A Bigger Problem

"In Clivilius, relief lasts exactly as long as it takes someone to say 'but'—and the word that follows is always worse than what came before."

The journey back to camp, under the guidance of Charity, felt like traversing through a different realm. The wind, once a howling adversary, had lulled into a gentle whisper by the time we approached the familiar terrain. My bare skin had gone numb to the cold, my body surrendering to discomforts it could no longer fight. Kain's weight against me had grown heavier with each step, or perhaps my strength had simply drained away, sapped by fear and exhaustion and the endless questions churning in my mind.

The sight of our camp, marked by the soft, flickering glow of firesticks, offered a semblance of safety, a beacon in the enveloping darkness that had been our constant companion. But safety felt like a lie now. The darkness had teeth. The darkness had claws. And somewhere in that darkness, things we didn't understand were watching, waiting, hunting.

"Wha leads this camp?" Charity asked as we made our way into the illuminated circle.

It was a direct inquiry, demanding a clear response. Her eyes found mine in the firelight, searching for something—authority, perhaps, or the willingness to act on what she was about to tell me. Her accent was thick, unfamiliar—Scottish, I thought, but not like any Scottish I had heard before. Older somehow. Rougher. As if the language had been preserved in amber for centuries, untouched by the modern world.

"I am," I stated, the weight of responsibility settling firmly on my shoulders once again.

The words came out before I could question them. Was I the leader? Luke was gone. Jamie was... Jamie. Someone had to step forward. Someone had to make decisions. And apparently that someone was me—shirtless, exhausted, covered in another man's blood, with no idea what I was doing.

"We need tae talk. Ye and I," Charity insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

But my concern for Kain overshadowed the urgency in her voice. His breathing had grown shallow. His skin, where it pressed against mine, felt clammy and cold.

"We need to see to Kain's wounded leg first," I countered. Kain's well-being was immediate, tangible, a responsibility that couldn't be postponed. He had trusted me. He had followed me into this nightmare. And now his blood was drying on my side, sticky and warm.

Charity's reaction was unexpected. Stopping in her tracks, she squatted before us, her actions deliberate as she examined Kain's injury. The firestick's glow caught her face—young, but with eyes that had seen things. Eyes that had seen violence and death and learned to measure wounds by a different standard than mine.

"'Tis barely a scratch. He'll live."

Her assessment contradicted the evidence before my eyes. The makeshift bandage, soaked with blood, told a story of pain and vulnerability, not the minimalism she suggested. Barely a scratch? My shirt was saturated. There had been a pool of blood in the dust where we found him.

"I'd hardly call that—" I began, flabbergasted.

My objection was cut short by her sudden gesture, her finger pressed against my lips in a silencing motion.

"Wheesht," she hushed, her eyes scanning our surroundings with a nervous intensity.

The word was unfamiliar—some Scottish command for silence, I assumed—but its meaning was clear enough. The gesture, intimate and commanding, halted my words, filling the space between us with a tension that was both confusing and alarming. Her caution suggested unseen dangers, secrets lurking within the shadows of our camp.

What was she afraid of? We were in camp now. We had the light. The wind had died. What could possibly—

Chris's swift approach, prompted by Glenda's signal, offered a much-needed respite as he took over supporting Kain. The relief that washed over me was instantaneous, my muscles thanking me for the break from the strain. My shoulder ached. My back screamed. I hadn't realised how much of Kain's weight I had been carrying until suddenly I wasn't.

However, that brief moment of relief was quickly usurped by the urgent grip of Charity's hand on my arm, pulling me aside with a purpose that brooked no delay.

"The problem is still oot there," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear, reigniting a flicker of fear just as it had begun to ebb. Her grip was tight, almost painful, as if she needed to physically hold me in place to deliver what came next.

"Problem?" I echoed, the word hanging between us, laden with implications that sent a shiver down my spine.

The calm that had momentarily settled over me shattered. We had escaped the darkness. We had made it back to camp. What problem could possibly remain?

As Glenda and Chris disappeared with Kain towards the medical tent, Charity led me away, deepening the distance between us and the rest of the group. Her steps were quick, purposeful, and I stumbled to keep up. The firelight cast long shadows that danced and flickered, and in those shadows, I saw shapes that weren't there. My mind was playing tricks on me. The terror of the night had wormed its way into my perception, turning every flicker into a threat, every movement into an attack.

The sight that greeted us halted me in my tracks.

A black panther-like creature, its life ebbing away into the dust, illuminated by the campfire's glow. It was massive—larger than any big cat I had ever seen, even in photographs. Its fur absorbed the light rather than reflecting it, a darkness made solid, a shadow given form. Its eyes were open but glazed, fixed on nothing—and those eyes were entirely black, no iris, no white, just endless darkness—and from its chest protruded one of Charity's arrows.

"What the fuck is that?" The question escaped me before I could restrain it, my voice betraying the turmoil of fear and disbelief churning within.

This wasn't possible. This wasn't an animal from any world I knew. This was something else. Something from nightmares. Something from myths.

"A shadow panther," Charity answered, her calm in stark contrast to my distress. She said it as casually as one might identify a stray cat—as if such creatures were ordinary, expected, part of the natural order of things. "Likely nae the one that scratched yer friend, though."

Her choice of words—scratched—seemed almost trivial in the face of the lethal danger represented by the creature's still form. If this thing had attacked Kain, he would be dead. Those claws—I could see them now, curved and black and wickedly sharp—could have disembowelled him with a single swipe.

"Are there more of these beasts out there? Will they attack the camp again?" The questions poured out, each one laced with an acute awareness of the precariousness of our safety.

