Part II

The Strangers

Marcus

It was at the closing of the twenty-third hour of being awake when Marcus felt the tug of sleep. He blinked the drowsiness away, slapping his cheeks to stay conscious, took a small sip of the coffee Kenny brewed for him in a hydro flask. He focused his attention on the darkness surrounding the camp and watched for strange movements among the trees and foliage, listening to the others sleeping inside their tents.

Marcus looked at his watch. One more hour to go, he thought, then it's Paul's turn.

It had been a few hours since they drove through the path that the giants made, and luckily, nothing happened, aside from the bouts of paranoia with every move they made. No giants attacked nor more of those dragons wanting to freeze them to death, only fallen trees and rocks waited for them. They continued to drive further and further away from the city until they could no longer hear the roars of the creatures razing it.

It must be hundreds of miles away now, Marcus thought. It looks far, yet feels so close.

They had parked the vehicles behind the thickest foliage they could find as they made camp five hundred feet off the path. That way, the forest would hide them from prying eyes just in case the giants returned to use the trail. He grew concerned about their dwindling gas with less than two hundred miles left to go on both vehicles. They had to siphon a small amount of it to start a fire around the camp as the temperature continued to drop, using the flames for cooking some of the perishables they carried, heating back up the beef stew Roylan made.

Marcus's eyes went heavy again, and he slapped himself, a lot harder this time around, focusing his attention to the woods. He tried to sit straight on top of a thick branch from the closest oak to the camp, a rifle at his side, pulling at the cloak tighter around his body, welcoming the warmth.

His theory continued to be galvanized at each passing hour, believing without a doubt that he was transported to another world. Hearing these thoughts tumbling inside his mind in the darkness of the night spoke louder than the croak of crickets and the rustle of leaves, making him seemed smaller and frightened. Though, not a lot of the things around him made any sense. He could feel that he was not on Earth, yet the majority of the vegetation around him was. There were some oddities here and there, mushrooms displaying a plethoric mix of rainbow colors, some species of trees sprouted white and purple flowers in winter that seemed to sing at each caress of the wind, and moss-covered tree-trunks that glowed neon-blue in the dark.

Above it all, Marcus saw it was an old forest, typical of that found on Earth.

Towering firs and pines had long since choked out all but the most persistent undergrowth so that a man could easily have driven a cart or an off-road vehicle between their thick, straight trunks. High overhead, the dense canopy of interlaced boughs filtered the sunlight to muted underwater tones. Moss-crusted boulders studded the slops. Between them, patches of ferns whispered dryly, and on their bark, ordinary colorful mushrooms of red, white, and yellow bloomed and gathered in clusters.

It was both familiar yet alien at the same time.

Marcus was no stranger to being on watch duty in the rougher terrains imaginable, having been awake for close to thirty-six hours in hundred-degree heat during the day and to the plunging thirties at night. He had once kept his brothers and sisters safe with a bullet hole in his left shoulder for four days in the outskirts of Panjab, their rescuers unable to formulate a plan for extraction as violent insurgents continued to wreak havoc throughout the region.

Dark days, dark hours, Marcus mused. He looked up to the night sky again, hoping to be right that this world would have a sun. He imagined himself lying out there on the path and bathe the sun for hours.

Marcus jerked his thoughts to a halt.

He sat up a couple of inches taller, listening intently, aware that something was amiss late through his icy mood. He guessed he could thank that turn in his gut for the years of military experience huddled in a small hole while Iraqi insurgents carpet bomb a city.

Behind him, the whistling tree's hymn cut short, and the wind went with it.

The stag stood in the middle of the camp, beside the dying embers of the fire pit.

It was big, hulking nearly twice the size Marcus had ever seen, weighing at least seven hundred pounds. It was old, pronounced scars from long-ago battles crisscrossed on its filthy red-brown coat, a snow-white mane running at the nape of its neck and chest, fist-thick antlers wickedly branching upward in jabbing spikes twelve-foot wide from tip to tip, and stood well over chest height on Marcus. Its chin raised toward him, staring up out of its pupils slotted black into emptiness, seemingly smiling as if welcoming Marcus as a long-lost friend.

