-7th Rest-

We still hadn’t spotted any gray flowers, and last night brought even more trouble. We were all jolted from our sleep by the sharp crack of gunshots. Instantly, everyone scrambled out of their tents, myself included, trying to make sense of the chaos. Sam’s men, ever-well-trained, quickly fell into defensive positions, surrounding the camp with weapons drawn, ready to fend off whatever threat might be out there.

I couldn’t fathom who—or what—would be attacking us. Nothing I knew about the Graylands suggested that there was a dangerous creature here. The thought of some unknown hostile force out there stalking us in this already unsettling land chilled me to the bone.

When we finally emerged into the open, the truth of the situation was both a relief and a frustration. The source of the gunfire was none other than one of Sam’s men, a patrol guard who had been making his rounds while the rest of us slept. He stood there, still clutching his rifle, visibly shaken. He claimed to have seen movement in the distance, just beyond the perimeter of our camp. It was some strange person he saw that had spooked him enough to fire off a few rounds at it.

I was on the verge of erupting in rage. My mind raced with horrifying possibilities—what if the patrol guard had seen a Graywalker? This was the first sighting in hundreds of years, and this brute had fired blindly at it. I could hardly believe the recklessness of it. To think that such a monumental moment could have been ruined by a trigger-happy fool!

As the mercenary elaborated, it became clear that what he had witnessed didn’t match any description of a Graywalker. Instead, he spoke of a shadowy figure—a "shadow man," as he called it—cloaked in darkness, silently stalking the edges of our camp. According to him, the figure didn’t respond when he called out, remaining unnervingly still. The figure then raised its arm in a strange, deliberate motion, which the guard took as a provocation. Acting on instinct and fear, he opened fire.

However, the accounts of two other guards who had witnessed the entire incident told a different story. They claimed that there had been nothing there at all, nothing tangible to shoot at. They swore that the first guard had been firing at thin air, at shadows that didn’t even exist.

Everyone stared at the guard who had fired, a tense silence hanging in the air, before someone broke it with a shout. “The graying’s gotten to him! He’s losing his mind already!” The accusation spread quickly through the group, sparking a wave of murmurs and nervous chatter. The guard at the center of it all looked genuinely terrified, his face pale as he shifted under the weight of the accusing stares.

Sam, his expression grim and serious, made his way over to me. His stern voice cut through the noise. "Is this what you warned us about—the graying?" His question was direct, and I could see the concern in his eyes, mingled with the fear that had begun to creep into all of us.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I asked to examine the guard first before I confirmed everyone's suspicion.

I went through the standard physical check of the guard, examining his vitals as best as I could in the strangeness of the Graylands. His temperature reading seemed off, but I couldn’t trust the thermometer completely in this bizarre place. What I did notice, however, were the slight tremors in his hands and the bloodshot state of his eyes. Dark bags sagged beneath them, evidence of exhaustion.

I asked if he had been getting enough sleep, and after a brief hesitation, he admitted he’d been having trouble. There was a nervous edge to his voice, and that immediately caught my attention.

Curious, I pressed him about the nature of his dreams. At first, he dismissed them as simply "strange," but I could sense there was more to it. I urged him to explain further, and after a reluctant pause, he opened up.

“It’s always the same dream,” he began. “I’m a kid again, back when I used to go swimming with my family. But, there’s something off about it. It’s hard to say what exactly, but it leaves me feeling uneasy every time I wake up. I feel like something’s wrong, and I can’t figure out what."

The way he described the dream struck me. That vague sense of unease, that something familiar, felt out of place—he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

A chill crept over me as he spoke, and it dawned on me that I might not be the only one experiencing these peculiar dreams. I had brushed off my own dream of my meemaw, but hearing this guard describe his unsettling memory made me wonder if there was more to it—something connected to this place. The idea that the Graylands might be influencing not just our perceptions, but our very dreams sent a shiver down my spine.

As far as I know, there are no records of this particular phenomenon—at least none that I’ve encountered in all my research. I’ll have to compile my own findings, documenting the kinds of dreams people are experiencing once we return to civilization. If nothing else, this strange and unsettling expedition may lead to a significant breakthrough in my field.

The psychological effects of the Graylands, particularly how they manifest in dreams, could open up entirely new lines of inquiry. I might be the first to officially record these shared experiences. Though our primary objective was to find the elusive gray flowers, this unforeseen discovery might turn out to be just as important.

I wanted to question this guard more at the time, but the arrogant Tom butted in and asked if the guardsmen would be OK. I told everyone that there was nothing to worry about. The man wasn't suffering from the graying. It was just not getting enough sleep.

And of course, that arrogant fool had the nerve to doubt me! He had the audacity to ask if I was sure. I lost my temper right then and there and snapped, “I’m not a doctor, so no, I don’t know for sure! But, I do know enough to tell you it’s not the graying, you unhuman filth!”

It was uncultured of me, I’ll admit that much, but it felt strangely satisfying to put that half-blood, unhuman mongrel in his place. He didn’t even have the decency to respond, just turned and walked away, his tail tucked between his legs.

I knew it wasn’t the most professional reaction, but after enduring his constant disrespect and insufferable arrogance, I couldn’t help but take some small satisfaction in seeing him silenced, even if only for a moment. Sometimes, when you're faced with that level of ignorance, there’s a limit to how much restraint you can muster.

Hopefully, this will be the last time Tom will try to interact with me.