Void of the light of the moon and stars, the night on the island was stiflingly dark. When the group moved away from the dimly glowing embers of their once-again covered-up campfire, their eyes failed to pierce the shade around them.

Once again, Bindon was in the lead. Even without how dark the night was, he was still able to lead the crew over to the stream’s edge, then down toward where Cundy crossed over. It was like his vision wasn’t impaired at all as he easily avoided any obstacles.

The wind remained absent from the island, and the only sounds in the world seemed to be the shifting of their clothing and their rough breathing.

Roth’s gloved hands perpetually rested on his belt, one hand on his knife and the other on his dented old spyglass. He wasn’t sure how effective it would be as a defensive weapon, but it couldn’t hurt to have it at the ready.

His eyes slowly started adapting to the pitch-black environment, and while he still couldn’t make out any details, he could at least see the general shape of the terrain around him. It didn’t take the crew to reach where they remembered leaving Cundy, but when they got there, Bindon paused in confusion.

The stream… Did I go too far? The stream…

Roth’s breath froze in his chest when he looked at the situation before them. He could vaguely make out the surrounding trees as the same ones that’d been here before, as well as the general terrain around the spot. They had spent a few minutes earlier looking for Cundy’s footprints, after all.

What he couldn’t remember there being was a sharp bend in the river.

It randomly curved toward their side, forming an unnaturally U-shaped curve before returning to its original path.

What the…

Roth’s mind crackled with lightning as he remembered swiping his finger on the map just before he passed out.

It wasn’t a dream… and doing that somehow changed the flow of the river here?!

He desperately wanted to pull out the map to confirm what he was seeing, but his crewmates were still right next to him. He could only try to inspect the area closer in the darkness.

All of the earth around the river looked like it had been shifted to match the movement, though some of the grass on his side looked bunched up as if it had been squeezed together.

The water was already starting to erode away at the unnatural curve, desiring to continue flowing in a straight line.

While Roth’s brain was struggling to process what he was seeing, Bindon reached into his jacket and pulled out the little booklet. In the darkness of the night, the small golden engraving on the front seemed to shine and Roth could finally recognize it when he looked up.

It was an animal-a rabbit, though not a normal one. Four pairs of spider legs jutted out from the rabbit’s back, making it look more like a random emblem rather than a drawing of a real animal.

Dark crack lines ran through the golden engraving, separating the rabbit’s many limbs up into small chunks.

Somehow, despite the spiky legs stabbing from the rabbit’s back, the engraving still had a mischievous feel to it.

Even with the dark leather of the booklet and the cracks in the engraving, a vague feeling of familiarity still reached Roth. It was cut off in the next moment, as Bindon turned back to the river. His fingers flipped through the booklet rapidly, and he only paused after searching every page twice.

“We need to cross it now. The game will start soon.”

Without waiting for a response, Bindon backed up a few steps, then jumped over the small stream, landing firmly on the other side. Even with the terrain change, they were still at the narrowest spot on the stream.

Holl’s eyes narrowed as he watched Bindon start wandering off into the forest on the other side of the stream, but he didn’t hesitate long before following him and jumping over.

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Tearing his mind away from the map and what it could really do, Roth followed his two crewmates over. He could only see a few meters into the darkness, and he didn’t want to be left behind and get lost.

He couldn’t see anything odd about the stream- it was just cold, smoothly flowing water. Nothing that looked like it should be able to claim the life of anyone who leaped over it.

The ground was slightly muddier on the new side of the stream, and Roth could see a few sets of footprints before him. Two of them he knew belonged to Holl and Bindon, but the third he could only guess was from Cundy.

So he didn’t fall into the stream… but I also don’t see a set from him returning.

Roth’s boots squelched in the thick mud as he trudged after Holl and Bindon, quickly catching up to them. Bindon was still staring down at his booklet, trying to figure out which direction he was to walk.

