#ssoevent

Blaire winced as she stretched her stiff limbs, groaning softly as her muscles protested. She’d been holed up in the same spot for five days now, far longer than she usually stayed anywhere. It was time to move again. The urge to keep moving, to stay ahead of the dangers that lurked in every shadow, gnawed at her. She couldn’t risk getting too comfortable. Comfort was a thing of the past.

Glancing at the horizon, she noted how the light was fading into the dull gray of dusk. The days in Jorvik seemed shorter now, time bleeding together in a haze of survival. She grabbed her backpack, its weight reassuring as she slung it over her shoulder. The familiar clink of supplies inside was a small comfort in an otherwise chaotic world.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Blaire had always envisioned her life at the stables, her days filled with the familiar rhythm of caring for the horses, of teaching new riders, of sunsets over the peaceful Moorland hills. But when the infection hit, everything had crumbled faster than she could have imagined.

She hadn’t planned to be alone, but that’s how it had turned out. Cities and towns had fallen within days, the infected spreading like wildfire, tearing through everything and everyone. When the chaos reached Jorvik, Blaire had fled Moorland Stables. Populated places became death traps, and her instincts had told her to run—to survive.

While most had flocked to Fort Pinta, now fortified into an actual stronghold, Blaire made a different choice. She hadn’t wanted to depend on anyone else, and in a world where survival meant looking out for yourself first, she couldn’t afford the weight of someone else’s life. So, she’d taken Storm, her loyal horse, and left behind the only semblance of home she’d ever known.

Storm had saved her life more times than she could count. His agility, his speed—they were her only real advantages out here. Together, they moved across the ever-dangerous landscape of Jorvik, always on the lookout for supplies and avoiding the growing hordes of infected that wandered through the hills and forests. And, of course, they avoided other survivors. Blaire had learned quickly that people were often more dangerous than the undead.

The world was a wasteland now, and every day was a fight to stay alive. Her hearing aid’s battery was nearly dead, and without it, the world would fall into a muffled, distorted quiet—dangerous in a place where sound could mean the difference between life and death. She needed to find another one, but that wasn’t exactly easy. She let out a long sigh, brushing her hand over her short-cropped hair, now darker after months without maintenance. Its natural curls were starting to come back, unruly and wild, but manageable enough to keep tied up out of her face.

Her wrist throbbed slightly as she adjusted the wrap she wore for support. She’d injured it months ago in a bad fall, and the endless travel, harsh weather, and constant physical strain had never allowed it to heal properly. The bandage was as much a mental reassurance as it was physical, reminding her to take things slow when her body screamed at her to stop altogether.

Glancing down, Blaire checked the dagger she kept tucked into her boot, one of the few weapons she had left. It wasn’t much, but it had been with her through countless close encounters—human and infected alike. Her cargo pants were full, as always, packed with whatever she could scavenge: food, tools, medical supplies. Whatever she couldn’t fit in her bag went in the pockets, her hands often brushing against the comforting bulk of the knife as she moved.

The forest around her was silent now, the distant moans of the infected barely audible on the wind. It wasn’t safe here anymore. It never really had been, but the stillness around her told her it was time to go. She clicked her tongue, a soft signal, and soon Storm appeared through the trees, his dark coat blending with the shadows of the encroaching night.

"Another night on the move, boy," she murmured, patting his neck as she grabbed the reins. His breath huffed in response, a cloud of warmth in the cool evening air.

Blaire knew this life couldn’t go on forever. Supplies were running low, and each day brought new dangers. But for now, it was just her and Storm against the world. She gave one last glance at the desolate landscape behind her before nudging him forward, their footsteps lost in the thick silence of the forest.

Survival was all she had left, and she'd keep moving until there was nothing left to fight for.

As Blaire made her way through the dense woods of Firgrove Mountains, her steps were cautious, her eyes darting around the rugged terrain for signs of life—or death. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the creak of ancient branches. Her hearing aid sputtered in and out, frustrating her more than usual. She slapped it once, hoping the jolt would keep it alive for a few more days.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath. She knew the hearing aid wouldn’t last much longer, and with everything else she had to worry about, this was one more thing that weighed on her.

The ache in her limbs reminded her that she had been on the move for days now. Her legs felt like lead, and every muscle screamed for rest. When she spotted the entrance to a cave nestled between the jagged cliffs of Firgrove, a sense of relief washed over her. A cave would at least offer shelter from the biting cold and a place to regroup. As she approached, she unsheathed the dagger from her boot—one of the few weapons she had left that could truly help her.