Marcus stirred, knelt, and crouched on the thick-oak branch. He stared the animal down.

"What is it gonna be, big man?" Marcus muttered, "Friend or foe?"

The stag stayed where it was.

"If you leave now, I won't have to kill you. That, and I won't have to wake up the others."

Again, the stag never moved.

"Go on," Marcus barked a little louder. "Get out. Fuck off."

Silence. The wind whistled past a couple of times, stretching the moment and breaking it.

The stag, rearing its head up again as if to look at him one last time, pivoted back and turned for the trees, drawing deeper into the woods. Marcus thought it would continue, but the animal stopped in its tracks, turned its neck to look at him once again, and then tossed its head in a motion that said, follow me. It resumed its march into the fathomless forest.

Marcus jumped off the tree, landing firmly onto the ground. He looked up, a flinching glance at the direction of the stag, found it disappear into the gloom, and then—

A flap of black, which looked like enormous wings at first, but as Marcus's eyes adjusted, found it attached to a billowy cloak of a figure, trailed by a glimmer of faint pink and orange fire as it breezed past the camp.

Marcus clutched tighter onto Roylan's hunting rifle, he blinked profusely, standing there, still as a deer, trying to be sure he didn't imagine all of it.

There and gone, another flicker of movement at the corner of his eye.

The stag reappeared again, although rearing half of its head from the darkness, half-bathed from the moonlight, still watching him.

Taking a deep breath, Marcus crept forward.

Marcus's tent was the closest, and he headed over there. It was a five-person tent with Kenny, Andy, Easton, and the children taking up space huddled like sardines since they only managed to grab four bags from the outdoors store. Marcus slowly unzipped the flap and saw Kenny sleeping next to the entrance. He shook the man awake.

"Kenny, wake up," he whispered, "There's something in the woods."

Kenny groaned in protest, turned away from him in his sleeping bag. Marcus leaned closer, shook the man harder, but he soon realized he could not rouse him out of his sleep. He looked at Andy, Easton, and the children, heavily snoring within the tent's shadows.

Shit. I guess I'm gonna have to do this alone.

Marcus felt his pulse quickening up. He did a mental check. He had the broadsword that Andy gave him strapped around his shoulders, the dagger still attached to the belt around his waist, and then Roylan's rifle at his hand. For extra measure, he grabbed the shotgun lying beside his unoccupied sleeping bag and slung it around his shoulders. He then grabbed the flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on.

Marcus got up and followed the animal, trying to push the doubts nagging at the back of his brain, found himself already heading toward the forest. He barely heard the whistling tree resuming its smooth hymn, barely alerted when the wind softly picked up again as he trudged off the camp.

Something soft tugged at the back of his mind, wanting him to look back to the camp. He spared a glance behind him, and his heart dropped.

Sitting there on the giant oak tree, at the same branch where he last sat, was his own body, leaning against the bark, head tilted to the side, deep asleep.

Marcus took a sharp step back.

The movement caused him to step on something, snapping resoundingly in the darkness, and he looked down to see what it was, finding a tiny fractured skull beneath his boots — a human skull.

Marcus whipped his head up to look back at the camp.

It was gone.

Replacing it was a wall of maple, firs, pines, redwood, ferns, shrubs, and moss. There was no sign of the camp anywhere, nor the trail he left when he stepped off. Marcus aimed his rifle at the ready, his finger close to the trigger.

The rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs echoed in all directions, and Marcus tried to follow where it came from, intently steadying his breathing as he readied himself for an attack or an ambush. The sky had darkened up above with the gathering cloud, blocking the moonlight and the stars, and the wind continued to pick up.

Come off it, he groaned. That's right. Come to me. Come to me. And I won't hesitate to fucking shoot you.

Marcus continued to circle his surroundings, checking each side, squinting at every corner, and ears perked up in careful attention.

