The first steps into the darkness were quiet, almost reverent. The soft shuffle of footsteps along the illuminated path was the only sound, broken occasionally by the faint rustle of packs or the clink of tools. The air felt heavy, pressing against his chest like an invisible weight. It wasn’t suffocating, not quite, but it was undeniable, like a presence that watched and waited just beyond the edges of the light.

The path stretched ahead, a narrow band of shimmering light in the endless black void. It flickered faintly, not steady but alive, shifting with the motion of the people ahead. He could just make out the vague forms of those further up the line, their silhouettes disappearing into the shadows as the group pressed forward.

He tried not to look at the edges of the path, where the darkness seemed to thrum, almost pulse. It reminded him of his dream—the way the laughter had surrounded him, the way the eyes had emerged from the void. He kept his eyes forward, focused on the backs of the people ahead.

From the front, Joran’s voice called out, strong and calm. “All clear! Keep moving!”

The reassurance traveled down the line, each person repeating it for those behind them. When the words reached him, he felt a small knot of tension in his chest loosen. The rhythm of the calls became a lifeline, a reminder that they were connected, that they weren’t walking into this void alone.

The silence of the journey was almost unbearable. Every sound felt amplified: the soft crunch of boots on the faintly glowing path, the occasional cough, the rustle of clothing. It was as if the darkness itself absorbed all other noise, leaving only the echoes of their movement to remind them that they were still there.

He found himself hyper-aware of every step, the weight of his pack, the flicker of the light beneath his feet. His thoughts churned, cycling through fragments of his dream, flashes of the darkness, and the oppressive sense that something was always just out of sight.

At times, he glanced at those near him—Kai, not far ahead, walking with a determined bounce in his step despite the tension in the air. Sis, further up, her silhouette steady and confident. They seemed so sure, so grounded, as though the rules Joran had drilled into them were enough to stave off the worst of their fears.

He envied that certainty.

The line came to an abrupt halt. Murmurs rippled through the group as people shifted uneasily, trying to see what had caused the delay. From his place in the middle, he couldn’t make out anything beyond the faint shapes of those ahead.

“What’s going on?” he whispered to Kai, who turned with a shrug.

“No idea. Hold position,” Kai said, his voice quieter than usual.

From up ahead, Joran’s voice rang out, calm but firm. “I’ll be right back. Hold your positions.”

He watched as Joran’s form moved down the line, his silhouette cutting through the faint glow of the path. People straightened as he passed, some whispering reassurances to one another. The sight of Joran’s steady presence seemed to ease the growing tension, though the unease lingered.

Finally, he saw Joran stop near the back of the line, crouching beside someone on the ground. A woman’s soft sobs carried faintly through the stillness.

“I... I can’t walk,” she stammered, clutching her ankle. “I tripped on something. I—I didn’t see it.”

Joran’s voice was low but steady. “It’s just a sprain. You’ll be okay, but you can’t put weight on it.” He glanced at the people nearby. “We’ll carry her. You two—help me get her up.”

Two men stepped forward, lifting her carefully under Joran’s direction. Once she was secure, they brought her back to the middle of the line, where Joran ensured she was settled before returning to the front.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Keep moving,” Joran called, and the line began to shuffle forward once more.

The incident left a ripple of unease in its wake. It was a small thing—a simple accident—but it was enough to remind everyone of how fragile their situation was. One wrong step, one overlooked detail, and the darkness could claim them.

The oppressive silence continued, broken only by the rhythm of footsteps and the occasional call from Joran. The path felt endless, its faint light flickering like a dying flame. The darkness pressed closer, the edges of the path seeming to shift and pulse as though alive.

That was when he saw them.

Small, white, beady eyes blinked into existence at the edge of his vision. His breath caught as more appeared, clustered together in strange, shifting patterns. They hovered just beyond the light, watching. He tried to keep his gaze forward, but the movement of the eyes was hypnotic, drawing his attention despite himself.

Ahead, a few people noticed the same thing. They whispered nervously, their steps faltering.

“Is that another path?” one of them murmured, pointing toward the eyes.

He felt his heart sink as two of them broke from the line, stepping toward the false trail the eyes seemed to create.

“No!” he shouted, his voice breaking the silence. “Stay on the path!”

But they didn’t listen. Their figures disappeared into the shadows, the beady eyes blinking around them like tiny stars in a void.

He shouted again, louder this time. “They’re leaving the path! Someone’s going the wrong way!”

The call was repeated up the line, and Joran’s voice came back, commanding and urgent. “Hold your position! Do not follow them!”

Joran moved quickly, retracing his steps to the spot where they had wandered off. But by the time he arrived, the two were gone, swallowed by the darkness. The eyes blinked a few times more, then vanished, leaving only the faint flicker of the illuminated path.

A heavy silence fell over the group. The loss felt like a weight pressing down on them, a stark reminder of what lay just beyond the fragile thread of light they followed.

The group pressed on, the mood somber and tense. The path grew narrower in places, winding through what felt like an endless void. The air seemed thicker now, heavier, as though the darkness itself was pressing against them.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath their feet trembled.

A low rumble echoed through the void, and the flickering path wavered, its light dimming dangerously. People stumbled, gripping their packs and each other for balance.

“What’s happening?” someone near him whispered, panic lacing their voice.

The tremor stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but the damage was done. The group was visibly shaken, the already tenuous sense of security now fraying at the edges.

“Stay calm!” Joran’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. “The path is holding. Keep moving!”

His words kept the group from falling into chaos, but the incident left a lasting unease. Whispers spread through the line, speculation and fear mingling in hushed tones. Was the darkness trying to break the path? Could it be stopped?

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on the light beneath his feet. Just keep moving, he told himself. One step at a time.

At last, the path opened into a clearing.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen—a space carved out of the void, illuminated by a faint, sourceless light. The oppressive weight of the darkness receded slightly, though it lingered at the edges like a looming shadow. The air here felt different, lighter but no less unsettling. It was a haven, but one that defied explanation.

The group gathered in the clearing, their expressions a mix of relief and weariness. For the first time since they’d entered the darkness, they could see each other clearly, their faces lit by the faint glow of the midpoint.

He stood in awe, taking in the surreal landscape. The space felt unnatural, as though it existed outside of time and reality. Yet it was undeniably a refuge—a place where they could rest, even if only briefly.

As Sis moved among the group, counting heads, her expression grew darker with each number she tallied. When she reached Joran, she whispered something, and his face fell.

“We’re missing more people than I thought,” Sis said quietly, turning to the group. “Some didn’t make it.”

The weight of her words settled heavily over the clearing.

Joran nodded, his expression grim but resolute. “We’ll organize a search party,” he said. “Anyone willing to volunteer, step forward.”

A handful of people moved to join him, their faces determined. Sis took charge, organizing the group and giving clear instructions. “Stay together. Follow the rules. Don’t deviate, no matter what you see. We’ll bring back whoever we can.”

As the search party prepared to leave, he stood in the clearing, staring out at the void that surrounded them. The weight of the journey so far pressed down on him, but so did the realization that there was still so much further to go.

We’ll make it, he thought, clenching his fists. We have to.