Dark Descend

After an hour, the cave grew quiet. The Sun-Moon Jil hourglass slowly turned, its top half changing little by little, each shift a silent countdown toward midnight.

Everyone felt the change. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, thick with waiting.

Some children mumbled sleepy complaints, curling up in blankets beside their brothers and sisters. Tiny hands clung to parents or older siblings. A few were already asleep, faces flushed and sticky with exhaustion. Their breathing was soft and regular, the kind of sleep that came only after a long, difficult day.

There was no laughter now. The stories had faded away. All that was left was the slow, steady sound of people breathing in the dark.

Many adults lay down early too, hoping to steal what rest they could before the darkness deepened. They were worn out by travel, by worry, by the heavy meal in their bellies. They knew the night in this place gave no promises.

The darkness here was never just sleep, it was something they had to survive. Still, they closed their eyes, hoping for a few stolen hours of peace.

But not all could sleep.

Anna stood on the edge of the firelight, arms hugging herself tight. Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on her elbow, tap, tap, pause, then tap again. She glanced at the hourglass, set carefully on a slab of bone near the fire. Almost all the sand had fallen through.

Louise leaned against the stone wall, staring not at the fire but at its reflection dancing across his boots. His hands were still, his brow creased. He hadn't spoken for a long time.

Silis lay on his side, face buried in his arms, turned away from everyone. No one had seen his eyes in over an hour.

Selene was asleep, curled close beside Lorian, whose breath was slow and steady, face calm. If the danger of the night troubled Lorian, he didn't show it. He looked as if he'd chosen peace, and for now, it had chosen him back.

Uro sat near the fire, his back to the wall. He was awake, staring up at the curved ceiling. It was pure darkness above, but he continued as if searching for something. His hands were placed under his chin, perfectly still.

The adults who remained awake kept quiet. 

It felt wrong to speak or more specifically, they were too scared to. 

Then, at last, the top of the Sun-Moon Jil hourglass finished its change. The sun faded away, replaced by a pale moon and tiny stars made from flecks of glittering sand.

Louise reached out and put out the fire with one practiced motion.

Suddenly, the darkness was complete. It was not the kind of night your eyes adjust to, but a wall of black, thick and total. The fire hadn't just been light but also had been warmth, comfort, and hope.

Now all of it is gone.

They waited.

The silence grew deeper. It pressed in around them, thick as wool, so heavy it made ears ring and hearts pound. That made the heartbeat louder just to feel something moving.

…

Above the dome-shelter, the Moon stood suspended. Its light stains the bones of the Beast Graveyard in a luminous glow, making most of the bones shine and gleam beautifully. 

Then, something changed.

The moon's light wavered, like a reflection in water. Just once, a ripple moved through it like a curtain being drawn.

Suddenly, the glow faded. The world seemed to dim.

Then its glow dropped, as if someone had turned the dial of the world down to dim.

From the far end of the graveyard, the darkness began to move.

Not like a fog, storm or anything natural it just rolled forward silently. The pitch-black, thick, and wide waves of darkness moved over the golden sands, closing in one the graveyard. The darkness continued before washing over the graveyards, coiling around ancient monster skulls and through cracked ribcages. 

It didn't devour them but blanketed it, covering it as if the darkness was just a bedsheet cover. Sinking across the bones like ink spilled from the sky, it moved past broken horns and hollow eye sockets, brushing bone.

And the Beast Graveyard was embraced once more.

…

The silence in the cave was thick, broken only by the sounds of shallow breathing and the pounding of hearts.

Most tried to hide in sleep. But sleep was not a safe place tonight.

Riley had fought hard against it, forcing his eyes open as long as he could, but exhaustion overwhelmed him. Now he lay awake, every sense straining in the blackness, his breath shaky and quick.

Then the voice came, not as echo or scream. It simply appeared in his mind, as a soft whisper. 

"Riley."

The voice was old but not cruel and accusing, always in a kind and knowing tone.

A shiver ran through Riley, as he squeezed his eyes shut and clung to his sheet. His fingers hurt from gripping so hard.

"You let it happen."

His throat tightened, and he pressed his hand over his mouth to keep any sound from escaping. Tears slipped down his face, warm and silent.

"You were aware it would conclude like this. You always knew. That's why you departed early."

The words enveloped him like a blanket drenched in icy water. He shook his head fiercely, silent sobs causing his chest to heave.

He longed to scream but found himself unable. The darkness devoured the cry before it could escape his lips. Tears welled, not loudly or in sobs but in silent streams running down his cheeks, he wiped them quickly, then again before just letting them fall.

His heart pounded, and his chest felt tight as if something had pressed its hand there, not to kill him, but to keep him still. A weight of guilt he had hidden under stories and smiles.

But here, in this moment, it welled up, uncontained and the voice had no need for argument.

It only required a whisper.

All throughout the graveyard, others felt the same.

…

Anna hugged her knees to her chest at the far edge of the group, pressed so tight against the stone wall that it hurt. She tried to keep her eyes open, but the dark was endless. The faint smell of burnt wood still lingered, a reminder of everything lost. She willed herself not to cry, not to give in to the memories that waited for her behind closed eyes.

