-12th Rest-

People are beginning to notice. The uneasy whispers have started spreading through the caravan. Some of them have realized what I’ve been dreading—by now, we should’ve already emerged from the Graylands. The realization hung over us like a heavy fog, and it was only made worse by the sight of our equipment slowly turning gray. The once-vibrant colors of our vehicles, clothing, and gear are fading, piece by piece, inch by inch. It's an undeniable sign that the graying is creeping closer. If we don’t escape soon, it won’t just be the equipment that succumbs to this dreadful change.

I’ve tried to keep those fears at bay, but they're becoming harder to ignore. If the graying starts affecting us physically—our bodies, our very selves—I don’t want to imagine what will happen. I’m not even sure if we’ll remain the same people once that process starts. The Graylands have already taken a toll on our minds. I can feel it in myself, and I can see it in the others. We’re unraveling, fraying at the edges like a well-worn rope, and the longer we remain in this place, the harder it becomes to hold on to reason, to sanity.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Once the graying takes hold of us, if it does, I fear there won’t be much of our minds left to save. We’ll be hollowed out, shadows of who we once were.

Whatever misgivings Tom and Sam had with me, they set aside for now. They both approached me, their faces grim and voices low, asking the question I’d been dreading—why hadn’t we left the Graylands yet? I didn’t have an answer. I could feel their eyes boring into me, demanding some kind of explanation. Desperation hung between us, but I couldn’t admit that I was just as lost as they were. So, I came up with an excuse, one that seemed plausible enough: since the Graylands interfere with our equipment, perhaps we’re moving slower on our way out than we did on our way in. It’s possible, I reasoned aloud, that without reliable readings, we can’t accurately gauge our speed.

To my relief, they seemed to accept it. They weren’t entirely convinced—I could see doubt lingering in their eyes—but they nodded and moved on. Sam and Tom started discussing how we could speed up our departure. They decided to lighten the load, dumping some of the supplies we no longer needed, so the caravan could move faster. It was a gamble, but at this point, any idea that promised even the slightest chance of escape was worth pursuing.

I know it’s just a guess, a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But I hope this increase in our pace makes a difference.