The man translated, and the woman gave a curt nod, clearly satisfied. She turned, gesturing for the group to move, and Alonso fell in line behind them. Before heading off, however, the group paused to collect the pieces of armor and weapons left behind by Oleg and the others.
Alonso watched as they gathered everything methodically—slings, fragments of armor, daggers, blowpipes. Nothing was left behind. It seemed waste wasn’t something they tolerated here. It was a bit disappointing, though, that the swords never remained. They appeared to be linked to the person, vanishing along with them when they died. Not that he cared right now.
As they proceeded toward the Oasis, Alonso’s mind raced with anticipation. The tension in the air hung heavy, but the scenery around him began to shift, drawing his attention. They were heading into something far more structured than he had imagined.
The closer they got, the more people started popping up—watching from the distance, standing silently in the shadows, some emerging from between the trees or makeshift shelters. Their eyes followed the group, their stares heavy with curiosity, suspicion, and perhaps even fear. Alonso noted the diversity. There was a clear mix of ethnicities here—he spotted a notable prevalence of Indians and East Asians, but there were also others: darker skin tones, lighter ones, all moving together in this strange gathering place in the middle of this weird island.
As they approached the heart of the Oasis, the landscape shifted dramatically. What had once been barren sand and sparse vegetation gave way to lush greenery. Dense, vibrant trees stretched out, creating a canopy of leaves that filtered the sunlight, casting the place in a dappled glow. The ground was soft underfoot, rich with life, and the air was humid but fresh.
In the distance, Alonso’s eyes locked onto something extraordinary—a massive lake that seemed to extend endlessly, its waters shimmering beneath the sun. The lake stretched as far as he could see, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of movement.
Closer to the shoreline, there were signs of human adaptation. Wooden cottages, some modest and others more complex, dotted the landscape, their roofs built from palm fronds and sturdy branches. The cottages were simple but well-crafted. Groups of people moved between them, going about their tasks with quiet purpose.
His gaze shifted to the lake’s edge, where large fishing nets were laid out, not the kind one would expect for small fish, but bigger, more intricate setups. Groups of three stood in a loose formation near the water, spears in hand, their attention focused on the lake. They weren’t just waiting for fish—they were waiting for something much larger.
As if on cue, the surface of the water erupted. A massive black shape emerged, thrashing violently as the water churned around it. Alonso’s heart skipped as he realized what it was—a shark, but not like any he’d ever seen. This beast had no eyes, its sleek black skin shimmering in the sunlight, and its sheer size made it all the more terrifying. Easily the length of a small boat, it was caught between the three people, who expertly threw harpoons attached to thick ropes, embedding them deep into the creature’s flesh. With synchronized effort, they pulled, heaving the beast closer to shore with practiced strength.
Alonso watched in awe as the eyeless shark thrashed, its tail whipping the water into a frenzy. Despite its power, the teamwork of the fishermen was impeccable, their movements precise and coordinated as they reeled in the monster. Spears followed the harpoons, piercing vital spots with deadly accuracy.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the group dragged the shark’s lifeless body onto the shore, the sheer scale of it leaving him momentarily speechless. This place, the Oasis, was far more than a refuge—it was a place where survival had been mastered in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
The woman leading Alonso glanced back at him, perhaps catching his reaction, but said nothing as they continued deeper into the settlement.
As they moved, Alonso took it all in—the lush vegetation, the bustling activity of the people, and the unmistakable sense of order. This wasn’t a haphazard collection of survivors; it was a functioning community, one that had adapted to the harsh reality of the trial with efficiency and strength.
But there was still an edge to it. The tension he felt wasn’t just from the people watching him. There was something lurking beneath the surface, something darker that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“What do you reckon, Houston?”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Well, if I recall correctly, they mentioned leaders—plural. That suggests more than one faction. The fact that both have a say in your trial means they aren’t in open conflict, but there’s definitely tension. See how some stare at you with anger while others are just curious?”
Alonso glanced around, his eyes catching the subtle shifts in behavior. Houston had a point. Some people watched him with barely concealed hostility, while others simply observed. No one made any sudden moves, but the tension was undeniable.
As they continued walking, Alonso couldn’t help but analyze the surroundings. He had seen fewer than 30 people so far, which made the size of the Oasis feel oddly underpopulated. Based on the position and size of the lake, he recalculated: the land was nothing more than an outer ring, about two kilometers in width. The survivors had built their huts around this ring, hugging the lake's edge.
He noted that the number of cottages seemed unusually high compared to the few people he had encountered. Some of the huts were small, simple structures, while others were larger, more elaborate, yet no cottage housed multiple people. One per person? Alonso wondered, intrigued by the pattern. The idea of isolation, even in a community, seemed intentional.
The group led him along the outer ring, passing countless cottages. They walked for what felt like several kilometers, Alonso silently keeping track of the distance and noting every small detail—the materials used, the designs, the subtle differences between the huts. It was quiet, almost peaceful, but the tension he felt never fully left him.
Finally, they stopped in front of a single, plain hut. It was unremarkable compared to the others—smaller, even simpler in design, with no visible decorations or markings. The woman leading the group stepped forward and stopped in front of the door, turning slightly toward Alonso, but saying nothing.
Alonso’s gaze shifted back to the hut. “This it?”
“Seems like it. Guess it’s time to meet the leader.”
Alonso took a slow breath, steadying himself. The walk had given him time to process, to consider his options. Now, standing before what seemed to be the leader's hut, the gravity of the situation settled in again.
He barely noticed the subtle waves the woman sent to alert the leader inside. They were carefully cloaked, and if he hadn’t been paying close attention, he would have missed them. It was a convenient way of communication—one that this woman had clearly mastered to a level beyond his own, as she’d proven earlier with her encrypted images.
Finally, the door to the hut creaked open.
“You have to be kidding me!”
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
> August 30, 2024 - Yarra Ranges, Australia
Jack was fascinated as he played with the EM waves. It felt so… real, so fantastic. It was like he had a new pair of eyes. The world appeared so distinct, so localized, with every feature sharper than before. It was hard to explain, but he could feel it—the wave bouncing back and being detected. It was surreal.
So Alonso went through this and figured it out by himself?
Warning: VR time has exceeded the recommended threshold. You will be automatically logged out in 1 minute.
Jack sighed as he stared at the wall with the two buttons. He remembered seeing it from Alonso’s live feed. How must he have felt back then?
“MAI, how long has it been? What’s the time?”
“It has been 4 hours and 59 minutes. It is 8:31 PM in your time zone.”
“Thanks. Log me out.”
Jack took the helmet off. He stepped out of the tent and was greeted by an eerie silence—a silence that had settled over the camp ever since the helmets had arrived.
He looked up at the dark sky. The stars were much more visible from atop the small mountain, far away from the city. It was beautiful.
Jack felt a strange mix of fortune and fear about living in these times. On one hand, he was witnessing the rise of mind-boggling technologies and experiencing the global tension surrounding The Tower—watching as the world, for once, united against a common, unfathomable mystery. But on the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of what this technology would do to humanity, of the climbers returning from The Tower with abilities that seemed to defy nature itself, and—above all—of what would happen if humanity failed.
The thought gnawed at him constantly. What if one day, the climbers couldn’t overcome the next tier? The first tier had already pushed them to the brink, and the beginning of the second had claimed the lives of many who had managed to survive the first. Those climbers had risked everything, moving forward into the unknown, blindly. How much worse would the higher tiers be?