Inside, the cave was dark, but that didn’t bother her much. Blaire’s night vision had become almost second nature after months of surviving in the wild. She moved cautiously, pressing her back against the wall and straining to hear beyond the static of her dying hearing aid.

Suddenly, a sound—low and guttural—echoed through the cave. Blaire froze, her heart racing. The infected. She knew that noise well. Before she could react, something lunged at her from the shadows. A decaying hand grabbed at her vest, tearing fabric as she stumbled backward.

The infected man—no, creature—was in stage 3, fully turned. Its once-human eyes were now glassy, and its skin clung tightly to its bones. Blaire slashed at it with her dagger, but the zombie barely flinched. It was fast for something that was supposed to be dead.

Thinking quickly, she ducked to avoid its grasp, slicing at the creature’s head as she rolled across the floor of the cave. It snarled, but the attack wasn’t enough to stop it. Blaire scrambled to her feet and kicked hard, sending the infected stumbling backward into the cave wall. She took the opportunity to plunge her dagger into its skull. The sickening sound of cracking bone echoed through the cavern as the zombie collapsed, finally still.

Panting heavily, Blaire wiped the blood from her blade on her cargos. Her hands trembled as she caught her breath, the rush of adrenaline slowly fading.

She knew this cave wouldn’t be safe anymore. The noise would have attracted others. Gathering her supplies, Blaire packed quickly, her mind racing. She had heard about the virus—the cursed plague born from the ancient magic of Jorvik. It consumed magic first, but in its absence, it would devour anything that moved. If she lingered, more would come, and they wouldn’t all be slow.

She mounted Storm, the horse stamping the ground, sensing her unease. With a soft pat on Storm's neck, she whispered, "Let’s get out of here."

The world had turned into a hellish landscape, and the cursed infected roamed the land like predators, waiting for the next meal. Blaire had seen the stages of infection, watched as friends were consumed by the virus.

With Storm beneath her and her supplies secure, Blaire urged the horse onward. She knew she had to keep moving, away from the cave, away from the infected. Surviving wasn’t about winning; it was about staying one step ahead of death.

As they moved through the mountains, she couldn’t help but glance behind her, knowing that the apocalypse had brought more than just ruin—it had brought something much worse. Something she might never escape.

Blaire and Storm pressed forward through the dense forest of the Firgrove Mountains, the air thick with tension. The path ahead was uneven and scattered with debris, but Storm’s hooves were steady, navigating the rocky terrain with a grace that only a Soul Steed could possess. Blaire’s mind raced, her thoughts flickering between survival strategies and the terrifying reality of what was chasing her.

The infected had evolved—becoming faster, more aggressive. She couldn’t stay in one place for long without risking an encounter like the one she’d just escaped. Every second counted. She had to find a safe route out of the mountains, or at least somewhere defensible where she could figure out her next move.

As they reached a small clearing, Blaire pulled Storm to a stop. She needed to think, to reassess her options. The horizon was painted with the fading colors of sunset, casting an ominous glow over the landscape. The mountains, once majestic, now felt like a prison of rock and shadow. She couldn’t help but wonder how long she could keep this up—how long before she, too, succumbed to the curse that had ravaged the land.

Suddenly, a distant scream echoed through the valley.

Blaire tensed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her dagger. She scanned the area, listening intently, but all she could hear was the faint static from her malfunctioning hearing aid. She adjusted it, hoping to catch any signs of movement, but the device sputtered and failed once again. Frustrated, she yanked it out, tossing it aside. She could no longer afford to rely on broken technology.

The scream had come from somewhere further ahead—maybe even down the mountain path. Was it another survivor? Or worse, someone who was already in the early stages of infection? Either way, Blaire felt a pull to investigate. If someone was still alive, they could have information or supplies, and in a world as broken as this, any help was worth the risk.

She guided Storm slowly toward the direction of the scream, every muscle in her body on high alert. As they descended, the terrain became steeper, the trees closing in like a wall of twisted limbs. Blaire’s instincts screamed at her to turn back, but something pushed her onward.

After several tense minutes, they emerged from the thick woods to find a narrow gorge. At the bottom of the gorge, the remnants of what had once been a small caravan lay scattered—wagons overturned, supplies strewn across the ground, and no sign of life. Blaire dismounted, her breath catching in her throat as she approached the wreckage. Her hand tightened around her dagger.

As she knelt beside one of the wagons, examining the broken supplies, she noticed fresh blood smeared across the ground. The realization hit her hard: the scream she’d heard was likely the final moments of someone’s life.

Suddenly, a noise—a faint shuffle of movement from behind one of the overturned carts. Blaire sprang to her feet, dagger in hand, as a figure staggered into view. It was a young woman, covered in dirt and blood, her eyes wild with fear. Blaire immediately recognized the telltale signs: purple veins creeping up the woman’s neck, the shallow breaths, the glossy sheen of sweat. Stage 1.