Another snapped off a branch, and Marcus whirled to its direction, found the same hulking stag several feet away from him.

The stag, looking as if it was satisfied that he had followed it, cocked its head again to continue trailing him, up toward a snow-covered hillside where a large felled redwood tree laid on its side, soaring at least two stories high, and the stag disappeared through a gap at the middle of its massive roots.

Marcus reached that side of the tree, and took him a few moments to find the gap, a tunnel-like cavern blackened and splintered of rotted-wood. The stag had vanished. He stalked the roots' walls, the rifle raised at the level, swept a cautious glance up and down the interior, making sure that there was no ambush. On the far side, something was gathered there that was hard to see. The air inside hissed as if it was breathing, ruffled by the winds outside picking up, making it looked like the roots were moving, offering Marcus passage deeper into the cavern.

His flashlight blinked twice and died, enveloping him with darkness. Marcus slapped the torch with the palm of his hand, hoping it would return to life. He waited a few moments, fiddling with the damn thing, realizing that the darkness was all he had.

However, at the end of the tunnel-like cavern, a gleam of muted light flickered invitingly. Behind him, the trees swayed against the violent force of the gale, snow falling heavily as if a blizzard volleyed through the forest.

Marcus let out a heavy sigh. Nagging beneath his thoughts, he knew it was not a good idea to get into the gap. But did he have any choice? Someone was trying to pull tricks on him, and he had no intention of being made a fool.

"Okay, then," Marcus said between gritted teeth, "Let's have it your way."

He stepped into the gap.

"My turn."

He felt the change in the air as soon as he entered, the space more humid and warm than it was outside, reminding Marcus of the summer heat in Texas where he spent many of his summers with his grandparents and his younger brother. The walls grew back to an enclosing height the further he went, crouching in the darkness with the faint pinkish glow at a distance guiding him, getting more prominent as he drew close, thinking he must've reached the end of the felled redwood's trunk.

The blackness seemed to flow around him in tangible waves, his eyes instinctively strained for sight, aching, and creating dancing sparks of false lights at the corner. Underfoot, leaves stretched out like a runner deadened the whisper of his cold, North Face leather boots. Inside the tunnel, the sound of his breathing was loud in his ears.

Fen smoke stung his throat.

Covering his mouth and nose with his hands, he squinted down and came to rest on the reflected image of himself on the flames.

The flame was suspended in the air, no strings nor device holding it together, though its features weren't that of a typical fire, more akin to the surface of a soft melted glass heated at high temperatures. Even more, no crackle or hiss was emanating off of it.

Although, there was something odd in his reflection, and he drew closer to analyze it. His face didn't change drastically since the city's fall, haggard and filthy, sunken pale from the winter air, looking quite ridiculous with a sword sticking out of his back that he didn't even know how to use. And then—

A flutter, sending a soft gust of wind right onto the nape of his neck, like breathing onto his bare skin, and Marcus realized a dark cloaked figure right behind him. Marcus whirled around, swung the rifle to aim at the figure, and pulled the trigger.

Sharpened by adrenaline, he held his breath as the ringing sound from the gunfire dissipated, titled his head back a little to shake the feeling away.

The figure was gone.

"Alright, you," Marcus barked. "You can come out now! Quit playing these fucking games!"

The root walls suddenly collapsed onto the tunnel, and in a split second, a dizzying sense of vertigo overwhelmed him. The rough dirt floor turned to a bottomless void beneath his feet, and the feeling was so strong he had to grab hold of something, anything, at the wall, at the roots, at the flames, to get his bearings, clear his head before he fell into the void, realizing too late that they were no longer there. The wind barreled through the narrow gap, bombing into the tunnel with a determined sheer force, taking him down with it. The wall-like roots, crumbling and creaking from the constraining power, exploded into a puff of black smoke, swept along by the gale.

Marcus covered his head; afraid flying debris would hit him. He laid on the floor in a fetal pose, hugging his knees close to his chest.

Silence.

Marcus opened his eyes.

