Sun Shadow

The sharp nudge of Tin's hand on my shoulder jolts me awake. My body protests as I sit up, the ache of exhaustion settling deep in my muscles. The heat from Sol's glow still radiates through the container, though it feels less intense now, more like the memory of warmth than the real thing.

"Your turn," Tin says quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. His face is pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He gestures toward the small gap in the container wall where the night presses in like a living thing. "Keep an eye out. And listen."

I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as Tin retreats to a corner of the container, curling up beneath his damp cloak. The others are huddled close together, their breathing slow and even. All except Sol.

He's sitting against the far wall, the glow emanating from him pulsing faintly. His face is frozen in an expression somewhere between exhaustion and pain, his features tight and strained. Beads of sweat glisten on his brow despite the cool night air creeping through the gaps in the container.

"Sol?" I whisper, but he doesn't respond. His eyes are unfocused, staring at something only he can see. The light around him flickers slightly, casting strange, shifting shadows on the rusted walls. I want to ask him if he's okay, but something about his expression stops me. Instead, I turn my attention to the night beyond the container.

The red eyes come first.

At the edge of my vision, just beyond the reach of Sol's glow, they glint like distant embers. They're scattered, moving slowly but deliberately, always circling, never coming closer. I blink, and for a moment, I think they're gone, but then they reappear, sharper this time, their movements more deliberate. My scars throb faintly, and I can't shake the feeling that the watchers are testing us, waiting for something.

The sounds come next.

Scratches, faint but unmistakable, scrape against the outer walls of the container. They're sporadic at first, almost like the creaking of the metal in the wind, but they grow more deliberate, more insistent. I hear a low cackle, a sound that doesn't belong to the wind or any living thing I've known. It's high and sharp, cutting through the stillness like shards of glass. It's followed by another, then another, until the night outside feels alive with their noise.

I grip the knife at my side, my knuckles turning white as I fight the urge to wake the others. Blade had said the glow would protect us, but sitting here, staring into the darkness, I can't help but wonder how long it will hold. The watchers are patient. They have all the time in the world, and we don't.

The scratches grow louder, and the red eyes come closer, still just out of reach but no longer circling. They're watching me. I can feel their gaze, cold and unrelenting, burrowing into my skin like the chill of the Mists. My breath quickens, each exhale visible in the faint warmth of Sol's light.

"Not fast enough, meat."

The words ring in my ears, unbidden and unwelcome, a memory that refuses to fade. I shake my head, trying to focus, but the whispers outside grow louder, echoing the same phrase in a voice that sounds almost human but isn't.

"Not fast enough."

The shadows on the walls shift and dance as Sol's glow flickers again. I glance at him and see his hands trembling, his face pale and drawn. He's struggling, I realize, the effort of maintaining the light wearing him down. The realization sends a jolt of fear through me. If the glow fades, the watchers will come. And we won't be ready.

A louder scratch reverberates through the container, and I whip my head toward the sound. One of the gaps in the wall is darker than it should be, the faint outline of something shifting just beyond it. My grip on the knife tightens as I rise to my feet, every muscle in my body tensed. The red eyes vanish, replaced by the glint of something wet and sharp. Teeth.

"Stay back," I whisper, though the words feel hollow. The thing outside doesn't move, its outline blending with the darkness. But the scratching stops, replaced by a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the metal walls. My scars burn now, the word "RUN" screaming in my mind, but there's nowhere to go.

The growl fades, and for a moment, the only sound is the ragged beat of my heart. Then, as if responding to an unspoken signal, the red eyes reappear, more of them now, clustered around the container like embers in a dying fire. The whispers return, louder, more insistent, their voices merging into a chaotic symphony of cackles and growls.

I take a step back, my gaze darting to the others. They're still asleep, their faces calm and unaware. All except Sol. His eyes meet mine, wide and filled with pain, and for a moment, the glow around him flares so brightly that I have to shield my face. The watchers retreat slightly, their eyes blinking out like extinguished flames, but I know they haven't gone far.

"Hold on," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm speaking to Sol or to myself. The glow steadies again, dimmer now but still holding. Sol's head drops forward, his breaths shallow and labored.

The scratches and whispers fade into the distance, replaced once more by the mournful howl of the wind. But the red eyes remain, a silent promise that the watchers are still there, waiting. Always waiting.

I grip the knife tighter and keep my gaze fixed on the darkness. My watch isn't over yet.

CLICK, an all too familiar sound echoes from somewhere, CLICK CLICK, my mind seems to freeze at the sound, sol's light grows dimmer for a second before it comes back with full intensity, I look to his face and I see an expression that probably mirrors mine in that moment a mix of anger and fear. CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK. they are everywhere, CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK. then out of nowhere the it stops, the eyes vanish there is an oppressive quiet that seems to try force it's way down my throat. But it only lasts a moment