Jean lay on his back behind the food hall, the tall grass swaying in the artificial breeze of their fake sky dome. Even in this calming environment, the weight pressing down on his chest didn't go away. His fingers twisted nervously, coiling the grass around them as he gazed up at the illusion of a blue sky—an unchanging ceiling with no clouds, no sun. Always the same. No weather. Like a prison.
His fight with Erik kept replaying in his head, over and over. It felt endless—seventeen people had died. And no matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't stop thinking that maybe he could have done something. Every word Erik had said stuck with him. Even his gaze lingered in Jean's mind.
But that wasn't what kept him hiding.
It was the guilt.
Three groups.
Seventeen people.
Three groups. Seventeen people. Three groups. Seventeen. He repeated these three thoughts as if they where a lifeline, like they where helping him cope. He needed to cope with the death of seventeen people somehow.
Some of them were just kids. One girl had just turned seventeen. She'd barely spoken to anyone before she died. He didn't even have the chance to learn her name, he never got to interact with her.
One mission. One job. Be the scout.
All he had to do was minimize deaths.
And he'd failed.
He had no way of knowing that monsters waited beyond the black door. It hadn't been a room or a trial. It was a dungeon—a compact, hellish world filled with creatures that could kill within seconds. But even if he hadn't known, the ignorance didn't make the guilt any lighter.
He clenched his fists and pressed them against his forehead.
"Could I have actually done something?" he muttered. "Fuck… I should've tried. Warned them. Some way, somehow."
Faint voices in the distance pulled him back to the present. He slowly pushed himself up, brushing the grass from his shirt as he sat there.
He knew he couldn't hide forever. Not while Erik was out there—angry, alone, maybe even terrified.
Jean stood, exhaled, and began to walk.
He eventually passed his small shack. Callum, Ronan, Lydia, Elise—they all sat outside. They were his people now. A strange yet stitched-together family born from hardships and loss. As he walked past them, Elise looked up from where she sat. Her eyes softened at him.
"Jean," she said, jumping to her feet. "Hey, don't listen to what Erik sa—"
He pushed past her without a word, pretending not to hear.
She reached to grab his arm. "Please, don't go to him yet. He isn't ready to talk."
Jean shook her off. "None of us were ready for any of this. Neither am I."
He began to speed-walk.
Group One's shack—Erik's shack—was planted by the edge of the field, far away from the other groups' shack. Everyone was gone, except for Erik. He was alone.
Jean found him sitting outside, sharpening a wooden spear by the side of his shack. He didn't even care to look up.
"Are you lost or something?" Erik said, almost trying to deepen his voice.
Jean stood there, pitying him. "Hey, come on, I came here to talk."
Erik stopped for a moment, then resumed sharpening his wooden spear. "I don't care about what you have to say."
"Listen, I know you're angry."
"Angry?" Erik laughed, looking up. "That's not the word."
Jean stepped forward and knelt down. "I never wanted anyone to die."
"But they did. It was your ignorance that caused their deaths!" he yelled.
"I know, and I have to live with it every second. Don't think I don't."
Erik was done with Jean. He glared up at Jean—his eyes looked more tired than furious. "I'm leaving in an hour. Don't talk to me."
Jean stared. "Alone?"
Erik didn't respond, and just glared.
"You can't. You're going to get yourself killed."
Erik jumped up, visibly disturbed. "You say that now."
"Look, I messed up. But you can't just say it was my fault. The goblins—I thought it would just be traps. We'd never faced monsters, ever."
"And now you know what happens to ignorant people. But I had to pay the price."
Jean swallowed. "We all lost someone."
"No," Erik said sharply. "You have your people. Mine are dead. I might've met them a week ago, but they were the closest I had to friends here."
Jean inched closer. "You can stop anytime you want. We can survive this—together."
"Don't you get it? There is no making it out. There's only forward. You told me that."
Jean questioned, "What?"
"Back when we met, remember? You said, if we don't move forward, we die. So I'm moving."
"But not alone. You're going to get yourself killed!" Jean snapped.
"Why not? Everyone ends up alone," Erik said.
The words felt like a punch to Jean.
Jean had to think about his words for a moment. "You don't have to be like this."
Erik stared at him. He looked as his expression cracked for a second—not anger. All he felt was grief.
He then turned away and glanced back for a moment. "Tell the others... I'm sorry I couldn't stay."
Jean stood there, helpless. He felt as if he couldn't do anything. He just stared as Erik walked off into the distance.
As Erik walked toward the black door, Jean followed from a distance—not to try and stop him, but to see him off.
The rest of the group watched, understanding what was happening. They stood there waiting near the edge of the field. None of them had a close connection with Erik, but they couldn't help but feel bad for him. All he felt was grief and loneliness. His back felt dark, yet so sad.
Erik stopped before the door.
He didn't turn around. Didn't say anything.
He just stepped forward, placing his hand on the door's cold black surface—and walked through.
The door remained open as they watched him get further and further into a desert landscape.
He was gone.
Jean stood there while the others watched from afar.
"He really left, huh," Callum mumbled.
"We let him go," Elise said to herself.
Lydia crossed her arms. "He's probably dead already." She muttered, trying not to meet anyone's eyes.
Ronan didn't understand what was going on, as he was still half-asleep. "Huh? What's wrong? Oh, Erik left. Well, what are we gonna do?"
Jean said, "I don't know. What are we going to do?"
"We have got to prepare right now," Lydia said after long thought.
Jean stared at the black door.
Elise grabbed Jean's hand. "You think he'll wait for us?"
"I think," he said quietly, almost as if he was grieving, "he's not expecting anyone to follow."
That night, Jean sat alone in the cold, wet grass. The artificial wind had become stronger, carrying a scent of rain, but he didn't move. He felt the chill that had settled deep in his chest.
He stared at the dark sky, void of any stars. Erik's voice echoed in his mind, refusing to go away in his mind.
"If we don't move, we die."
Jean gritted his jaw. All he thought was if Erik was right all along. Maybe. Maybe not. Jean couldn't think straight anymore. He was uncertain of everything, but there was one thing he did know.
He couldn't stay here.
Not now. Not while Erik was out there fighting alone. He wasn't sure if he was chasing the hope of escaping or the fear of death, but either way, he knew what path to take.
Tomorrow, he would leave.
He would try to follow the same trail Erik took; hopefully, it would lead to safety. He wouldn't do it just to find him, but to hope he can find safety. Whatever truth lay ahead, he would press forward.
Maybe in the future, they could meet again. And if fate allowed, they could find the truth of this all together.
If not… then Jean would face it alone.
Or die trying.