We had been sleeping here. Eating here. Living here as if this were a normal place, as if the darkness beyond our fires held nothing more dangerous than dust and wind.

"Nae. We're safe, fer now. The licht frae the fires and the bluid o' this shadow panther should be enough tae keep ony mair o' them awa frae the camp," Charity explained, her assurance underpinned by a confidence that I desperately wanted to believe.

I had to concentrate to parse her words through the thick accent—licht meant light, bluid meant blood, awa meant away. It was like listening to someone speak English through a filter of centuries. I looked down and saw the blood—a dark stain spreading beneath the creature, soaking into the dust, marking territory in a language older than words.

"How can you be certain?" The scepticism in my voice was reflexive. How could anyone be certain of anything in a world where shadow panthers existed?

"They willnae come near the camp if they can smell the bluid o' one o' their ain. And their eyes are sensitive tae the licht. As soon as the sun begins tae rise, oor safety is guaranteed."

She knew these things. She had killed one of them. She moved through this darkness as if it were familiar, as if she had been doing this for a long time. Years, perhaps. A lifetime. Where had she come from? How long had she been in this place? The questions multiplied faster than I could process them.

With a heavy exhale, I allowed myself to feel a semblance of relief, clinging to the promise of safety that dawn would bring. The sun would rise. The shadows would retreat. We would survive this night.

"We hae a bigger problem."

Charity's words, underscored by the earnest look in her eyes, gave my shoulders an involuntary shudder. Her expression, a mixture of concern and seriousness, marked a stark departure from the calm composure she had maintained up until now. The emotional weight of her gaze hinted at the gravity of what she was about to reveal.

A bigger problem. Bigger than shadow panthers. Bigger than Kain's wound. What could possibly be worse than what we had already faced tonight?

"Duke wasnae killed by—"

Her voice trailed off, and instinctively, my grip found her forearm, seeking not just her attention but perhaps a sliver of hope that the dire implications of her words were somehow a misunderstanding. My fingers dug into her arm hard enough to bruise, but I couldn't let go. Couldn't process what she was saying.

"Duke is dead?"

The question tore from me, a desperate plea for clarification, my eyes searching hers for any sign that I had misheard. Duke. Luke and Jamie's dog. The gentle soul who had nestled between them, who had greeted me with wagging tail and warm eyes, who had been part of our strange little family in this impossible place.

"Aye."

Her confirmation—a single word, that Scottish affirmative that somehow sounded more final than any English 'yes'—cut through me like a blade. The word landed like a blow to my chest. Duke was dead. While we had been running in the darkness, while we had been carrying Kain, while we had been trusting this stranger to lead us home—Duke had been dying. Or already dead.

The tears came unbidden, a testament to the bond lost. I hadn't expected to cry. Hadn't expected the loss of an animal to hit me this hard. But Duke wasn't just an animal. He was a piece of normality in this abnormal world. He was warmth and loyalty and the uncomplicated love that only dogs can give. And now he was gone.

My gaze fell to the lifeless form of the shadow panther at our feet, anger boiling within.

"Fucking beast," I spat out, the words laced with venom fuelled by grief and the need for something, anything, to blame. I wanted to kick the corpse. Wanted to scream at it. Wanted to make it pay for what it had taken from us.

"Nae," Charity said, her voice firmer now, her hand clasping mine. "Duke wasnae attacked by a shadow panther."

Her clarification, rather than offering solace, plunged me into deeper confusion and fear. The shadow panther hadn't killed Duke. Then what had? My mind raced through possibilities—an accident, an injury, something we had missed—but none of them fit the weight of warning in her voice.

"Then what?" The whisper barely escaped me, each word heavy with the dread of what her answer might reveal.

"It appears ye hae a Portal pirate stalking yer camp."

The term hung in the air, a concept so foreign yet terrifyingly significant in its implications. The words made no sense individually, let alone together. Portal. Pirate. Stalking. Our camp. Her Scottish accent made the phrase sound almost archaic, like something from an old ballad about raiders and reavers.

"A... a what?" My response was a stammer, a reflection of a mind grappling with too much, too fast.

Someone who could use the Portal. Someone who wasn't Luke. Someone who had been watching us, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"A Portal pirate," Charity reiterated, her voice steady, impressing upon me the seriousness of this new threat. "And these bastards are far mair dangerous than ony shadow panther."

Her words succeeded only in amplifying the fear and helplessness that had taken root within me. More dangerous than a creature that could tear a man apart in the darkness. More dangerous than the beasts we had just fled. A human threat. A thinking, planning, deliberate threat.

My grip on her arm tightened—a physical manifestation of my attempt to hold onto something certain in a world that had just become even more uncertain. Her revelation, far from providing answers, had opened a Pandora's box of questions and fears.

The term 'Portal pirate' echoed ominously, a harbinger of challenges far greater than we had faced thus far. The reality that our camp, our makeshift sanctuary, was now the hunting ground of shadow panthers and an entity even more malevolent, was like a tidal wave engulfing my entire being.

"Shit!"

The expletive was all I could manage. All the eloquence, all the strategy, all the leadership I had just claimed—none of it mattered in the face of this revelation. We weren't just fighting to survive in a hostile landscape. We were being hunted. Stalked. Picked off one by one.

Duke was just the beginning.

The shadow panther lay dead at my feet, but it was the threat I couldn't see that terrified me most. And this woman—this Charity with her ancient accent and her bloody arrows and her impossible knowledge—she was the only one who seemed to understand what we were facing. The only one who might be able to help us survive.

I didn't trust her. But I needed her.

In Clivilius, it seemed, that was often the same thing.