The forest vanished. The boiling gray sky blacked out, and the two moons and stars were gone. The damp, snow-covered Earth was replaced by the bottomless void, expanding into the horizon and all around him. The silence was all there was.

There was the sound of trickling water, like a faucet not entirely turned off, sending a drop every few seconds onto a bowl filled with water, and echoed across the void. Marcus got up to his knees, studied the shadows that surrounded him with no idea where to start. It seemed to go on forever.

It was then Marcus realized that his weapons were not with him. There was no sign of his rifle or his shotgun anywhere, assuming the strange wind and the black smoke had taken it. He reached back to grab the sword, but all he felt was air, and he tried to seize the dagger on his belt, finding it missing, too. He remained crouched on the floor—though it seemed like he was floating in the air—readying himself for an attack.

Footsteps echoed behind him, whirled around with fist raised—

"Marcus?" Easton whispered, standing a few feet away in his robes and pants he wore for bed earlier.

"Easton? Is that you?" Marcus regarded him warily, and he didn't make a move on where he knelt.

Easton looked around, confused like he was. "Wh—where are we? What is this place?"

"Easton. Is that really you?" Marcus asked once again.

"Yes. It's me."

Marcus studied him further, scrutinized his features, though there was no twitch or a glint in his eyes, realizing he was telling the truth. He let out a sigh of relief. "God, I'm glad you're here."

Marcus got up from the ground and walked over toward him, and poked Easton on the shoulder. The other man playfully punched him back on the chest.

"It is me, asshole," Easton said.

Marcus chuckled. "Right. Right. Just trying to be sure. I've seen weirder shit."

"Story of our lives. But I—I don't know how I got here."

"What was the last time you remember?"

Easton paused for a few moments, thinking. "I remembered putting Eli and Jacob to the bed beside me. Kenny and I talked for a minute about, well, of what was going on, trying to make sense of everything. And I think that's it. I fell asleep, I think."

Marcus nodded. "We're asleep."

Easton tilted his head in confusion. "We are?"

"Before I got here, I saw my body asleep on the tree."

"You saw?"

"Yeah. Kind of what people describe as an out-of-body experience. I could hardly believe it myself."

"You gotta be shitting me. So, what do you think this place is?"

Marcus shrugged. "I don't know. Dreamland? Nightmare world? Weird ass fucking black fog? Fog-land?"

"Well, now that we're here, what are we going to do?"

"How about we start walking to…anywhere, really."

"Um…How about that tree over there?" Easton asked, pointing past him.

"What tree—"

Marcus whirled around to where Easton was pointing at, and like a veil lifted off ahead, a tree did stand at least a quarter of a mile away, shimmering like a mirage in the desert heat.

The fuck did that come from? Marcus thought.

"Something tells me we shouldn't go there," Marcus said.

"Shit, Einstein." Easton looked around once again and shrugged. "However, it is the only landmark we can see in this…dreamland. Unless you want to go in the opposite direction."

"I don't trust that thing one bit."

"It is good to be extra cautious. Who knows? That might turn into a tree-eating monster that kills us in our dreams, that is, if we're dreaming, as you said. Then, in the real world, we won't be able to wake up."

"Morbid."

"Hey, I'm spitballing here."

"Let's assume that the tree is dangerous, alright? So, let's go south of it."

Easton nodded. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Marcus and Easton walked to the opposite direction of the strange tree, into the swirling fog of black smoke. Marcus almost thought that they would be wandering blind, but their vision didn't diminish as the black fog seemed to be retreating away from them with every step, maintaining a couple of feet of distance. Marcus spared a glance back, and the tree grew smaller and smaller as they stretched away.

"How do we wake ourselves up?" Easton asked, cutting through the silence. "Isn't that what people do in dreams where they're aware, you know when they lucid dream?"

It was a good question, and Marcus wondered the same thing. "I haven't done a lot of—what did you call it—lucid dreaming? Yeah. I haven't done that to call myself an expert."

