(Time-Stilled World, 70 Kilometers from Entry Point, Temporary Camp)
After surviving the encounter with the man-beast, the team continued their journey for a few more kilometers, pushing forward in wary silence, before finally reaching their predetermined rest point after nearly eight hours of uninterrupted walking.
They did not set up tents, nor did they ignite any fire when it was finally time to make camp, as everyone knew that lighting a flame in this world was equivalent to painting a target on your back, so instead, they found a natural hollow between two ridges and sat down in a loose circle, resting for the first time since the fight.
The silence in the air was broken only by the soft clinks of armor being adjusted and weapons being set aside, as the team removed their shin guards and boots, letting their feet breathe for a moment of rare comfort.
Karl, who somehow seemed in a better mood than anyone else, hummed to himself as he set up a black stone slab over three glowing firestones, the stones glowing a faint orange beneath the grill as they radiated silent heat without releasing any flame—creating the perfect surface for cooking without drawing unwanted attention from the wilds around them.
Once the slab was up to temperature, Karl oiled the surface and placed thinly sliced meat and dehydrated root vegetables onto it, watching them sizzle and soften slowly while the faintest wisp of steam curled upward into the still air.
*Sigh*
Patricia exhaled deeply as she leaned back on her arms, sipping water from a pouch with half-lidded eyes, as she watched the meat cook with something between relief and hunger.
"Now this is what I call survival," she muttered lazily, her usual flirt gone, replaced by a tired smirk that only slightly masked how drained she looked.
The fatigue wasn't from walking, but from the slow, grinding psychological pressure this world seemed to place on everyone who spent more than a few hours within its grasp.
Meanwhile, Cipher sat hunched forward, one hand wrapped around the bandage on his neck as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.
"Fucking inbred retarded ape. Bit my neck off—" he grumbled, the pain clearly still present even after Karl had cleaned, stitched, and dosed him with two different potions to accelerate the healing process.
"Gods, it still hurts like a bitch," he added, massaging the side of his neck carefully, as Raiden sat beside him, listening with a faint smile that hovered somewhere between sympathy and amusement, nodding occasionally, yet saying little, as he did his best to let Cipher vent as much as he needed.
On the far end, Bob sat with his back to a rock, legs stretched out and a blade resting across his lap, as he poured water and oil over a rectangular whetstone before dragging the edge of a tall knife across it in long, steady strokes—each pass accompanied by a soft grinding sound that hummed through the silence like the rhythm of a war drum.
"Do you even use that giant knife?" Patricia asked after a while, her eyes flicking toward him, "Or is it just for show? Because I've only seen you fight with your fists."
Bob didn't answer immediately. He clicked his tongue, shifting the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other, before eventually replying in his usual gruff tone, his gaze never leaving the blade.
"I haven't had to use this bad boy yet," he said, voice low and slow, "but after seeing how your daggers bounced off that thing's skin, I figured I'd rather not find out mid-battle that mine isn't sharp enough."
Leo, seated nearby, scoffed quietly at the comment and chuckled under his breath.
"That's the most I've ever heard you speak," he said flatly, as Patricia grinned, stretching her legs out in front of her while casting a sideways glance at Leo, her teasing spark flickering back to life.
"I have a way with men, Skyshard," she purred, voice soft and sultry, "they always tell me things they wouldn't say to anyone else."
Leo didn't respond, his expression unmoved as he stared down at the potion bottle in his hand, while Patricia chuckled to herself and turned her attention back to the sizzling grill, the scent of food slowly filling the air and mingling with the lingering scent of ash and mana that never quite left this world.
Soon, the food finished cooking and Karl portioned it carefully onto thin steel plates, before handing them around with an eager grin that didn't quite match the fatigue in his eyes.
"Hope you like it crispy," he said, plopping a slice of charred meat beside some softened roots on Leo's plate before moving on to the next.
"You've officially earned your place on this team, rookie, this is delicious," Patricia said while chewing, as she gave him a thumbs-up.
"Glad you liked it," Karl replied cheerfully, clearly happy to be useful.
For a while, the group ate in relative silence, the occasional clink of cutlery on metal or the soft sounds of chewing breaking the monotony, as they slowly drifted into casual conversation, sharing stories and banter, each beginning to know the other just a little better.
They spoke of their interests, traded tales of their most memorable kills, and laughed more than once— not because anything was particularly funny, but because laughter was sometimes the only weapon one had against creeping dread, and for a brief while, it worked.
For those few minutes, the ashen plains, the blood, and the madness of the Time-Stilled World faded into the background, as everything almost felt normal.
Almost.
Because no matter how normal things felt in that moment, the world around them never changed.
The grass was still gray, the air still heavy, and the mana still clung to their skin like a film of ash.
The laughter was real, the food warm, and the company tolerable—
but the silence that followed between words always felt too long,
and the shadows that crept just beyond their camp never felt like they stopped watching.
And though no one said it aloud, they all knew, this peace wouldn't last….
No chance it did.
Not in this accursed world.