The tarp flapped quietly in the night wind, stretched between two stone columns — what might have once been a temple, now just ruins. The slaves lay huddled under it like animals — dirty, tired, broken.
Alex wasn't asleep.
His eyes moved slowly across the camp until they stopped at the wall. A rough stone barrier made of old grey blocks stood about chest-high — the rest was buried under the sand. Dust from centuries filled the cracks. The torchlight barely reached the surface, casting strange shadows. The wall felt like it was hiding something. Symbols were carved into it.
They looked like old signs, deep in the stone. Alex didn't know what they meant. He couldn't tell if they were letters, or something else.
The camp was simple. Guards sat by two fires. Slaves lay on thin blankets near the wall. Their side was lit by four torches stuck in the sand. One side had the wall. The other — tall, broken stones like fallen pillars.
Alex sat near the wall, his arms around his knees. The cold night air cut through his clothes. But it wasn't the cold that made him shiver. It was fear.
He waited. Maybe a guard would fall asleep. Maybe there would be a gap. A chance to run.
But something felt wrong.
The darkness beyond the torches looked too deep. He stared into it. No sound. No movement. Just black.
And something else. No guards stood at the edge. No one kept watch. All day they watched the slaves without rest. Now? Like they didn't care.
It didn't feel right. You don't leave slaves alone unless there's a reason.
Alex stood up slowly. He took a few quiet steps toward the wall.
Then — footsteps.
"Get back, idiot," a guard growled, stepping from the shadows behind him. He grabbed Alex's shoulder and yanked him down hard. Alex hit the ground.
"One more step and you're dead. Nothing will be left."
Alex wanted to speak, but another voice cut through. Low, calm, firm.
"Don't go past the wall at night. Never."
It was an old slave. He lay near one of the columns, wrapped in dirty rags. His hand was no longer a hand. Burned. Scarred. Black. Like something had eaten it from inside. His eyes were cloudy. Almost blind. He looked at Alex without fear.
"They're beyond the wall," he said. "Always there. Always waiting."
Alex felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"The smaller ones... they're always here," the old man said quietly. "They hide in the shadows. You don't hear them. Don't see them. Not until it's too late."
"The big ones are worse. You feel them before you see them. Their steps shake the ground. And the sounds they make... the screams..."
He stared at the wall and whispered:
"They rip people apart. They hunt humans. Sometimes animals. If nothing else is around."
"And if you see one up close... that means you're already dead."
"What are they?" Alex asked, almost whispering.
The old man shook his head.
"They're not beasts. Not people. They don't come from this world. They're a curse. Sent to punish us. Death that walks at night."
"You can't kill them. No weapon works. Only magic barriers keep them away."
"But the wall..."
"The wall protects only if the runes are whole," the man said. "But stone cracks. Always. Sooner or later, every wall fails. And then—they come."
One of the torches went out.
Nobody knew why. Maybe the wind. Maybe not. But the flame died. One corner of the camp fell into darkness.
Alex turned and saw a boy. Young. Maybe fifteen. Eyes wide. Face tense. He saw a chance. He crawled toward the shadows along the wall.
"What's he doing…?" someone whispered. No one moved.
The boy crossed the edge of the wall and vanished into the dark.
Then the shadow moved.
It wasn't cast by fire. It was alive. It twisted. It had legs. Arms.
A short scream.
Then — CRACK.Like wood breaking under pressure.
A longer scream. Sharp. Terrible.
Blood sprayed on the sand. It hit one of the nearby slaves. Alex froze. Something grabbed the boy and dragged him into the dark. It lasted only seconds.
One of the guards lit the torch again. The shadows moved back.
The boy's body lay just outside the camp — torn apart. Blood everywhere. His insides were spilled across the sand. His face locked in fear.
Parts of him had landed on nearby slaves. They didn't move. Their eyes were wide. No more tiredness — only horror.
The guards ran, but too late. They stopped at the end of the wall — where the runes ended.
The creature was gone.
Only the body remained. And silence.
Alex didn't move.
His heart pounded. He didn't know what to think.
Lyra was awake.
She sat up. Stared at the dark. Shook her head.
"Fool," she muttered, and lay back down.
"That was one of them," the old man whispered. "Just one. They're always there. In the dark. Even when you don't see them — they are. Watching. Waiting for a mistake."
He went silent.
The wind moved the sand. The camp was quiet again.
Alex went back to his place. He wrapped his arms around himself.
He wasn't cold. But his whole body shook.
/
/
/
Dawn came in silence.
The sky turned gold. Red and orange stretched across the horizon. The torches were out. Just smoke and black wood left.The caravan started packing like nothing had happened. No one spoke about the night.
An hour later — the crack of a whip. A sharp whistle.
And they marched.
Alex walked in a daze, eyes on the sand. Every step was heavy.The image of the boy's body wouldn't leave his mind.