“No… stay back!” the woman cried, stumbling over her own feet as she tried to flee, her voice weak and broken.

Blaire approached cautiously, lowering her dagger slightly but keeping her distance. “You’re infected,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question. She could see it—how the curse had already begun its work. The woman’s bite wound was on her arm, the flesh already blackened around the edges. She was past saving.

“I— I don’t want to die like this,” the woman whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Please… you have to end it before it’s too late.”

Blaire’s chest tightened. She had seen this before, too many times. The fear in the woman’s eyes, the desperation to escape the inevitable. She wanted to refuse, to say no, but she knew what would happen if she left the woman to turn.

Without a word, Blaire nodded, her jaw clenched as she steeled herself. She stepped forward, lifting her dagger. The woman closed her eyes, trembling as she waited for the end. Blaire’s heart pounded in her ears, her pulse quickening as she took one last breath and brought the blade down.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Blaire wiped her blade on her sleeve, her hands shaking as she stepped away from the body. There was no time to dwell on it—no time to let the weight of her actions sink in. She had to keep moving. The infected would smell the blood soon, and they would come.

Mounting Storm once again, Blaire turned away from the gorge, the darkness closing in around her. She pushed onward, riding faster now, her mind reeling from what she’d just done. It never got easier—taking a life, even to save someone from a fate worse than death.

Mounting Storm once again, Blaire turned away from the gorge, the darkness closing in around her. She pushed onward, urging Storm to pick up speed, her mind spinning with the weight of what she’d just done. Taking a life, even in mercy, never got easier. Yet it was part of the harsh reality she now faced daily.

After riding for what felt like hours, Blaire and Storm came upon a small clearing, sparsely dotted with twisted, darkened trees. The area seemed deserted, its silence an eerie comfort. After scouting the perimeter and deciding it was safe enough, Blaire dismounted, carefully removing the gear from Storm’s back. She gave him a gentle pat, whispering soothing words as he began to graze on the sparse patches of grass. At least he could find some semblance of peace, even if it was temporary.

Blaire debated starting a fire, but there wasn’t much food left in her pack—just a few stale pieces of bread and a canteen that was barely a quarter full. The risk of attracting the infected outweighed the small comfort of warmth. Instead, she settled on a different plan. She needed sleep, even if only a few hours, but couldn’t afford to be defenseless on the ground.

With practiced efficiency, she climbed up one of the thicker trees, using the low branches to haul herself up to a sturdy limb. The branch was wide enough to sit on, and she pulled a length of rope from her bag, tying herself securely against the trunk. She let out a weary sigh as she adjusted her position, leaning back against the rough bark. Her muscles ached, and exhaustion pressed heavily on her.

From her perch, Blaire had a decent view of the clearing and a bit of the surrounding forest, allowing her to watch for any movement below. She scanned the shadows, her eyes sharp for any hint of the undead. But tonight, it seemed, she was alone. A rare blessing.

She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her jacket tighter as the chill of the night set in. Her thoughts drifted as she let her eyes close briefly, her mind flickering back to what life was like before the curse took over. Memories of bustling days at Moorland Stables, the laughter of friends, and the gentle warmth of sunrise were ghosts now, haunting her with what she’d lost.

Sleep claimed her in short, restless intervals, broken by every rustle of the wind or snap of a branch. The peace she craved was elusive, chased away by the lingering fear of an attack. She knew better than to expect real rest, but up there in the tree, with Storm grazing below and the stars faintly visible through the gaps in the leaves, she allowed herself a sliver of hope—a hope that, somewhere out there, a cure might exist or that someday, this nightmare might end.

Activity 1: Training

I wanted to keep the training light compared to the whole map, so we’re only racing in the following areas: Fort Pinta, Moorland, Steve’s, Mill Hill/Rabbit, Marley’s, Baroness Track/Manor, Garden, and Riding Hall. Bring a horse that needs training and your racing gear!

Activity 2: Stage Performances / Hangout

Her reflection in the cracked mirror by the fireplace was unrecognizable. Her skin was pale and sickly, her eyes sunken and rimmed with shadows. The purple veins from the infection had spread up her arm, twisting like sinister vines toward her shoulder. Her lips were dry and cracked, blood staining the corners from where she’d bitten down too hard, trying to keep herself grounded.

The changes weren’t just physical. The hunger gnawed at her insides, a deep, unnatural craving she couldn’t satisfy. It wasn’t hunger for food, though she hadn’t eaten in days—it was something darker, something primal. It terrified her.

