Chapter Text
༺Chapter 15༻
“...Whatcha drawing?”
Dwight's scribbling pen skidded to a halt as the survivor across the crackling campfire interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up, meeting the woman's gaze. She sat with an air of curiosity, arms crossed and relaxed over her knees, a faint flicker of firelight dancing across her features. They hadn’t talked much, only enough for him to know her name and that she had survived three trials compared to his four. After the brief introduction, they had reserved themselves to silence on opposite sides of the campfire, both too awkward to engage with each other any further as they waited for more survivors to arrive.
He shifted uneasily, unused to the intrusion into his solitary musings. With a self-conscious tug at his glasses, Dwight mustered a small smile, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.
"Oh, uh... just some notes," he stammered, raising his worn leather notebook for her to see with a meek wave. "Found this in a trial... a police station, I think. I usually jot down some things when I have the time."
Claudette's eyes sparkled with interest. "Notes about the trials?" she inquired, leaning forward slightly, her words carrying the soft lilt of curiosity.
Dwight nodded. "You, uh... you've heard about what happens if you... if you don't make it, right?"
Her friendly demeanor faltered, her smile tightening into a knowing grimace. "Yeah…" she murmured, her nod carrying the weight of shared experience. "It's still hard to wrap my mind around."
A somber silence descended between them, the unspoken specter of mortality lingering in the air. Dwight's heart picked up its pace a bit, fearing he had overstepped by bringing up such a grim topic. Yet, to his relief, the silence was fleeting, broken by Claudette's newfound inquisitiveness.
"Are you trying to keep a record so you don't forget?" she ventured, her gaze gentle yet probing.
Admittedly, Dwight was no expert on the inner workings of the enigmatic realm he had stumbled into that fateful day, so he offered a hesitant shrug of his shoulders.
"Sort of," he admitted, voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't know if it will prevent me from forgetting, but maybe it could be helpful to others if I can pass on what I've learned. Mostly, it's, uh... just a way to pass the time."
Claudette's eyes brightened with interest, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I used to keep a journal," she shared, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "When I was younger, I'd go out searching for bugs, sketching any that I found. Then I'd come home and go over my books, trying to identify the ones I discovered. I kept at it until my parents got me a camera."
“Oh. That’s… Really cool,” Dwight said, mustering a genuine tone. He didn’t particularly care for bugs, in fact he had a terrible fear of finding any sort of creepy crawling thing on him. But he could appreciate a hobby, no matter what the passion was. “Do you have a favorite?”
The question sparked an immediate shift in her demeanor, and she sat up taller, arms unfolding to plant on the log on either side of her as she leaned forward eagerly. "Do you want the socially acceptable answer, or the real one?"
"I'll take the truth," Dwight chuckled nervously.
"Jumping spiders and praying mantises," she declared, her eyes alight with undeniable enthusiasm.
Dwight struggled to suppress a grimace. Praying mantises, in particular, were a common insect where he had grown up, and had frightened him as a child, with their eerie alien-like faces and gruesome reputation for cannibalism.
“Those are uh… interesting choices.”
Claudette's chuckle filled the air, a light-hearted melody amidst the crackle of the fire. "Don't tempt me, I could go on for hours," she declared, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
Eventually, her gaze drifted back to the book cradled in Dwight's hands, and he braced himself for the inevitable question before she even uttered a word. With a subtle nod of her head, she voiced her request.
"Would it be okay if I looked at what you have so far? Maybe I could help out with it."
It felt impolite to refuse, so Dwight found himself nodding, albeit with a hint of reluctance. "Sure, I don't mind."
Claudette rose from her seat, crossing the distance to join him on the opposite side of the campfire. With a fluid movement, she stepped one leg over the rugged log, settling herself beside him and facing him. Dwight handed her the slim notebook, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him as she accepted it with an appreciative smile.