Easton frowned. "There must be something. What kind of dream is this? If we're lucid dreaming, we should be able to control things around us, but we don't have anything to work with, well, except for that tree."

"Like waking up?"

"Yeah. Exactly." Easton paused, and a smile crept on his face. He closed his eyes real hard, and then opened them, dropping into a deep frown as someone had just kicked a puppy.

"What did you do?" Marcus asked.

"I imagined an ice cream and a Porsche." Easton gave a little wave toward the fog, "But it didn't materialize."

"Hm, I do have an idea…" Without waiting for a beat, Marcus struck Easton on the face. Hard.

"Ow! Fuck!" Easton yelped, snapped back as he clasped his nose, shrinking away from him. "What the fuck, Marcus? What in the hell did you do that for?"

"Sorry. I thought that would work."

"Well, it didn't! I'm bleeding!"

Marcus hissed, saw the blood oozing profusely out of Easton's nose. "Ah, crap. I think I broke it."

Easton's eyes widened. "You think?!"

"Tilt your head back," Marcus barked, grabbing Easton's chin and tilted it back himself. Easton didn't protest. Marcus shooed Easton's hands away from his nose.

Marcus stopped. The blood was gone. "What in God's name?"

"What? What's wrong?"

"You're not bleeding anymore."

"Uh, yes, I am." Easton wiped his index fingers on his nostrils, jerked them back to study them. No blood coated his fingers. "I swear it was there."

"I know. I saw."

"Marcus…" Easton's hands leaped up, pointing fervently at something past him. "Look."

Marcus turned around. Ahead, the strange tree stood much closer, and he eyed the skeletal form, holding down the repeated urge to shiver. Though, the chilling presence rushed in him.

Marcus could see the detailed features of the tree now that he was near. He had been to the Cherry Blossom Festival in San Francisco's Japantown to recognize the tree before him. However, its buds hadn't bloomed yet, leaving a skeleton of twigs and branches, covered in ashen gray. It sat on a small mound of grass-covered Earth, and as Marcus narrowed his eyes, he saw more than a dozen people gathered around it, kneeling at the base of the heap, heads lowered down as if in prayer.

"So, we don't have any weapons…"

Easton gulped. "I see that."

"So…watch my back?"

"I mean, do I even have a choice?"

Marcus snorted. "Nope."

They walked toward the tree. Faint whispering voices seemed to come from everywhere at once, out of the air just behind his ear, sending another shiver down Marcus's spine. He saw Easton huddled a little closer behind his back, keeping a watchful eye beyond the fog, prodded by the rustled voices in the haunting spaces.

As they drew near the mound, they came upon the first man around the base, sitting on his knees, arms stretched out invitingly, head lowered, and eyes wide open, unblinking. From the nut-brown cloak, the white robes, and the unmistakeable Patagonia white-cream fleece jacket sticking out of the collar, Marcus realized it was Roylan sitting on the ground.

Studying the crowd gathered around the mound, Marcus found the rest of the group in the same pose. He caught sight of Connor to his left, and he ran up to his eldest son, calling out, "Connor!"

The boy couldn't hear him. But as he drew a foot away from him, a zap of electricity shot out through his body, jerking him back away, felt his muscles contracted painfully at the same time. Marcus spat a curse, almost vomited on the spot. He reached out again, and another, much stronger shot hurtled down his bones, filling him up from head-to-toe, and Marcus screamed, a sudden, intense wave of nausea sent him hurling all the contents he ate back in the camp.

"A force field of some kind," Easton said starkly.

Marcus peered at his son again. It was all wrong. He shouldn't be that way, frozen, arms spread out like a fucking cult, and he recognized the two children behind him, Jacob and Eli, sporting the same morbid expressionless veneer as the others: Paul, Andy, Kenny, Blake, and the rest. Marcus wanted to pry the force field, or whatever it was, off of his kids, off of the others, wanting to hack it all away, but with him weaponless, he was at a loss what to do, the adrenaline quickening his pulse, and clouded his mind.

