The night had deepened, with only the crackling fire standing against the oppressive darkness. The crew's exhaustion from days at sea and the recent battle weighed heavy on their limbs, lulling most of them into a fragile sleep. A few stayed on watch, their eyes darting between the fire's dancing shadows and the blackened treeline beyond. Vivi stood near the edge of the camp, her back to the fire, her instincts on high alert despite her weariness.
Clover, now fully back in her human form but still feeling the remnants of her transformation, crouched low near the fire, the gleam of her sharpened claws catching the light. The sound of the stone scraping against her claws was a quiet but constant rhythm, the only thing keeping her grounded amidst the creeping unease. She glanced at Vivi, who hadn't spoken for some time, her face half-hidden in the flickering light.
"You sense it too, don't you?" Clover muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vivi didn't turn, but her grip tightened on the hilt of her normal sword by her side, the faint metallic groan audible in the stillness. "Something's off," she replied, her eyes scanning the horizon, tracing every shadow that seemed to shift just beyond her line of sight. "I don't like this place. It's too quiet. Too... deliberate."
Clover nodded in agreement. "It's like the island's waiting for something."
Unbeknownst to them, the worshippers had drawn closer. They were now just beyond the ring of firelight, crouched low in the thick underbrush, their crimson robes blending seamlessly with the darkness. The leader, a tall, gaunt figure with cold eyes and pale skin, signalled for silence. They were waiting for the perfect moment to strike—when the camp was lulled into the deepest sense of false security.
The crew had settled, most of them resting in their makeshift tents. Mason had finally dozed off after hours of staring blankly into the fire, his thoughts consumed by the weight of Alec's capture. Herald, ever vigilant, leaned against a nearby tree, his eyes drooping as sleep threatened to overtake him. He wanted to stay awake—he had to—but the exhaustion of days without proper rest finally caught up with him.
As the minutes stretched into hours, the fire began to die down, its flames reduced to glowing embers. The smoke still rose, a thin wisp of grey curling into the sky, but it no longer held the bright beacon it had earlier. It was now that the worshippers moved.
Silently, like shadows slipping through the dark, the red-robed figures began to creep forward. Their footsteps were nearly inaudible, muffled by years of practice in hunting those who wandered onto their island. Their leader was at the forefront, their eyes fixed on the camp with a chilling intensity. Their knives were drawn, each blade dull and jagged, meant more for tearing than for clean kills.
As they moved closer, Clover's ears twitched. Her head jerked up, and she sniffed the air, her senses suddenly on edge. She could hear something now—a rustle that didn't belong, a heartbeat out of sync with the camp's usual rhythms. She turned toward the trees, her gaze narrowing.
"Vivi," Clover whispered, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. Vivi stiffened, her grip on her weapon tightening, but she didn't respond. She had sensed it too—a presence, multiple, encroaching on them from all sides.
The attack happened in an instant.
With a shrill, unearthly cry, the worshippers surged from the treeline, their robes billowing like blood in the wind. They moved with alarming speed, knives glinting in the faint light as they rushed toward the crew. The first few made it past the outer guards before a shout of alarm rang out, waking the camp in a frenzy of confusion and fear.
Clover leaped into action, her claws extended as she sprang toward the nearest attacker, slashing at the robed figure with a feral snarl. The figure crumpled to the ground, but more came, swarming from the trees like insects.
