Koby let out a heavy breath, the air leaving his lungs like a weight being lifted and then settled back inside him. He watched Zara disappear into the shadowed hallway, her parting words lingering in the quiet like a cold touch on the back of his neck. It's the end of the world. So I can't say for sure.
"She's feisty."
Koby didn't startle, but his muscles tightened. Rory's voice was calm, conversational, coming from a doorway to his left. He was leaning against the frame, arms folded, observing Koby with an unreadable, almost amused expression.
"I guess so," Koby replied, his voice neutral. He made to move past, toward the larger hall where the survivors were gathering.
"I like you, Koby," Rory said, the words stopping Koby mid-step. "You seem like you understand the situation well." A smile played on Rory's lips as he extended a hand for a shake. "And you're clearly wary of me."
"You are very unpredictable, Rory," Koby said, not taking the offered hand.
"Wary of me. Smart." Rory lowered his hand, unoffended. "But we really need to cooperate with each other if we are to have a chance at surviving."
"This is a period of doubt," Koby countered, meeting Rory's gaze directly, "and my instincts say you're very dangerous. I've always been one to listen to my instincts."
Rory's smile didn't falter; if anything, it sharpened. "My instincts told me that you seem like someone who can survive. Don't try to go at it alone, or you will end up dead." With that final warning—or advice—he turned and walked away, his footsteps silent on the dusty marble.
Koby waited until Rory was out of sight before muttering under his breath, "I also think you will survive."
Back in the large hall, the air was thick with grief, shock, and the sour tang of fear. Survivors huddled in small groups, some trying to patch wounds with torn cloth, others just staring blankly at the scorch marks on the floor where Shoggoths had been burned away. The silence was punctuated by soft crying, the rustle of clothing, the occasional sharp intake of breath.
Clifford stood on the grand staircase, a place that made him visible to everyone. He waited, letting the heavy quiet press down on them all.
"We are all shaken by what has happened," he began, his voice carrying across the cavernous space with surprising steadiness. "But I'm sure that everyone wants to survive and go home. We would have to work together to achieve that. The Shoggoths are trying to divide us, and if they succeed, we're dead."
No one said a word. The silence grew even tenser. Some continued to stare into the middle distance, as if looking through the walls to a world that no longer existed.
"Well," Clifford continued, a edge of frustration creeping into his tone, "it seems like you've all decided to accept death as it is. I mean, who wouldn't? The situation is horrific. More than half of everyone has already died." He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd. "But I don't want to die yet. I saw my friends die in front of me with tears in their eyes, and I want to make sure that I survive so that their deaths wouldn't have been in vain. I will carry their deaths on with me. And what I want—what I need—is for those with the same drive to join me, so that we can make sure that we live on in respect of our dead. Let us have a fighting chance. Who's with me?"
For a beat, there was nothing. Then, a single voice broke the stillness.
"I am."
Rory stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, raising his hand. He moved with a calm authority that seemed to pull the hope from the air and make it tangible. The sight of him—the one who had unveiled the impostors, the one with terrifying power—aligning with Clifford's call to arms was a catalyst.
Hands began to rise, one after another, like a slow wave. Murmurs of agreement spread. People straightened up, their hollow eyes gaining a faint, desperate glimmer of resolve.
From where they stood near a cracked pillar, Kai chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Of course, they will all join. Rory being in the team is a given."
"You have a problem with it?" Koby asked, keeping his voice low.
"I do not like Clifford," Kai said, his eyes fixed on the gathering crowd. "But that doesn't make me stupid. I'm in."
At that statement, Koby smirked. "Looks like our chances of survival just went up."
A few tense hours remained before the next Shoggoth stampede was due to begin. In a smaller, less-damaged chamber off the main hall—a room that might have once been a library—Clifford held a meeting. The attendees were the de facto faction leaders and those recognized as the strongest among the survivors.
The room was dim, lit only by a few shafts of gray daylight filtering through a grimy window. A large, scarred wooden table stood in the center. Seated or standing around it were Rory, Zara, a sharp-eyed girl with silver-streaked hair named Ophelia, a quiet, watchful boy called Luna, and now Koby, Kai, and James as they entered.
Clifford's eyes narrowed as the trio walked in. "Rory," he said, not bothering to lower his voice, "remind me again why I'm letting them in on this?" He gestured dismissively toward Koby.
Rory, already seated comfortably at the table, didn't look up as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. "They're one of the powerhouses amongst the crowd. A lot of people think they have potential—me included." He finally glanced up, a faint, needling smile on his face. "Also, didn't they beat you before?"
Clifford's jaw tightened. "They did not beat me. I could take them without blinking."
"Sure you could," Rory said, the sarcasm light but unmistakable.
A brief, charged silence followed as everyone took their seats. The atmosphere was a complex web of tension, suspicion, and the raw, mutual need to not die.
Clifford cleared his throat, reclaiming control. "We all want to survive. And with the Shoggoths coming at us like they did last time, we won't. So if anyone has ideas about how to beat them, let's hear it."
Ophelia, the silver-haired girl, leaned forward, her gaze analytical. "It was your idea for us to band together. Surely you have some ideas of your own."
Clifford met her eyes, and for the first time, he seemed to drop the performative bravado. His expression turned grim, strategic.
"Divide and barricade."
He let the words hang in the dusty air. Outside the door, the mansion seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the co
ming night, and the monsters it would bring.