Her hands shook as she reached for her knife, her lifeline through so many battles. It sat heavy in her lap, the blade dulled from years of use. She could end it, she knew. Right now. Quick and clean. She’d always thought that’s what she would do if it came to this. But when the moment was here, staring her in the face, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The fire in the hearth had long since burned out, leaving the cabin cold and dim. Blaire sat back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Her mind drifted to memories of better days, though they felt more like someone else’s life now. She saw her friends’ faces—Alex, Lisa, Linda, Anne. She wondered if they even knew what had happened to her, or if they’d just assume she was gone, like so many others before her.

The ache in her chest wasn’t from the infection. It was from the emptiness, the isolation. She hadn’t spoken to another human being in weeks. The sound of her own voice felt foreign now, raspier and weaker than she remembered. The loneliness had always been the hardest part, even before the bite. And now, in her final days, it was suffocating.

Storm nudged her shoulder with his muzzle, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked at him, her vision blurring with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I don’t want you to see this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, Storm. Just go.”

But he stayed, his presence a small comfort in a world that had given her none.

The hours dragged on, each one worse than the last. Blaire’s body was betraying her, bit by bit. Her limbs felt heavy, her movements sluggish. The hunger was all-consuming now, clawing at her insides like a wild animal. She pressed her hands to her stomach, as if she could will it away, but it only grew stronger.

When the sun set, Blaire knew it wouldn’t rise for her again.

She staggered to her feet, gripping the edge of the table for support. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she forced herself to move. She didn’t want to die in the cabin. It had been her shelter, her refuge, and she didn’t want to taint it with what she was about to become.

Storm followed her as she stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. The moon hung low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the ground. Blaire took a shaky breath, her gaze drifting upward. The stars were bright tonight, scattered across the darkness like tiny, defiant sparks.

She walked until her legs gave out, collapsing in a small clearing surrounded by trees. Storm stayed close, his soft breaths the only sound in the stillness. Blaire leaned back against a tree, her knife clutched loosely in her hand. She didn’t have the strength to lift it anymore.

The infection was winning. She could feel it in every fiber of her being, pulling her further away from herself. Her thoughts were jumbled now, slipping through her fingers like water. She tried to hold onto something—anything—but it was no use.

Her body trembled as the transformation took hold, her vision blurring at the edges. She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to. Her friends? Her parents? Herself?

Storm nuzzled her shoulder, and Blaire managed a weak smile. “You’re a good boy,” she murmured. “The best.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I hope you find someone else. Someone who can take care of you. Better than I ever could.”

The hunger was overwhelming now, but Blaire fought it with everything she had. She wouldn’t give in. Not yet. Not here.

Her breathing slowed, each inhale a struggle. She felt herself slipping away, the world fading around her. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she stopped fighting.

She thought of her friends one last time, their laughter echoing in her mind like a distant melody. She thought of the stars, constant and unchanging, watching over her even now. And she thought of herself—not the person she had become, but the person she used to be.

Blaire let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing as she surrendered to the inevitable. The hunger faded, the pain subsiding into a strange, peaceful numbness. She felt weightless, as though she were floating.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The quiet of the clearing wrapped around Blaire like a shroud, a silence so complete it felt almost sacred. Her breaths came slow and uneven now, each one shallower than the last. Her body was a battlefield, the infection waging a war she couldn’t win, and she could feel herself slipping further with every passing second. Yet, somehow, the stillness of the moment gave her a strange sense of peace.

Storm lay beside her, his warmth a small comfort against the encroaching chill. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against his mane. The gesture was weak, but it held all the affection she couldn’t put into words. "You’ll be okay," she whispered, though the words felt hollow. Who was she to promise him that when nothing was okay anymore?

Her mind wandered, unbidden, to the past. Memories surfaced, vivid and sharp, as if the infection were pulling them from her in a cruel farewell. She saw herself as a child, laughing with friends under the summer sun. She saw her parents, their faces soft with love and pride—a stark contrast to the cold indifference that had grown between them in her teenage years. She saw her friends, their determined faces etched with purpose as they faced danger together. And then, she saw herself—alone, always alone in the end.

The loneliness hit her like a physical blow, harder than any of the pain the infection had wrought. She had always told herself she was fine, that she didn’t need anyone. But now, at the edge of it all, she couldn’t deny the ache in her chest, the longing for connection that she had buried so deep it had almost suffocated her.

The infection had become unbearable, a slow poison creeping into her mind and body, unraveling her piece by piece. Blaire sat on the cold, damp ground of the clearing, her knife trembling in her hand. Storm stood nearby, pacing nervously, his ears twitching with every labored breath she took.

