Sun Shadow

The chill of the river lingers long after we've left its banks. Our soaked cloaks cling to us, heavy and cold, offering little protection now. The sun hangs low in the sky, its light dimming and casting long shadows across the jagged terrain. Each step feels heavier, the exhaustion from the river and the chase weighing us down. The wind picks up, carrying with it a faint, mournful sound, as if the Mists themselves are alive and whispering warnings we can't quite hear.

"We need to find shelter," Blade says, her voice steady despite the weariness in her movements. She's scanning the horizon, her sharp eyes searching for anything that could serve as cover. "The sun's going down."

The words send a ripple of unease through the group. The sun has been our only protection against the watchers, its harsh light keeping them at bay. With every passing minute, the light fades, and the shadows grow longer. My scars throb faintly, a warning pulsing just beneath my skin. The thought of facing the night unprotected sends a chill deeper than the river's icy grasp ever could.

"There," Grey says, pointing to a crumbling structure in the distance. As we move closer, I see it's a half-destroyed shipping cargo container, its rusted walls leaning precariously to one side. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

"That'll have to do," Blade says, quickening her pace.

We reach the container just as the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon. The metal creaks ominously as we step inside, the space cramped but manageable. Hound and Tin shove some debris aside to clear a small area where we can sit. The container's walls, though rusted and thin, feel like a fragile shield against the encroaching darkness. The air inside is damp and carries the metallic tang of rust, but it's better than being exposed.

"It's not perfect," Hound mutters, glancing at the gaps in the metal where the wind whistles through, "but it'll do."

Sol settles near the back of the container, clutching his ever-present book tightly to his chest. His face is pale, his small frame trembling slightly from the cold. The rest of us huddle together, our cloaks doing little to stave off the creeping chill. The Mists seem to seep into the container, an unwelcome reminder of the dangers outside. The distant howls of the wind twist into almost-voices, faint whispers just on the edge of understanding.

I'm about to speak when I notice it—a faint, golden glow emanating from Sol. At first, it's barely noticeable, like the last embers of a dying fire. But within moments, the light grows stronger, radiating outward and bathing the container in a soft, warm glow.

"Sol?" I say, my voice tinged with both confusion and awe.

He looks up at me, his expression dazed. The glow intensifies, and with it comes heat—not the biting heat of the sun but a gentler warmth, like standing near a hearth on a cold night. The temperature in the container rises rapidly, and I instinctively move back, startled by the intensity.

"What… what is that?" I stammer, staring at Sol.

Blade watches him closely, her expression unreadable. "It's his mark," she says simply.

Sol looks down at his hands, which now glow faintly, the light pulsing in time with his breaths. "I don't know how I'm doing this," he murmurs, his voice shaky. "It just… happens."

The warmth spreads through the container, chasing away the chill and mist. I feel the tension in my muscles ease slightly, but the heat is intense—almost too much. It reminds me of the sun at its peak, bearing down relentlessly. My scars burn faintly, a dull ache that feels more like a warning than pain.

"It's enough," Grey says, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "It'll keep them away."

"The watchers," I say, the realization hitting me. The heat, the glow—it's like a miniature sun, a barrier against the creatures that lurk in the darkness.

Blade nods. "For now. But it won't last forever."

I glance at Sol, who looks both overwhelmed and determined. His glow pulses steadily, illuminating the container and casting long shadows on its rusted walls. The sound of the wind outside grows louder, its mournful howl sending shivers down my spine despite the heat. Every so often, it sounds like something more, as though the wind carries the faint echoes of guttural growls.

"We'll take turns keeping watch," Blade says, her tone firm. "The glow will protect us, but we can't rely on it alone."

The group nods in agreement, though exhaustion is etched on everyone's faces. We settle into uneasy positions, each of us finding a spot within the cramped container. The warmth from Sol is both a comfort and a reminder of how close we are to danger.

As the hours pass, the glow remains steady, its light a fragile shield against the encroaching night. Outside, the wind howls like a living thing, carrying with it faint whispers that make my skin crawl. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come easily. The memory of the watchers lingers, their distorted forms and guttural howls etched into my mind. The Mists feel alive, pressing against the thin walls of our shelter, testing the boundaries of our fragile safety.

Sol's glow flickers briefly, and my eyes snap open. He's still awake, his expression strained as he focuses on maintaining the light. I realize then how much effort this must take, how draining it must be. Yet he doesn't stop, his determination unwavering.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words barely audible over the sound of the wind.

He glances at me, offering a faint, tired smile. "We'll be okay," he says softly, though I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself.

The glow pulses again, stronger this time, and for a moment, the fear in my chest eases. The watchers are out there, somewhere in the darkness, but for now, the light holds them at bay. For now, we are safe.

The whispers outside grow louder, and I'm reminded that safety in this world is always temporary.