"Marcus," Easton called out behind him. "You gotta see this."

Marcus turned around to find Easton already standing halfway at the small mound of dirt, but he was staring out into the void behind the tree, a hand clasped around his mouth in shock. Marcus sidled next to him and followed his gaze.

Out in the black fog, another veil had lifted, revealing more Cherry Blossom trees sitting in similar mounds, and circling it, hundreds of people were positioned in similar poses in a sea of Cherry Blossom trees. The nearest one, a hundred feet away, had gathered at least sixty men in the standard camouflage-patterned US army combat uniform.

"What in the hell are they all doing?" Marcus asked under his breath, but with the hushed silence, it sounded louder.

Marcus turned to Easton for an answer, hoping for a scientific and rational opinion of what they were witnessing and experiencing, but the man vanished beside him. He spun around, almost tumbling off the mound, and found Easton sitting on his knees, arms outstretched, lowering his head to mimic everyone's pose. Marcus almost reached to him, but he stopped himself short, catching sight of his own body kneeling next to Easton.

Marcus…

A breathing, purring voice rustled about behind his ear.

Marcus slowly turned around to face who it was, but only the tree stood before him.

You have been judged…

Seemingly hanging slack part-way inside the robust trunk was Marcus's dog tags, looking like the tree grew around it. He instinctively grabbed hold of his own around his neck, finding it still there. He compared the two, realizing the one on the tree was a replica of his.

Now, we open.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked.

You seek, we guide.

You fear, we endure.

You learn, we sacrifice.

You fight, we demand.

Ours are the strands of the universe.

We cast the die in the perpetual fire.

"Well, that…doesn't tell me anything."

The voice didn't respond.

Mustering some courage, Marcus approached closer to the tree, his fingers flexed and formed a fist. A thick silence poured through him, couldn't even hear his footsteps walking up the mound, couldn't hear his heavy breaths.

There were marks on the tree's trunk right below his dangling dog tags, almost like runic inscriptions that were hard to read from afar. He leaned a little closer, realized it was written in English designed to look like runic symbols like someone had carved a blade deep in the wood.

[ The Warrior ]

Scanning up, Marcus saw more markings written on the six main branches sprouting out high of the large trunk. Reading from left to right, there were;

[ Fortitude ]

[ Finesse ]

[ Constitution ]

[ Intelligence ]

[ Wit ]

[ Insight ]

Some of the branches had more flowering buds than the rest, and he paid close attention to the branch called Constitution. Cherry blossoms began to bloom around the smaller inscribed branches of health, stamina, and resistance. However, some twigs and branches were barren and remained unwritten, unmarked.

"What…is this?" Marcus asked.

You.

"I meant, what does this all mean?"

The voice answered without a beat. You.

"Me."

Yes.

Marcus paused. "You're the fucker who brought me here?"

Yes.

"The stag."

Yes.

"San Francisco. Did you do that?"

Yes.

Marcus let out a shaky breath. "Why? What do you want from me? From us?"

To refine. To enhance. To be stronger.

"Stronger…" Marcus shook his head. He glanced at the inscription on the tree's trunk. "A warrior, huh? Is that what you think of me?"

Yes…and you can be so much more, Marcus Ward.

Marcus tried to ignore the prickle at the nape of his neck, hearing the voice uttered his name. "Look, pal, I don't want to play your games. I just want to get out of here."

My sweet child. To move forward, you must look back. Steer your fate in shadows and the light, touched by our fire.

"Fuck this cryptic bullshit. Let me out. Now. Let go of my friends and my family, or I swear I'll be back here, and I'll cut this tree myself."

A slow chuckle emanated from the shadows, near and far at the same time.

Can a man truly end himself when the future languished in the shadows, only graced by his presence? When his mere acts and decisions write the path bathed in light? Stuck between worlds, ever in the grace of the seed and the damned, of the craft that shines all eternity.

Marcus didn't say a word, his anger boiling inside him.

The answer is no. You are who you are, Marcus Ward, and it shall not be destroyed. The path is ripe for harvest, and you the farmer. We see, and we guide thee.