The moonlight bathed the scene in an ethereal glow, but it brought no comfort. It only seemed to highlight her anguish, the trembling of her limbs, the sweat beading her brow, and the purple veins that snaked their way up her arm like a vile tapestry of her downfall.

She couldn’t hold onto herself anymore. The infection clawed at her thoughts, pulling them into disarray, making her feel like a stranger in her own skin. It whispered to her, taunting, seductive, promising release if she just let go. Blaire gritted her teeth, tears burning trails down her cheeks as she fought to hold onto the last fragments of herself.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she choked out, her voice hoarse and ragged. “I won’t be like them.”

Storm turned to her, his dark eyes full of worry, as if he understood her words. He let out a low, mournful sound, nudging her shoulder with his muzzle. Blaire reached out to him, her touch featherlight, her hand trembling too much to stay steady. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow even as she said them. “You’ve always been stronger than me.”

Her memories began to slip through her fingers like sand. Faces blurred, voices faded, and the warm glow of happier times felt so distant now, like a dream she couldn’t quite remember. She thought of her friends—wondering where they were, if they were safe, if they even thought of her anymore. Would they miss her? Would they mourn her? Or would they feel relief that they wouldn’t have to fight her if she turned?

The thought cut deep, sharper than any knife ever could.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, desperate to feel something other than the cold hollowing her out. But it didn’t work. The infection was taking everything—her strength, her memories, her sense of self. She couldn’t let it take her completely. She couldn’t let it win.

Storm let out another low whimper, his worry palpable. Blaire turned to him, offering a faint, broken smile. “You’ll go find them, won’t you? You’ll find someone who can take care of you. You don’t deserve this.”

Her hand tightened around the knife. She stared at it, the blade gleaming in the moonlight, and swallowed hard. It felt like an impossible weight in her hand, heavier than it had ever been. But she knew what had to be done. If she didn’t act now, the infection would strip away her humanity, leaving nothing but a mindless husk that would endanger everything she loved. She refused to let that happen.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words directed at no one and everyone all at once. Sorry for failing, sorry for leaving, sorry for the mess she was about to make. But there was no other way.

Her heart raced, every beat echoing in her ears as she positioned the knife over her chest. She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing her hand to steady. “I’m still me,” she murmured, as if saying it out loud would make it true. “I’m still me.”

But even as she said it, she felt the truth slipping away. The infection wasn’t just in her body—it was in her thoughts, her emotions, her very soul. She could feel it twisting her mind, turning her anger into rage, her sadness into despair, her love into something dark and unrecognizable. She was losing herself, and she was terrified.

“Do it now,” she told herself through gritted teeth. “Before it’s too late.”

Storm let out a sharp cry, as if sensing what was about to happen. Blaire closed her eyes, her tears falling freely now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “But this is the only way.”

She drove the knife forward, a sharp, searing pain radiating through her chest. She gasped, her body jerking, her vision blurring. The world around her tilted, the moon and stars spinning above her in a chaotic dance. She collapsed onto her back, the knife still buried in her chest, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Storm came to her side, nudging her frantically, his soft whinnies filled with panic. Blaire reached out one last time, her fingers brushing against his muzzle. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You’re free now.”

Her gaze drifted upward, to the sky above. The stars seemed brighter now, more vibrant, as if they were welcoming her home. The pain in her chest began to fade, replaced by a strange, comforting warmth. She felt... lighter, like a burden she had carried for so long was finally lifting.

“I’m still me,” she whispered one final time, her voice barely more than a breath. A faint smile touched her lips as her eyes fluttered closed, the world around her fading into nothingness.

And then, she was gone.

Blaire was gone. But in her absence, the clearing seemed to hold its breath, as if the world itself had paused to mourn the loss of someone who had fought so hard, for so long, against impossible odds.

And then, slowly, the world moved on.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦

Blaire’s body lay still under the vast expanse of the moonlit sky, but something else stirred—a faint shimmer, like the first flicker of a candle in the dark. Her chest rose once more, not in a gasp of life but in the soft, ethereal movement of something deeper. Her soul, fragile and luminous, began to stir, unfurling like the petals of a flower breaking free from the frost.

Storm nickered softly, stepping back as the air around her grew lighter, almost serene. The oppressive weight of despair and decay lifted, replaced by an otherworldly calm. Blaire’s soul rose slowly, untethered from the ruined vessel that had been her body. It hovered for a moment, translucent and glowing, carrying the faint outline of her form but free from the infection that had plagued her.