The notebook worked wonders in greasing the wheels of conversation, and before long, they were chatting away, flipping through pages and discussing everything they’d learned of killers, items, offerings, and the trial grounds themselves. She proposed the idea of keeping track of survivors in a separate section, one he hadn't considered before, and Dwight even added a few new notes courtesy of Claudette's own experiences. When she asked for a pen to make her own additions, he promptly retrieved one of the blue pens from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
“This is such a brilliant idea,” Claudette praised, her enthusiasm palpable as she hunched over, scribbling something into the back of the notebook. Dwight felt a small blush of embarrassment at her compliment, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck when the familiar urge to downplay his efforts arose. “Imagine if everyone did this! Survivors could pass them around, and everyone could add to them. Why hasn't anyone else thought of this?”
Dwight hesitated, not wanting to burst her bubble. In his mind, there was likely a reason information mostly circulated through word of mouth, though he couldn't quite articulate it. Regardless, he was still willing to give record-keeping a try.
"Guess people are too focused on trying to survive," Dwight mused, his gaze fixed on Claudette's focused demeanor as her pen scratched at the very last page in the notebook. "I just hope it pays off someday."
Before he could catch a glimpse of what she'd added to the back of his book, Claudette suddenly snapped it closed, a pleased smile gracing her lips as she offered it back to him.
"I'm sure it will," she replied kindly, her dark brown eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the campfire as she met his gaze with a friendly smile. "I know there are no guarantees or anything, but… What do you think about trying to stick together? I get the feeling you’re good at teamwork."
Dwight returned her smile, nodding.
"I think that would be great."
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As Dwight emerged from his slumber, he was greeted by a serene ambiance. The gentle crackle of the campfire called out to him, promising safety in the midst of the wilderness. The remnants of a dream slipped away, leaving behind fragmented images. A kind smile, the sound of a pen scribbling in the back of his notebook—lingering briefly before dissipating into the recesses of his mind.
With a few blinks, Dwight lifted his head from the back of the log and sat up a bit straighter from his slouch, his hands moving to rub away the lingering sleep from his eyes beneath his glasses. Breathing a tired sigh, he readjusted his spectacles, and as his focus sharpened forward, a voice directly in front of him abruptly pierced the tranquility.
"Boo."
Instantly, Dwight recoiled, his heart racing as he scrambled backward. He came to a freeze then, seeing a young woman with pale hair crouched before him, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin propped up by her hands, gaze fixed intently on his face. He couldn't discern how long she had been staring; it could have easily been a while. Unfazed by his sudden movement, she let a small smirk play at the corner of her mouth.
“Hey Dwight,” she greeted him with a wry lilt, seeming partly amused by his fear.
Dwight's eyes flickered down over her form, taking in the cascade of silver hair streaked with vibrant pink tips. A delicate choker adorned with a small heart hugged her neck, contrasting with her otherwise edgy appearance. The intricate lace of her top was accompanied by a rugged, chain-linked belt hanging loosely around her waist. As Dwight slowly settled back down against the log he’d nearly climbed over in his panic, he couldn't shake the wariness etched into his features as he spoke.
"Um… Hello?” With a blinking pause he watched her as she studied him with an arched brow now. “Sorry, but... who are you?"
The survivor's smirk faltered into something less pleased, a shadow of disappointment crossing her features.
"Ah," her hands fell from beneath her chin, landing with a soft smack on her pale knees as she rose from her casual crouch. "Guess that tracks."
Dwight observed her movements as she sidestepped, settling effortlessly onto the log up beside him, her black skirt whispering against the rough bark. Unsure of how to respond to her cryptic remark, he glanced to his left, finding David still seated on the ground beside him, sound asleep against the log with his arms crossed and head bowed. Keeping his voice low, Dwight turned to look back at the woman.
Encounters with survivors who recognized him weren't uncommon, serving as constant reminders of lives once lived, now erased. Yet, it always felt unsettling.