A voice slips through the darkness, soft as embers shifting, yet heavy with accusation.

"You could have stopped the fire."

Anna's breath hitches, her muscles twitch beneath her pallid skin, and goosebumps ripple along her arms, each hair standing to attention. She leans into the stone, hoping its solidity will anchor her trembling heart.

"You stayed in the far house. The quiet and safe, far from the noise and danger."

The words echo in her chest like distant thunder. She presses her back harder against the wall, hoping the pain will distract her from the memory.

"You let it happen. After they rampaged through the village and fire burned it all. You watched it all and did nothing..."

A ragged exhale escapes her lips, swallowed by the night.

"Because that's all you do, nothing."

She remains still, shoulders slackening as if the weight of the accusation might finally crush her into silence.

…

Marek sat cross-legged by the last of the glowing embers, his head bowed so low his chin almost touched his chest. Since the fire went out, he hadn't looked up even once. Beside him, Riah and Elia pressed close, their thin arms thrown over their faces as if they could hide from the memories chasing them in the dark.

The silence was so deep it almost hummed, then, a low whisper appeared in Marek mind.

"The well… Do you remember well?"

Marek's leg jerked. He stared at his hands, fingers trembling as they tapped the cold stone in a nervous rhythm.

"It was my dress they found. You knew it. You knew before they pulled it from the water."

A shudder ran the length of his spine. He squeezed Riah and Elia tighter, wanting to be their anchor but his arms felt weak, his comfort thin as paper.

"You didn't call for help. You froze and let me go. Then you lied."

Marek's throat closed up. His jaw worked as if to answer, but nothing came. Only a strangled, broken gasp escaped him, a sound too small to matter in the thick, watching darkness. The voice faded, leaving Marek alone with the last faint crackles of the embers and the heavy, familiar weight of regret pressing down on him.

…

Not far away, one of the youngest adults Biban, sat near the ashes, legs crossed, his body hunched in tight. To anyone else, it might look like simple fidgeting, but his shoulders were stiff and his mouth was set in a hard line. A tiny quiver ran through his throat each time he swallowed.

A new voice slid into his mind, sharp and cold.

"You ran."

Biban's hand froze in mid-circle. The word scraped against his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"We needed you and you ran."

His eyelid twitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the darkness take over, trying to will himself still, as if not moving would make the voice stop.

"You were a good boy, once."

The words stung. He let his head drop forward, his hair falling like a curtain, hiding his eyes from the world. His finger started moving again, tracing guilt into the dust, round and round, as if it would never stop.

…

Venka sat off to the side, knees pulled up tight, her arms wrapped so hard around her legs that her knuckles shone white in the gloom. The cold stone wall pressed into her back, the chill sinking deep and the shadows felt thick with unfinished stories and quiet, unseen tears.

Venka had delivered half the children here. She knew the line between life and death better than most.

A woman's voice curled out of the darkness, soft as a sigh, but heavy as a stone.

"There was one more breath in her."

Venka's sandals crease against the dirt floor; her toes twitch as though trying to curl around something solid.

"She could've lived. You knew that. But you stopped."

Venka's eyes fluttered. She tried to blink the tears away, but they still came, running down her cheeks, hot and helpless.

"Me or my child. You chose. But you didn't wait long enough."

She pressed her arms tighter, digging her forearms into her shins, trying to crush the memory out of her mind.

"I wanted her to live."

Venka bit down hard on the sleeve of her tunic, threads frayed beneath her teeth. Her lips trembled, but she made no sound. Only silent, shaking breaths and the sting of old sorrow drifting through dome.

…

Trell, a mere eight years old, lay pretending to sleep, beside her mother's gently curled form. Silence had enveloped her for hours, yet her eyes remained wide open, darting restlessly in the darkness like fireflies trapped in a jar.

Suddenly, a voice bubbled up in her mind, too bright and familiar.

"Trell! Why are you in a cave? Did something cool happen?"

Trell flinched, her little body stiffening.

"I see everyone in town… A disaster happened, right? But where are you all?"

Tears threatened to rise, but she blinked them back, squeezing her eyes shut.

"This… Is this the Beast Graveyard! That's so unfair, I wished I was there too!"

Her lips quivered with the pressure of all her unsaid words. She pressed her face into her mother's side, trying to hide from the voice and the fear.

The voice didn't stop.

"Come on Trell! Tell me about it! Did you see the various types of bones? And were there beasts in there?"

Trell just clung tighter, letting the questions drift away unanswered in the dark.

…

At the far edge of the circle, Miren sat alone, his hand resting on a piece of stone carved with strange patterns. He traced one of the cracks with his thumb, slow and careful, as if it might break.

A voice came for him too, low and steady.

"It was your plan."

Miren flinched but didn't move away. His breath grew shallow, every inhale tight and thin.

"They built the homes where you told them."

He pressed his palm harder into the stone, as if it could ground him in this moment.

"And the quake buried them."

He closed his fingers around the stone, holding it like a charm, a promise, or a curse.

"You still dream of their screams."

He didn't answer. The silence swallowed him whole, leaving only the sound of his own heart and the pain he couldn't confess.