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Night 5 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The swarm is gone. But the silence it leaves behind is worse. The dust hangs lower tonight.

Glade moves like a shadow through the dark. She spots movement near a collapsed structure - The Venling.
She doesn’t hesitate. A quiet hiss - the dart flies, piercing its neck. It gasps before falling to the ground.

Not far away, Cynamity sits alone, gently humming to himself.

Toraix strikes flint again and again, sparks flickering then fading. The fire refuses to start.

Suchomimos stares up at the stars. He’s thinking about home.

Sadbread spots the glow of a distant fire. They stay hidden. Wrapped in shadows, wrapped in silence, they think of their friend - The Venling.

The Mercurii sits still and silent. Its eyes are fixed on the dark horizon. It’s not resting.
It's planning, It's thinking about winning.

Drekkal’Kael – The Feast
At dawn, the arena speaks. “The Kor’Zeluun has been replenished.”
Inside the Kor'Zeluun sealed rations, sharp blades, syringes of anti-venom.
And envelopes. One for each remaining tribute.
Each stamped with a familiar name. A familiar hand.
Memoirs.
Letters from home.

Suchomimos sees the signal. Hears the chime. But he doesn’t go.

Toraix watches from a rock ridge. He grips his weapon but never moves. He doesn’t need memoirs. He remembers everything already. And some things are better left forgotten.

Sadbread stares long and hard at the glowing beacon in the sky. They turn away. Whatever’s waiting… it’s not theirs to claim.

Cynamity makes it. He weaves through the crates. All he cares for are the memoirs. He finds Glade’s envelope, not realizing to whom it belongs. He takes it. He never opens it. But he takes it.

Glade arrives just seconds later, too late. She finds her name, torn envelope and all, scattered on the ground.

The Mercurii makes it to the edge of the Kor'Zeluun. It doesn’t notice the frozen lake beneath the dust.
One step. Then another. The ice cracks.

Day 6 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The wind is low. The dust tastes metallic. The aftermath of the Feast still lingers in the air

Cynamity finds Glade scavenging near an old supply crate. He doesn’t speak - just steps forward, slow and deliberate. Glade backs away. Then runs. He doesn’t follow.

Toraix explores the edges of the arena. He walks slowly, studying tracks and old hiding spots. He isn’t chasing anyone. He’s exploring the ground.

Suchomimos curls up beneath some fallen metal and closes his eyes. The sun rises. Then sets. He tries to sleep through the whole day.

Sadbread sits in the dust, carving quietly.

Night 6 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The sky is colorless.

Sadbread stumbles across some rocks, breathing hard. Everything looks the same now. They walk in circles, unsure if they have already been here before.

Toraix sits alone, knees pulled to his chest. He presses his palms to his ears, trying to block something out - a voice, or a thought, or perhaps both. He whispers to himself. Then stops.
He questions if he’s ever been sane at all.

Glade sits on the edge of a high ridge. She clutches the torn remnants of her letter — the one she never got to read. The arena is quiet tonight. Too quiet. 
In the other hand she has some Kirr sap, she eats it then lies down by the edge. She closes her eyes, and doesn't open them again.

Suchomimos sits near a cold campfire, sharpening a stick that doesn’t need sharpening. He doesn’t sleep.

Cynamity watches the stars, arms folded tightly across his chest. He counts them. Then loses track.

Fallen Zhaaluuns

@Glade