“You know me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He watched as she took a moment to study her chipped, black-painted nails.
“Know? Nah. But we’ve crossed paths, if that's what you mean.”
Dwight emitted a small, “Oh,” and the survivor elegantly crossed one leg over the other, propping an elbow onto her higher knee, resting her cheek in her hand as she turned to gaze down at him, her demeanor almost bored.
“So. How many trials has it been for you then?” she asked casually. “You follow through with that notebook idea?”
Dwight hesitated for a moment, his mind racing, before he became aware of the jacket still draped around his shoulders. As he shifted, he carefully rose to his feet, making sure not to disturb the sleeping man beside him. He gently placed the jacket over the log, and when he met the new survivor's gaze again, a small frown creased his brow.
“It’s been…” Dwight trailed off, admittedly unsure at this point. He’d stopped counting around ten or so, and he wasn’t about to start again. It simply seemed like bad luck at this point. His hand slipped into his pants pocket and closed around his notebook. “I’m not sure. A lot... But uh, how do you know about this?”
The woman's eyes flickered between him and the notebook he held up, before she twisted to reach into a pocket in her skirt, producing a small, square yellow notebook with a smirk. A furrow formed on Dwight's brow as he eyed the object, and she gave it a small wave, wearing an impish smile.
“Trade ya.”
The exchange left Dwight feeling perplexed, but he sensed that the woman enjoyed the confusion. It seemed the only way to get answers would be to play along. Taking a step forward, he offered his own notebook with a small nod. They swapped books, and Dwight's eyes moved suspiciously between her and the unfamiliar object now in his hand before he flipped it open to the first page.
“Neat,” she remarked before he had the chance to focus on the scribbles of the first paper. “Considering this is like your what, third attempt? I stopped keeping track too.”
Her casual remark immediately snapped his gaze towards her again, and his mouth opened, words taking a moment to come out, “What…? What do you mean?” She only raised a brow, and slowly, her meaning dawned on him. “You can't be serious.”
“Yeah?” she challenged. “Where do you think I got that?”
Dwight stared in shock at the woman for a moment, then his eyes snapped back down at the book in his hand, studying the notes a little closer through squinted eyes. The undeniable image of his own handwriting made itself clear now, and with an almost frantic edge, he flipped to the next page, seeing a sketch of a ghost-masked killer in what was certainly his art style, a scribbled note beside it reading, “Obsession?”
Still unwilling to believe it, he swiped the pages again and again, seeing more notes and drawings, some of which he had already recorded in his own notebook. Slowly, the book lowered, and he looked back at her with a baffled expression, seeing she was now flipping casually through the drawings in her lap, and she gave a small hum of approval.
“Not bad… I told you before that it won't work though. When you come back, it's only with what you entered the fog with. You’ll leave this one behind too, eventually.”
Dwight's mouth formed a small frown, and his voice emerged quiet and dismal, as if he already knew the answer to his question.
“How can you be sure?”
She looked up at him, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head toward his hands. “Well, I have that don’t I? Tell you what, since you seem suspicious, feel free to flip to page forty. About halfway through.”
After a brief hesitation, Dwight obeyed, and the pages cascaded until he reached the one in question. At the top of the page, written in large ink, was the word SURVIVORS, and beneath it was a drawing of an unfamiliar person, the name Quentin Smith beside it, accompanied by a few meager notes. Casting her an odd look, he turned the next page, encountering another survivor, one he also didn't recognize. As he continued to explore, he came to a halt when a familiar face met his eyes, the same survivor sitting in front of him now, and he curiously read the notes scrawled beside her face.
Sable Ward
Invocation: (Magic?)
Memory anchors
Looking for Mikaela Reid
“You’re just like Mikaela…” he murmured, rereading the words carefully before looking up at her. “You can practice magic too?”
“Not quite like Mikaela, more like—” she straightened up, seeming more invested suddenly. “Wait, you’ve seen her?”
