: Dance of Death and Choices

“Back off. Stay in the corner—no sudden moves.”

The words struck like a spark to dry tinder. Tension rippled through the air, thick and immediate.

Luke raised his kukris, blades steady but eyes scanning. Allison mirrored him, lifting her sword in one clean motion. Muscles tight. Breaths short. They were ready.

Before anything could ignite, Anna stepped between the groups with a firm, commanding stride. She held up a hand—not pleading, but controlling the space like someone used to managing near-disaster.

Another girl moved in behind her. She didn’t speak a word. Instead, her hands danced in the air, fingers signing something too fast for Luke to follow.

Mute? Deaf? The question passed through his mind, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The archer didn’t lower his bow. His expression was sharp, jaw set like stone, and his arrowhead remained locked on Luke’s chest.

“They could be Renegades,” he said, spitting the word like a curse.

Luke’s brow furrowed. He didn’t recognize the term, but the hatred in the man’s tone made its meaning clear enough. Dangerous. Unwanted. Hunted.

“You know how they work,” the archer continued. “Always setting up ambushes. I didn’t say anything earlier because one wrong word out there and we’d all be corpses.”

Allison’s blade glinted faintly in the low light. Her fingers tightened around the hilt.

“If that’s how you want to play it,” she said, voice icy and still, “then I won’t hold back either.”

The air pulled taut. The silence wasn’t quiet—it was alive, humming with the threat of violence, the kind that didn’t give warnings.

Then, a new voice cut through the tension. Calm. Steady. Clear.

“They’re new. You can see it.”

Another girl stepped forward from the group, her posture composed, her tone level but firm. Her gaze fixed on the archer without flinching.

“No idea about the factions. No idea how any of this works.” said Luke.

She stepped again, slow and deliberate.

“Point your bow at monsters. Not people. That’s what our instructor taught us, remember?”

The archer’s jaw worked. His fingers twitched near the string. Then, finally, he exhaled, cursed low, and let the bow lower.

Anna let out a breath too, quiet but audible. “Crisis averted.”

But Luke and Allison didn’t drop their weapons.

Not yet.

Not after that.

Trust wasn’t something that bloomed in a single gesture. Especially not here.

One of the other archers sat cross-legged near the half-built fire and took a swig from a dented canteen. Another knelt beside him and began assembling a flame with the kind of muscle memory that only came after dozens—maybe hundreds—of nights in places like this.

“You two should sit near the flame,” Anna said, gesturing toward the growing heat.

“The cold here’s brutal.” She smiled—just a little. “Besides… Tell us something new about Earth. Been ages since I even touched a phone.”

Luke raised an eyebrow.

Ages since they’ve used a phone…?

There was something in her voice—something that didn’t match how she looked. His gaze shifted across the others. Their gear was patched, old. Their movements were careful, deliberate. Hardened by time.

His stomach sank.

“How long have you all been stuck in this tutorial?”

They glanced at each other. The silence stretched for a few seconds too long.

“I’ve been here a year,” one of them said.

“Two for me.”

Anna looked directly at him.

“Three.”

Luke felt the words hit him like a punch to the ribs. His mouth was dry, his fingers still gripping the kukris tighter than he realized.

Three years…?

“What about the exit mission?” Allison asked. Her voice was quieter now, shaken. “The portal?”

Anna’s answer came with the weight of experience.

“We’re still trying to clear it. But this place…” Her eyes grew distant. “It doesn’t fight fair. It wears you down. Breaks you.”

Neither Luke nor Allison responded. There was nothing to say. Just the low crackle of the fire and the haunted look in the survivors’ eyes.

“New people drop in every year,” Anna continued. “Portals bring more. But the longer you’re here, the clearer it becomes—monsters aren’t the only threat.”

Her gaze turned darker. Not fearful. Just… tired.

“There are people out there. Renegades. Survivors who abandoned the mission. Some live in the forest. Others burrowed into the ruins. They’ve made this place their own—and they don’t want it disturbed.”

Luke frowned.

“But shouldn’t we all be working together? That’s the only way out, right?”

A bitter chuckle came from one of the archers by the fire.

“It’s not that simple.”

Anna gave a small shake of her head. Her voice didn’t rise, but something in it settled like stone.

“You’ll understand once you reach the mission statue. Until then, we won’t explain more. No words can prepare you.”

Whatever this was, it wasn’t just another tutorial.

Luke and Allison remained on their feet, watching the group huddled near the flames. One of them tossed a piece of dried meat into the fire. Another passed the canteen, not saying a word. Routine. Survival.

The suspicion didn’t fade. Not completely. Luke met Allison’s eyes, and together, they lowered their weapons, but their guard never dropped. Not for a second.

Anna gestured toward the group, her tone easy, but measured.

“You already know I’m Anna,” she said with a slight shrug. “The archer who pointed a bow at you? That’s Jhonny. The guy with the lantern is Raymond. Marco was the one scouting ahead, guiding us.”

She turned to motion toward the two girls seated by the fire.

“Nora and Cecilia.”

Cecilia, a redhead with a weary smile and half-lidded eyes, lifted her hands and responded with a few fluid signs. Her fingers moved with casual precision—comfortable, practiced.

Luke caught it immediately.

Sign language.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But he understood every word. She could hear; she just didn’t speak.And he wasn’t going to let anyone know he understood.

If this group ever tried to communicate behind closed hands, assuming he and Allison were clueless, they’d be wrong. He’d be watching. He’d know. And they’d never suspect it.

After his mother’s death, the Baumanns had placed him in an inclusive school. There, he’d learned enough sign to get by.

A quiet edge. Sharpened by grief.

Allison sat down beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She leaned in, keeping her voice low.

“And the princess?”

Luke didn’t answer right away.

She must’ve thought Charlie had just returned to his soul. That she’d faded back the way she always did.

But she hadn’t seen it.

She hadn’t seen Charlie destroyed.

Luke drew a slow breath. If his guess was right, Charlie would need at least 24 hours to recover. Until then, he had to stay calm. Act normal.

No one could know.

“Count only on me if things go sideways,” he whispered back.

Allison gave a faint nod.

 

***

 

While the archers settled in and began unpacking their gear, Luke and Allison exchanged a glance. They weren’t going anywhere for a while.

Which meant only one thing: They needed answers.

“So… tell us about yourselves,” Allison said, her tone casual, but her eyes sharp with intent. “We only got here a few days ago.”

She looked toward Anna, her expression expectant.

“The system mentioned a mission. How far have you actually gotten? Are there other survivors?”

Anna paused. She didn’t answer right away.

Then…

“You’ll understand the mission once you see the statue,” she said, folding her arms.

“As for survivors…” Her eyes shifted toward the others. “There are more. A lot more. This place has more participants than you’d think.”

She nodded toward the west.

“There’s a survivor village in that direction. A few new people arrived recently, but I haven’t had much contact.”

Then she looked straight at Luke. Her gaze lingered.

Unsettling. Measuring.

“Most of them stayed in Bastion.”

Luke said nothing.

Bastion? What the hell is Bastion?

He and Allison exchanged a glance, and for a moment, the fire’s crackling seemed to quiet around them. This so-called “tutorial” wasn’t just large.

It was layered. Complex. Alive.

And they were still standing on the surface.

The mention of other survivors brought a cocktail of emotion—hope, curiosity, unease. If so many people had lived this long, maybe there was a path forward.

But it also meant one thing clearly.