She looked down at herself—or what was left of her. Her physical self seemed so small now, crumpled against the earth like a discarded shell. Her heart ached, not with regret but with a bittersweet acceptance. She had done what needed to be done. She had fought to stay herself until the end.

The pain and fear that had gripped her moments ago were gone, replaced by a strange peace. She could feel the infection’s hold on her dissolving, its darkness unable to reach her here. For the first time in weeks—months—she felt whole.

Storm whinnied again, his wide, dark eyes fixed on her glowing form. She knelt beside him, her incorporeal hand reaching out to stroke his muzzle. He leaned into her touch, his body shivering as if he could sense her, even though she was no longer flesh and blood.

“You’ll be okay,” she said softly, her voice carried on the breeze like a song. “You’ll find your way. You always do.”

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scents of the forest and the whisper of far-off stars. Blaire turned her gaze upward, where the heavens stretched endlessly above her. The moon seemed brighter now, its silver light beckoning her forward. The stars, too, seemed alive, forming patterns she had never noticed before, as if they were guiding her.

A warmth spread through her, and she felt a gentle pull, as though the universe itself was calling her home. She hesitated, looking back at Storm one last time. “I’m sorry I can’t stay,” she murmured. “But you’ll be okay. I promise.”

Storm whinnied again, pawing at the ground, his head lifting to the sky as if he could see her ascending. Blaire’s soul began to rise, the earth fading beneath her as she was carried upward by an unseen force. The stars seemed closer now, their light surrounding her, cradling her, as if welcoming her into their eternal embrace.

Memories flashed through her mind—not the painful ones, not the infection or the loneliness, but the moments of joy, of love, of connection. The laughter of her friends, the warmth of a campfire, the feel of the wind in her hair as she rode Storm across an open field. They were fragments of a life that had been hard, but also beautiful.

She let out a soft sigh, her soul shimmering brighter as she let go of the last of her pain. “I’m still me,” she whispered to the stars, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like the truth.

As her soul ascended higher, the forest below grew quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The infection that had sought to claim her was left far behind, unable to follow her into the light.

Stretching, she reached for her knife. It was instinct now, a morning ritual as natural as breathing. The blade felt heavy in her hand as she ran her thumb along its edge, checking its sharpness. She couldn’t afford dull tools. Not out here. Not with the infected roaming the wilderness, their guttural groans an ever-present threat.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. That sound again. A faint, wet growl from somewhere in the woods. It was distant but unmistakable. Blaire tensed, her grip on the knife tightening as she crouched low, her heart pounding in her chest.

Storm snorted nervously, shifting his weight. Blaire placed a calming hand on his neck, whispering softly. “Shh. It’s okay.” Her voice was steady, but she wasn’t sure she believed her own words.

She forced herself to peer through the grimy cabin window. The forest beyond was cloaked in mist, the gnarled trees casting long, skeletal shadows. She couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean the infected weren’t out there. They always were. Waiting. Watching.

Blaire clenched her jaw and slipped out of the cabin, her movements slow and deliberate. The cold air bit at her skin, and her breath came out in short, visible puffs. She crouched low, scanning the forest as her boots crunched softly against the frosted ground.

The sound came again—closer now. A growl, followed by the distinct shuffle of something dragging itself through the underbrush. Blaire’s heart thundered in her chest as she tightened her grip on the knife, every muscle in her body coiled and ready to strike.

The infected burst into view, its body twisted and wrong, a patchwork of decaying flesh and exposed bone. Its milky eyes locked onto her, and it lunged with a snarl. Blaire moved on instinct, dodging to the side and slashing her blade across its throat. Black ichor sprayed across her arm, the stench enough to make her gag, but she didn’t stop. She drove her knife into the base of its skull, and the creature crumpled to the ground.

She stepped back, breathing hard, her eyes scanning the forest for more. But there was nothing. Just the eerie silence that always followed. She wiped the blade on her sleeve, her hand trembling slightly as the adrenaline ebbed.

“Damn it,” she muttered, glancing at the ichor that had splattered across her arm. She rubbed at it with the edge of her jacket, but the stain lingered, a grim reminder of how close she’d come.

Storm whinnied softly, and Blaire turned to see him staring at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. Concern? Fear? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let herself dwell on it. Not now.

But as she moved to calm him, a sharp sting shot through her arm. Blaire froze, her eyes widening as she pushed back her sleeve. Her breath caught in her throat.

A bite. Small, almost unnoticeable, but unmistakable. The infected’s jagged teeth had broken through the fabric, leaving a crescent-shaped wound on her forearm.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head as though the motion could undo what had happened. “No, no, no.”