Dwight nodded, lowering the book in his hands. “I met her a few trials back. A friend of mine—'
Dwight's chest squeezed unexpectedly at the sudden remembrance of Claudette, but he swallowed down the feeling, clearing his throat.
“Er… She told me she met you too. That you were looking for her.”
Sable gave a slow nod, letting out a quiet sigh as she settled her chin in her hand once more. “Yup. That’s me. Too many deaths to count and I still haven't found her.”
Confusion furrowed Dwight's brow as he observed her, a silent inquiry etched on his features. "You don’t seem like most survivors I’ve met," he remarked.
Her eyes, previously wandering aimlessly, flicked back to him, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "You said the same thing last time."
There were still a multitude of questions floating around in Dwight's mind, and he gave the notebook in his hand a small wave, tapping it against his opposite palm. “So… If this was mine, uh, before I… you know. How exactly did it wind up with you?”
"Well, obviously I murdered you for it.”
Dwight blinked, a hint of unease flickering across his expression, causing her to laugh.
"I’m joking. Obviously a killer got you. You dropped it right before you died on a hook, and I managed to make a grab for it before the trial ended. Figured it’d be good to hang onto, what with all the information in it."
"Oh," was all he could muster in response.
Dwight was well aware that he’d likely died many times by now. Still, hearing it never exactly felt the best, if only making him feel more certain his time would come again any trial now. Through teamwork, Claudette had survived at least twelve with him after all, probably more after they had been separated, yet she had still fallen victim despite his best efforts. Not to mention he’d had more than enough close calls over the last few trials.
"Well…" Dwight hesitated, glancing down at the book in his hands. "At least this managed to survive."
The girl offered a small shrug, her tone apologetic. "Sorry buddy. I know it must not be easy getting wiped. It’s certainly not easy for me, having the same conversation with you over and over."
Her words struck a chord with Dwight, stirring a sense of curiosity within him, and he gave her page a brief once over again before meeting her eye.
"...What are memory anchors?"
A knowing grin graced her lips. "You’re still quick, I’ll give you that." A pale hand rose to the heart-shaped necklace she wore, delicate fingers tracing its contours. “Memories in this place are more fluid, easily manipulated. They can’t be erased, not for good anyways, only repressed. Sacrifice is like any other ritual here, and it comes with its own manifestations. Memory suppression is one of them.”
Dwight stared at her, his mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words. “...But not you.”
She nodded, her hand dropping from the necklace. “I don’t know how long it’ll last, but as long as I can still draw on the Entity and keep this safe, I can remember.”
That word again, one Dwight seldom heard from survivors. A name only whispered in hushed tones accompanied by tentative glances. Not many pondered the eerie presence that sent shivers down their spines during trials. He was beginning to realize this particular survivor harbored a unique fascination with the arcane aspects of the realms, something he hadn't had much opportunity to question too much due to his lack of knowledge and time.
Surviving was challenging enough without feeling utterly out of his depth in the face of apparent malevolent gods that dictated their very existence. Still, curiosity tugged at him.
“How do you just... know all of this?”
“Experience,” she answered. “And knowledge. I studied the occult extensively back in my original world. Not just understanding how they work, but also how to summon deities and commune with supernatural entities. Pretty handy in a world literally governed by a sinister god, wouldn't you agree?”
“I…I don't know,” Dwight said, his voice laced with uncertainty as he numbly moved to sit beside her. His gaze remained fixed on the flickering campfire with a small frown now. “This is all a little beyond my understanding, I think.”
The girl chuckled softly, and he felt a gentle nudge of her elbow against his arm.
“Believe it or not, it had less to do with knowing and more to do with feeling… No worries though,” she replied, her tone lighter now. “Soon enough, you’ll be brutally killed and forget me all over again. No use worrying about it all. Like I said before, if and when I find a way out, I’ll let you know. No point in suffering over it.”
