The alley stretched ahead, cold and narrow, its cracked pavement littered with debris. Daigo and Talen moved side by side, footsteps slow but steady, each of them glancing back every few seconds to make sure nothing was creeping up behind them.
"Daigo," Talen rasped, his voice worn thin by exhaustion, "I'm tired."
Daigo didn't answer at first. Of course, he was tired too—his legs felt like dead weights, and the constant tension gripping his chest made it hard to breathe. They had been walking for what felt like hours, maybe longer. Time had blurred. He no longer knew whether it was morning or night.
But the faint grey light bleeding across the horizon suggested dawn.
Another day had come, and still, the nightmare refused to end.
Daigo tightened his grip around Selia, who slept fitfully against his shoulder.
Relyn...A stab of worry pierced his thoughts.
Is she still alive out there?
She had to be.
"Daigo! Some people are there!" Talen's voice broke through his haze.
Daigo snapped his head up. Talen was pointing ahead—near the crumbling side of a ruined building stood a group of people. Five or six of them, dressed in ragged clothes, but… they looked normal. Too normal. Their bodies weren't twisted, their eyes weren't hollowed out with white light. They looked almost... untouched by the madness.
"Yeah," Daigo murmured cautiously, squinting at them. "They seem human."
"Let's ask for help!" Talen said, a desperate eagerness in his tone as he immediately broke into a jog toward them.
"Wait!" Daigo hissed sharply, reaching out—but Talen was already moving, hope carrying him faster than fear.
Daigo tensed, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.
The group noticed Talen approaching. Talen grinned, relief flooding his face, his hands half-raised in greeting.
Then, in a flash, two men lunged forward.
Talen barely had time to react before they grabbed him, forcing him down onto his knees. One twisted his arms harshly behind his back while another shoved a hand over his mouth to stifle any shout.
"No!" Daigo shouted, starting forward—only to feel cold metal press sharply against the skin of his throat.
He froze.
A dagger, chipped and stained, was held firmly against him by a figure who had slipped silently behind him—a woman, her face shadowed under a torn hood.
"Don't move," she whispered coldly against his ear.
Daigo clenched his jaw, muscles taut.
Selia stirred in his arms.
Daigo's heart thundered in his chest
They were shoved roughly through the cracked doors of a half-collapsed building, the heavy metal groaning as it swung closed behind them.
"Check for injuries!" an old man barked, his voice raspy but full of authority.
Several people rushed forward immediately, their hands not unkind but firm as they began inspecting Daigo and Talen—searching for wounds, for signs of infection.
Then one of them pointed at Selia, still clinging fiercely to Daigo's neck.
" Remove her!" the man ordered.
"No!" Selia yelped, her small arms tightening around her father's shoulders like a vice. Fear shook her voice, and tears welled up in her wide eyes.
A woman stepped forward then—a lean figure with tired but kind eyes and blood-streaked hair tucked behind her ears. She crouched low to Selia's level and spoke softly, almost like she was coaxing a frightened animal.
"Hey, little one," the woman said gently. "Don't be afraid. We're not going to hurt you."
"What are you doing?!" Daigo barked, trying to jerk back, but he immediately froze when the woman shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"If you let go," she said calmly, "we can make sure your father's not hurt. Then we can let him go back to you. I promise."
Selia, trembling, looked up at Daigo. His tense face softened just slightly—enough for her to understand. Slowly, hesitantly, she slid down from his arms, though her small fingers lingered a moment longer.
The others moved fast, hands checking Daigo and Talen again, more thoroughly this time. When they found no injuries—no bite marks, no scratches—the tension in the room eased slightly.
The woman smiled at Selia and patted her head lightly before stepping back.
"Sorry for the... rough welcome," the old man said, giving a short, apologetic nod. He waved a hand, and the men holding Talen finally let him go.
Talen stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists, his glare still suspicious, but his body sagging with relief.
"My name's Jorin Kestral," the old man said, thumping his chest with a clenched fist. His grey beard was scruffy, and his skin was tough and lined like weathered leather. "I'm the leader of this place."
He turned and gestured toward the woman who had spoken to Selia."And that there is Elic. She's the heart of this little camp."
Daigo's arms instinctively pulled Selia close again, his eyes scanning the room.
Jorin gave a weary chuckle. "Don't worry. We're not the enemy. We're survivors—just like you. We're gathering anyone left... anyone who's still breathing."
He motioned for them to follow. Reluctantly, Daigo and Talen fell into step behind him.
The building stretched out around them—an abandoned office complex, from the looks of it, now serving as a makeshift sanctuary. Worn mattresses and thin blankets were scattered along the floor. Groups of people sat huddled together: some eating from tin bowls, others simply staring blankly at the walls with hollow, sunken eyes.
The air was heavy with a strange blend of cooking smoke, sweat, and something else Daigo couldn't quite place—something almost metallic.
"And you two," Jorin said, glancing back at them with a tired smile, "make the one hundred and third and one hundred and fourth survivors we've managed to rescue."
Daigo looked around again, heart sinking.
This was it.
This was survival now.
But was it truly a rescue... or just a slower death?.
"What happened?" Jorin asked, eyeing Daigo carefully as they climbed the cracked stairwell. His voice was gruff but not unfriendly.
"Nothing," Daigo muttered, shifting Selia higher against his shoulder. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, avoiding the old man's probing gaze.
Jorin grunted, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to press further. Instead, he led them up the dim stairwell to the third floor, the soles of their worn shoes scraping against broken tiles.
"You three will stay here," Jorin said, stopping before a heavy door hanging crooked on its hinges. "Food will be provided. Water, too, when we have enough to spare."
He pushed the door open with his foot.
Inside, the air was stifling and thick, carrying the sour scent of too many bodies crammed into too little space. The room was large, but the ceiling leaked in places, and the windows were boarded up with scrap metal and rotting wood. Makeshift beds lined the walls—thin mattresses, piles of rags, anything that could serve as a place to sleep.
The moment Daigo, Talen, and Selia stepped inside, all conversation ceased.
Heads turned. Eyes—sunken, cautious, and cold—fixed on them.
It wasn't welcome they saw in those faces.
It was suspicion.
Mistrust.
Fear.
Daigo tightened his grip on Selia instinctively. Even Talen, usually quick to bark back, shifted uneasily under the weight of their stares.
Jorin gave them a brief nod, stepping back toward the stairwell."Settle in," he said gruffly. "Someone will bring food around sunset."
He lingered just a moment longer, his gaze slipping between Daigo, Selia, and Talen—something unreadable flashing behind his tired eyes—before he turned and left, the door swinging closed with a dull thud behind him.
In the heavy silence that followed, Daigo moved toward a bare spot near the wall and knelt down, lowering Selia carefully onto a cleaner piece of blanket left abandoned.
Selia curled close to him without a word, her small hands fisting the fabric of his shirt.
Talen hovered near the door, arms crossed tightly, throwing wary glances at the other occupants.
"Something's not right here," he muttered under his breath.
Daigo didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
He felt it too—the way the survivors looked at them.
As if they'd seen newcomers before... and it hadn't ended well.