A small gust of wind snaked around his ankles, moving up to his waist, and then up to his chest.

You have still much to learn. We have shown you a glimpse of the way. All you have to do is act.

"There must be something you want aside from that, why you brought us all here in this miserable place."

It was the first time Marcus had heard the voice paused momentarily as if thinking.

Cloudless and muddled, it must be spoken true, but the key will soon rust and reveal itself. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. Knowledge is not a straight line.

The wind began to pick up around him, the black fog slowly advancing toward the mound, swallowing the others kneeling on the ground. Marcus held on the tree for balance.

You have been judged as a warrior, my child. The voice spoke louder on top of the whistling wind. Now you must act and guide your fate.

The black fog reached the mound, snaking its way toward the tree. Marcus hugged the tree for dear life.

Now, we close.

Marcus closed his eyes as the fog reached him.

---

Marcus opened his eyes.

He was falling, and he let out a scream, but he hit the ground before he could clamor for a hold. He felt the snow-covered ground of the forest beneath his back, though, as he looked up, the two moons were gone, now replaced by blue skies and the wisps of clouds. It was daylight.

He craned his neck to pinpoint where he fell from, finding the oak and the thick branch where he last sat for his watch, the rifle leaning against the trunk next to the blanket he had for warmth.

He was back in the real world.

Back to a version of my reality, Marcus corrected himself. He craned further and found the camp still intact. There was no sign of it being moved anywhere when he went to look for the stag.

"What a weird dream that was," Marcus muttered.

Marcus thought, uneasily, trying to remember what he saw in there, and surprisingly, he could make out every detail as if he was still there. As of the majority of his dreams, he tended to forget about them the minute he woke up. Marcus got up, smoothed the creases on his cloak, and massaged the back of his head, pleased that he didn't hit his head on the way down. Though he had a feeling his back was going to be sore for the next couple of days.

Marcus looked up the sky, smiling. "There is a sun here, after all."

A scream pierced through the daybreak, coming from the camp, coming from the Kapoors' tent. Marcus quickly grabbed the rifle from the branch, stepping onto a foothold on the oak's roots, and ran for their tent.

The tent was smaller than the four set up around the camp, could sleep two people, and Marcus had to crouch in front of the entrance to unzip the flap. Barely opened, Malik spewed out of the hole, fear evident on his face, swatting away something on his eyes.

"Get it off! Get it off!" Malik shrieked.

"Malik! Malik! Stay still! What's wrong?" Marcus shook the boy, fervently. There was nothing wrong with his eyes, a little bloodshot from little sleep and exhaustion, but Malik kept on looking at something, and he screamed every time he saw it. "What is it, boy? What is it?"

"Can't you see that?" Malik pointed at something in the air.

Marcus followed his finger, saw nothing. "There's nothing there, Malik. I think you had a nightmare."

"No! It's there. Can't you see? It's right there!"

Others in the tents began to stir awake.

"What in the damn hell is going on?" Roylan moaned irritably nearby, which was followed by a startled scream.

Then another.

And another.

Willie cried in one of the tents, wailing, while Blake and Hyun tried to shush him down.

"What the fuck is that Blake? What the fuck is that?" Hyun kept asking.

"I don't know. I don't see it—" Blake tried to comfort him, but was then startled by something. Their tent started rattling, and Blake crawled out, blinking in shock.

Marcus carried the rifle around, ready to shoot, eyeing the forest walls, in the foliage, and the moss-covered boulders, looking for any signs of strange movement aside from the others' startled screams.

Marcus whirled around back to Malik—

And saw it displayed in front of him.

[Order Obtained: The Warrior Level 3]

[Class Obtained: The Commander Level 1]

"What the hell?" Marcus hissed, realizing it wasn't a dream.

Malik finally caught his breath, calming down next to him, still blinking his eyes as he stared out into space.

He turned to Marcus and asked with bewilderment, "What the fuck is an Enchanter?"