She stumbled back into the cabin, her mind racing. The wound throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that seemed to spread with each passing second. She grabbed a strip of cloth from her pack and tied it tightly around her arm, hoping—praying—that it would slow the spread of the infection. But she knew the truth. She’d seen it happen to others. Once bitten, it was only a matter of time.

The poison worked fast, twisting its way through the body like a living thing, changing everything it touched. It wouldn’t be long before she started to feel it—the fever, the shaking, the uncontrollable hunger. And after that…

“No,” she said again, her voice rising. She slammed her fist against the wall, the pain grounding her for a moment. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t turn into one of them. Not after everything. Not after she’d fought so hard to survive.

Her eyes darted to the scars on her arms, her hands. Each one a victory, a reminder of battles fought and won. But this… this wasn’t a battle she could win.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her head in her hands. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. The tears felt stuck, trapped somewhere deep inside her, just like everything else.

Her mind flickered to the past, to the cabin she’d left behind weeks ago. It had felt safe, almost like a home, and she’d been foolish enough to let herself believe she could stay. She should have known better. There was no safety, no shelter. Not really.

And now, here she was, staring down the inevitable. The poison coursed through her veins, a cruel reminder that she wasn’t invincible. She’d been reckless, and now she would pay the price.

But as the sun rose higher, casting its pale light over the forest, Blaire made a decision. If this was how it ended, she wouldn’t go quietly. She would fight, even if it was only to preserve what little humanity she had left.

She strapped her knife to her belt, her movements slow and deliberate. Her body felt heavy, each step a monumental effort, but she forced herself to stand, to keep moving. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

The forest stretched out before her, vast and uncaring. Blaire took a deep breath, the air sharp and cold in her lungs. And then she began to walk, her footsteps steady, the horizon her only guide.

The cabin felt smaller every day. Blaire sat by the cold remains of the fire, staring blankly at the bite on her arm. It was a dull, crescent-shaped wound, almost unimpressive in appearance, but it was a death sentence—a cruel, inevitable end. She pressed her fingers to it as though she could smother the infection with sheer will. Her skin burned under her touch, the poison spreading like wildfire through her veins.

The room was eerily silent, save for the faint rustling of Storm outside. Blaire hadn’t the heart to tether him tonight. Let him roam, she thought. Let him feel free, even if she couldn’t. Her thoughts spiraled, dark and suffocating, like a stormcloud that had settled permanently over her.

She replayed the moment in her mind over and over: the infected lunging, her blade finding its mark too late, the teeth that sank into her arm in a flash of agony. She should have been faster. She should have been smarter. But instead, she was here, in this cursed cabin, counting the hours before the poison took everything from her.

The silence was unbearable. She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms, and let out a broken laugh. It sounded alien in the empty space, a ghost of her former self. She couldn’t even cry. She’d forgotten how, it seemed. Too many nights spent biting back her emotions, too many days where tears would’ve meant weakness. Now she was hollow, and it was almost worse.

The scars on her body felt heavier tonight, their jagged lines a map of every fight, every narrow escape. They were supposed to be proof of her resilience, but they felt like mockery now. Each one said, You survived then. But not this time.

The infection was already changing her. She could feel it, faintly at first—a warmth that didn’t belong, a strange buzzing in her ears. It was creeping into her thoughts, making her second-guess what was real. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her knife, gripping it tightly as though it could anchor her. She refused to let go.

Outside, the moon hung low, casting its cold light across the forest. Blaire stood, dragging herself to the door, her body sluggish and uncooperative. She opened it just enough to see Storm grazing nearby, his dark silhouette almost blending with the trees. He lifted his head at the creak of the door, his ears swiveling toward her. For a moment, Blaire thought she saw pity in his eyes, and her chest ached.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’ll be fine. You’ll go on. But me… this is it.”

She stepped outside, the cold air biting at her skin. Her legs wobbled, but she forced herself forward, each step a battle against her own body. The forest loomed around her, dark and indifferent. The trees didn’t care. The stars didn’t care. She was alone, just as she had been for so long.

Her mind wandered to the past, to a time when she wasn’t just a lone survivor. She could still hear her friends’ laughter, see their faces, feel the warmth of their presence. But they were gone, one by one, taken by the same poison that now coursed through her. She had fought so hard to keep going, but what was the point? Who was she fighting for anymore?

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it faint, haunting sounds. Blaire clutched her knife tighter, her knuckles white. She had spent so long running, so long fighting. And now? Now she was tired. The kind of tired that no amount of rest could fix.

She dropped to her knees by the edge of the forest, the knife slipping from her grasp. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle against the weight on her chest. She stared up at the sky, the moonlight blurring as her vision swam.

