Fear, a shadow we all know but never admit,

We think we can face it, but it’s quicker than it’s lit.

It doesn’t warn, doesn’t announce, doesn’t ask,

It strikes in silence, behind every mask.

What do you fear? Is it failure that haunts?

Or the truth that’s hidden, what the world wants?

Is it success, or the weight of its cost?

It creeps like a thief, no peace, no rest—lost.

On this journey to lands never seen before,

Fear is the companion we all must endure.

Even the bravest, with hearts so strong,

Find fear’s grip, it drags them along.

In every soul, it’s a crack, a tear,

Breaking hearts, no escape from despair.

Fear’s power, so quiet, yet so deep,

A constant shadow that denies us sleep.

As the group settled down for the night, their earlier laughter faded into quiet murmurs. The room grew still as everyone prepared for bed, but Jack couldn’t shake the gnawing unease settling in his chest.

“This poet guy,” Jack muttered, breaking the silence. “There’s something off about him. I just know it.”

“You’re reading too much into this,” Ramon replied, already half-asleep and cocooned in his bedsheets.

“Maybe,” Jack admitted, though his instincts told him otherwise. His gaze wandered the room, eventually landing on a partially open drawer with a piece of clothing hanging out. Frowning, he stepped over and pulled it open to reveal neatly folded clothes inside.

“Hold on a second...” Jack muttered to himself, piecing things together. “If his family went on a voyage, why would they leave all their clothes behind?”

“They probably took what they needed,” Kamil said, his voice heavy with sleep. “These could just be old clothes... or maybe they bought new ones along the way. It’s not that strange.”

Henu, more awake than the others, leaned on one elbow and asked, “What are you getting at here, Jack?”

Jack sighed, closing the drawer with a soft thud. “Look, I’ve worked enough crime cases to know when something doesn’t add up. This? It doesn’t add up.”

“Just get some sleep, man,” Kamil mumbled, already settling deeper into his blanket. “You’re overthinking it.”

Reluctantly, Jack sat back down, and soon the room fell quiet as everyone drifted off to sleep. The faint creaks of the old house became the only sounds as darkness enveloped the space.

But then, a noise—a soft, barely audible creak—stirred Jack from his light sleep. His eyes snapped open.

“What was that?” he thought, straining his ears in the silence. Slowly, he sat up, his muscles tense. His eyes darted to the door as he listened for any movement. Rising cautiously, he tiptoed to the door, careful not to wake the others.

He opened it and stepped into the dark corridor. To his left, the kitchen was bathed in pale moonlight streaming through the windows. To his right, he noticed something that sent a chill down his spine: the door that had been chained shut earlier was now ajar.

His pulse quickened, but he pushed the fear aside and crept toward the door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle, before finally gripping it and pulling it open.

As the door swung wide, the hallway dissolved around him, replaced by something entirely unexpected. Jack blinked in disbelief. He was standing in his childhood bedroom.

“What the hell is this?” Jack whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. He scanned the room, his eyes taking in the familiar details—the worn posters on the walls, the cluttered desk, the creaky bed he hadn’t seen in years.

Panic rising, he twisted open the door to the living room, his breathing unsteady. “No... this can’t be happening,” he murmured.

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In the living room stood his younger self, small and wide-eyed, calling out into the shadows.

“Dad? Where are you? Dad? What was that noise?” the boy’s voice trembled as he cautiously made his way toward their father’s room.

Jack’s breath caught in his throat as he watched his younger self open the door. The dread clawing at him felt almost unbearable.

And then he saw it.

On the table, his father’s severed head sat in a pool of blood.

The boy screamed, his cries echoing through the room, piercing Jack’s ears and heart. Jack stumbled backward, his legs weak beneath him. His vision blurred with tears.

“Dad! No! No!” Jack choked, his voice breaking as he reached out, his hands trembling.

A voice suddenly filled the room, low and hollow, reverberating like a dark echo.

Jack froze, his entire body stiffening as a figure stepped out of the shadows. It moved slowly, its hollow eyes locked onto Jack. The figure came to a stop beside his father’s head, lifting a bony hand and pointing directly at him.

Jack’s knees hit the floor, his hands trembling as the figure’s voice rang in his ears. It was his father’s voice, but twisted, burdened with anguish and accusation.

