-16th Rest-

I’ve…continued to date these entries based on the number of rests I’ve taken, though I can’t say how accurate that is anymore. Time has become a vague concept, lost in this endless gray, but I need some sense of order, some way to measure my days, however false it may be.

After the distress I experienced during my last entry, I’ve come to the grim conclusion I won’t be able to make sense of it all. Not of the disappearance of the caravan, not of Sam’s madness, nor of…my death. But, I’m still breathing. I’m still writing, which means, for now, I’m alive. That has to count for something.

I managed to pull myself together, forcing myself up from the dust and confusion, knowing that if I wanted to survive, I couldn’t just sit here waiting for death to claim me. If there’s any hope of escaping the Graylands, I have to keep moving.

I’ve been wandering aimlessly, with no sense of direction, no landmarks to guide me, just the hope that somewhere—if I keep walking—I’ll find the border. The cursed land can’t stretch on forever, can it? I keep telling myself that there’s an edge to this forsaken place, a point where the color will return, and I’ll know I’ve escaped. But, with no cable to follow and no markers to gauge my progress, I fear I may be walking in circles, endlessly looping through this monochrome landscape.

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When I awoke after being shot, I still had my rucksack, thankfully. Inside, I’ve got a tent and a few essential supplies. So after walking to the point of near collapse, I can at least set up a small camp, rest for a few hours, and regain enough strength to continue. The problem is, I’m running out of time. I have enough food to last maybe two or three days if I ration it carefully. After that, starvation will become a very real threat. But, I suspect that lack of food won’t be the thing that kills me.

What concerns me more is the graying. My clothing, my supplies—everything has slowly turned gray. My shirt is dull and colorless, my boots and tent are losing their vibrancy, and I know that soon enough, the graying will set in on me too. I’ve read about the signs. First the external, then it spreads inward, creeping into the mind. And when it does, when it takes hold, I’ll lose myself completely.

I’ve been praying to the Light, hoping that I’m close to the border and that salvation is just over the next hill or beyond the next stretch of gray. But there’s no way to know. I have no compass, no map. The land looks the same in every direction—bleak, lifeless, a landscape that offers no clues, no mercy.

Still, I walk. Every step takes more effort than the last, but I push forward, telling myself that survival is still possible. That I’ll find a way out.