“The hill, hill…”

He turned to face the upward incline of a slight slope. Before them, the lichen-laden forest thickened, and the canopy of branches increased the further up it went. The hill was even taller than the one on the other side of the stream where they had their camp set up, and it was half of the reason Roth had been so shocked when his hand sketched out the entire outline of the island.

He could only see just over half of it from where he’d been standing before, the rest blocked by this larger hill.

As they started walking again, Roth noticed that the third pair of footprints presumed to belong to Cundy were also moving directly uphill.

“Captain.”

Roth pointed out the footprints to Holl, receiving a nod in return. In front of him, Bindon’s pale hands flipped through the booklet pages repeatedly, too quickly for him to actually be reading anything.

“Bindon, put on your gloves. Your hands will freeze.”

There was no response from the sailor.

“Bindon.”

He glanced back at Holl.

“Gloves. Put them on.”

He just ignored Holl again, going back to flipping through the booklet.

Roth could feel the biting cold on his cheeks. With the temperatures already well below freezing, frostbite was a serious danger, and it seemed like Bindon was purposefully shooting for some.

It could only take a few short minutes to permanently damage the body out in the cold, and extremities like fingers would be the first ones to go.

He’s not even listening to Holl anymore… is this story’s control over him increasing even more?

Holl was about to press the issue further, but his steps suddenly paused.

“There’s another set.”

Roth looked down.

Beneath him, there were now four sets of footprints ahead, climbing the hill in the same direction as them. It was impossible to tell how old they were, but from the shape of the imprints, Roth could tell that they weren’t made by modern boots.

“An Indian, maybe? Maybe there are some of them on the island…”

A few steps ahead, a fifth set of footprints joined, and later, a sixth one. Both of the new ones were completely different from the previous ones.

The trees around them swayed eerily, blown by an invisible wind, as they approached the top of the hill. The forest started to become more and more sparse, but the ground stayed just as muddy as it was down by the stream… and the number of footprints just kept increasing.

There had to be at least twenty pairs, all of which were heading for the top of the hill. Not a single footprint was angled even a bit to the side, they all went directly to the summit.

Both Bindon and Holl seemed to move quicker and with more excitement as the trees finally stopped growing higher, and there were only a dozen more meters until they reached the summit.

Nope. This is definitely bad, worse than when we got off the ship. There are no footprints going down. If I go up there…

Roth unsheathed his knife from its place at his waist.

I’m not going on top of the hill. I’ll just go high enough to see whatever those two are doing, then I’ll run back to camp.

There was a bit more light now that he was out of the forest’s cover, and Roth’s eyes were just barely able to make out his surroundings. He looked back from where he’d just come from, confident that he would be able to retrace his steps.

What the…

The walk uphill had been easy. They didn’t need to weave around any trees or other obstacles. It didn’t raise any alarm bells for Roth, it was similar to walking alongside the stream. Looking back from near the top of the hill and seeing perfect rows of trees creating paths up to the summit of the hill, though, certainly did.

“What the hell…”

Holl’s rough voice sounded from the top of the hill, and Roth returned his attention back to the two men in front of him. He took a few more steps forward to see what they were looking at, but he didn’t dare to climb all the way to the top.

Fear of whatever the hell was up here was finally overpowering the fear of being alone on this island.

When he peeked over the hill and saw what was at the top, his decision was quickly reaffirmed.

Rows and rows of gravestones stood in organized rows, covering almost the entire top of the hill. The styles of each varied, but the words on them matched the same format.

“Charles, the one before Nashoba.”

“Nashoba, the one before Ashwiyaa.”

“Ashwiyaa, the one before…”

Each gravestone had different handwriting and design. Where the gravestones finally came to an end, Roth could see a small pile of something. It sat directly in line with where the next gravestone would be put up.

He couldn’t make out what it was in the darkness, but it wasn’t difficult for Roth to make an assumption.

The last gravestone read “Mika, the one before Jones.”

The crumpled corpse on the ground gained a name.