Dwight froze, disbelief evident in his expression as he turned to look at her. “You mean… out, out?”
The survivor’s eyes only flickered to him before she turned her attention back to the campfire, her demeanor shifting subtly, becoming quieter, less friendly.
“Ask me again once I find Mikaela.”
He could practically see the wall go up, and Dwight got the sense there wasn't more she wanted to say on the matter, so he didn't press further.
“...Here,” he murmured, handing the book in his hand back to her. “You can uh… Keep this I guess. It doesn't really feel like mine.”
Exchanging the books again, Dwight flipped open his own, grappling with the urge to record the new survivor in it. It seemed futile suddenly, given he’d apparently already done so before. Instead, his thumb let the first few pages slip, and then the rest fanned by, until the entire booklet passed his finger, revealing the last page.
On the bottom right corner was a crude drawing of a praying mantis in blue ink, and beneath it a small scribbled message.
Don’t forget me! —Claudette
A sudden thought struck him, prompting him to glance back at the survivor beside him, his gaze drawn to the delicate necklace adorning her neck.
"...Have you ever tried making one of those memory anchors for someone else?"
The woman's response was almost incredulous when she turned to eye him, her expression shifting to one of amusement as she regarded him with a raised brow and a mischievous smirk, a glint of playful mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Why Dwight, are you suggesting you're ready to dabble with ancient and malevolent forces?" Her words carried a teasing edge, sending a ripple of nervous energy through him and causing him to swallow nervously. "The last time we talked, you wouldn't even set foot near the basement."
While this specific memory eluded him, he found the notion entirely believable. The basement was his personal nemesis in almost every trial, avoided like the plague. Just the mere thought of those dim, musty depths was enough to set his nerves ablaze, and having to venture there only ever sent a wildfire of fear raging within him.
And it wasn't just his average everyday nerves. No, he knew those too well. There was something else, something palpable in the air down in those depths, a prickling sensation at the edge of ones consciousness, akin to a large fanged spider poised in its web in the darkest corner, vigilant and waiting for the faintest tremor. It wasn't merely ordinary fear; there was an unsettling presence that saturated the space, something so malevolent that could drive even the staunchest skeptic to flee for their life.
“The uh… The basement?” He nearly squeaked, nerves constricting his tongue.
"Yup," she affirmed, the word popping casually as if they were discussing a leisurely stroll along the beach rather than a descent into an evil abyss of despair. “I do all of my incantations there, when I can. It’s where the connection is the strongest. There are other places, occasionally. Random areas throughout the trials where the veil is weaker, but they're less reliable and more volatile," her smile became somewhat smug. "Less cozy too."
At her explanation, Dwight felt even more out of his depth. Connections, incantations, veils, these were concepts that were foreign to him. Yet, his initial question remained unanswered.
"But if I were to accompany you to, uh... one of these basements..." He despised the notion, loathed even entertaining it, but he pressed on. "Could you create another one?"
For a prolonged moment, Sable observed him, a vague curiosity flickering in her eyes as they met his gaze. When she finally spoke, it was accompanied by a small shrug. "I've never tried to create one for someone else. I can't guarantee it'll have the same effect on you. I have a… special connection with this place."
Dwight nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. "But you'll give it a shot?"
Once again, Sable's gaze lingered on him, a quizzical expression dancing across her features as she raised an eyebrow.
"You're different this time."
"...Different?" Dwight echoed, unsure how to respond.
Sable simply nodded.
“You got something you don't want to forget this time around?”
Dwight's mind's eye drifted to David's slumbering form on his left, the soft sound of his snores filling the air as he leaned back against the log. Nervously, Dwight's hand rose to rub the back of his neck, his gaze avoiding Sable's curious stare, a subconscious fear gnawing at him that she might somehow read his thoughts. After all he had learned, he wouldn't put it past her.
"Yeah," he murmured softly, offering a weak shrug. "Um... Something along those lines."