“It’s you! It’s because of you I’m dead, Jack. You could have saved me, but you ran! You ran like a coward!” the figure spat, its tone a haunting echo of blame that drilled into Jack’s soul.

The words pierced him deeper than any knife. Jack’s breaths came out in shudders, tears welling in his eyes as the guilt weighed him down.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching his chest, but the figure didn’t stop. Its hollow eyes bored into him, its accusations relentless.

Jack couldn’t bear it. He collapsed further, his face buried in his hands.

And then, it happened—time seemed to twist and rewind, pulling Jack out of the moment. In an instant, he found himself back in his childhood room. The door creaked open, and his younger self stepped in once again, oblivious to the horrors about to unfold.

But Jack wasn’t the only one trapped in the cruel grasp of fate.

Far away, in a place cloaked in darkness, Yune sat slumped against a cold wall, his hands clutching his head, his eyes shut tight. Outside, the glow of firelight flickered through tall, cracked windows, but inside, the shadows of children surrounded him, their whispers cutting deep into his mind.

“It’s you... It’s your fault we’re dead... All of this is because of you...”

The voices grew louder, more piercing, as the children’s forms twisted and blurred into grotesque, shadowy shapes.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Yune screamed, his voice raw and breaking as he pressed his hands harder against his ears. His chest heaved, his heartbeat pounding loud enough to echo in the still, suffocating air.

And then, without warning, silence fell.

Confused, Yune peeked up, his breath shaky. Standing before him was a figure—a shadow he recognized, a manifestation of his own life force, his inner self.

The shadow stood tall, unwavering, facing the distorted children. It spoke with a calm authority, its voice resonating through the space.

“The one who stands before you is the shadow; the one who sits behind is the light. The one who brought you into this darkness is the evil within the human heart—the curiosity of mankind. Do not blame an innocent victim for the cruelty of the world.”

But the words weren’t enough. The shadow children shrieked, their forms contorting into monsters as they lunged at the shadow defending Yune. It fought back, slashing at the dark shapes, but they overwhelmed it, tearing into its form.

Yune’s fear turned to fury. He rose to his feet, fists clenched, and charged at the rampaging figures.

“I won’t let you take this from me! Not again!” he cried, striking at the shadowy monsters with every ounce of strength he had.

Elsewhere, a boy’s cries filled the air, drowned by the chaos of a paradise set aflame. Smoke choked the jungle, and the clash of steel and fire echoed around him.

“Henu, you must go!” his mother shouted, her voice trembling as she and his sister pushed a small raft into the water.

“Mother, I can fight them! I have to fight them!” Henu yelled, reaching out for her.

“Henu, you must leave!” his sister snapped, tears streaming down her face as she forced him onto the raft. “The other clan is too strong. You’ll die here!”

The raft drifted farther into the ocean, carried by the current. Henu reached out, desperate, but his mother and sister were already fading from view.

And then he saw it.

A towering man emerged from the smoke, larger than any human Henu had ever seen. The man’s fist came down like a hammer, striking his mother and sister. Their blood sprayed across the scorched ground, painting the chaos red.

Henu screamed, his voice raw, but the man didn’t even glance at the retreating raft. He was too busy reveling in the slaughter.

The image burned into Henu’s mind, a memory he would never escape.

Night fell, and the boy huddled on the raft beneath the pale moonlight. Tears streamed down his face, his body wracked with sobs. The ocean turned red, its waters thick with blood, and from the depths, a shadow emerged.

It stood before Henu, its form shifting and unnatural, but its voice was unmistakable—it was the voice of his mother and sister, speaking as one.

“Only if you were strong enough, Henu... If only you had fought, we would still be alive.”

Henu stared at the shadow, his heart pounding. It pointed at him, its presence suffocating.

“Redeem yourself,” it commanded. “Prove you are not guilty of your weakness. Jump into the ocean of blood, Henu. Jump. Do it for us.”

The voice grew louder, harsher, echoing in his mind.

“Jump, Henu. Jump!”

Shaking, Henu stood at the edge of the raft, his bare feet touching the water’s edge. His eyes were wide, tears blurring his vision. His breathing quickened, and his heart felt as though it might burst.

“Henu, jump!” the voice screamed.

And there he stood, teetering between guilt and fear, the blood-red waters calling to him.