The memories hit her like a flood. Her parents’ disapproving stares, the laughter of a friend who no longer existed, the warmth of a hug she hadn’t felt in years. They all came rushing back, unbidden and cruel. She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to block them out, but it was no use.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. The words were barely audible, carried away by the wind before they could take root.

Storm whinnied softly behind her, a sound that broke something inside. She turned her head, her vision hazy, and saw him standing there, his dark eyes fixed on her. He was the only constant she had left, but even he couldn’t save her from this.

The poison spread faster now, her body betraying her with every passing second. Her arm throbbed, the infection pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She felt her strength fading, her resolve crumbling like ash.

She reached out a trembling hand to Storm, her fingers brushing his muzzle. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. “You’ll find someone else. Someone stronger.”

He nudged her hand gently, and for a moment, Blaire felt a flicker of something—comfort, maybe, or the illusion of it. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his neck, and let herself imagine, just for a moment, that things could have been different.

But the moment passed, and reality came crashing back. Blaire pulled away, her expression hardening. She wouldn’t let herself succumb here, not where she could hurt him. Not where the infected could find her and turn her into one of them.

She forced herself to her feet, swaying as her legs threatened to give out. Her knife was still in the dirt, glinting faintly in the moonlight. She picked it up, the blade feeling heavier than ever, and turned her gaze to the horizon. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here.

As she walked into the darkness, her shadow stretching long behind her, Blaire whispered a single, broken promise to herself:

The old cabin she’d left behind felt like a faraway dream, an almost impossible comfort. It had been a rough shelter—holes in the roof, creaking floorboards—but it had been hers, if only for a while. The fireplace there had become her warmth, her safety, the sound of crackling wood filling the hollow silence of her nights. She missed it in a way she hadn’t expected; it had felt like a reprieve, a home, even if the walls were barely holding up and the mattress was a thin, lumpy mess. Just to have stayed in one place, to let her guard down long enough to rest, had felt like a gift.

But she’d stayed too long, and eventually, the world had come knocking, like it always did.

“Just me and you again, Storm,” she murmured to her horse as he trailed behind her, his hooves muffled on the forest floor. His dark coat glimmered in the filtered sunlight that danced through the leaves above, his tail flicking lazily as he chewed on a few strands of grass. They were both hungry, and Blaire knew she’d need to find something soon if she wanted them both to keep going strong.

With a sigh, she looked up at the canopy, sunlight dappling through in golden patches, tracing her skin in fleeting warmth. She was grateful for this peace, rare as it was; it felt fragile, like a bubble that might pop at any moment, leaving her vulnerable to the world again. But she held on to it, allowing herself to relax just a little as she moved with purpose, her steps measured, quiet.

She scanned the forest floor, her senses sharp. It took patience, hunting; she’d learned that the hard way. Every step mattered, every breath held weight. There was a reverence in the way she moved, careful not to disturb the silence too much. Blaire had never been a natural hunter; the very idea had once seemed so foreign to her, but now it was a skill she’d had to acquire, if only for survival. It was strange to realize how much she’d adapted, how far from her old life she’d come.

The leaves shifted suddenly up ahead, and Blaire froze, her breath catching as she crouched low. Her eyes caught a flash of movement—a rabbit, nibbling on a fallen leaf, its tiny paws shuffling against the forest floor. Her heart beat faster, and she gripped the spear she’d fashioned from a broken branch, tipped with the sharpened blade she’d scavenged from a long-forgotten hunting kit. She knew it was her best chance, maybe for the whole day, so she held her breath, steadying her hand, waiting for the perfect moment.

But as she watched the rabbit, she felt a twinge of reluctance—a strange, tender ache that reminded her of the times she’d watched animals from the window of the cabin, her fingers curled around a warm cup as she observed them moving peacefully through the forest. There had been a beauty to those moments, to the way the world seemed so quiet and whole. It felt different now, to think of taking something from that harmony.

Still, she knew she had to try. Storm needed the food as much as she did.

Blaire held her breath, then struck forward with swift precision, her spear finding its mark. She felt a pang of regret as the rabbit went still, but she reminded herself of the necessity, of the way life worked in this world now. She crouched down, murmuring a soft thank you, as if it could mean something to the forest, to the rabbit, to the life she was about to sustain herself with. Her movements were gentle as she gathered her catch, careful, like she was touching something sacred.

Storm whinnied softly as she returned to him, his eyes bright with curiosity. Blaire gave him a small smile, patting his neck as she loaded her catch into a pouch.

“Guess tonight we’re both going to eat well,” she whispered.

She led Storm a little further until she found a suitable spot, a small clearing where the trees broke just enough to let the fading sunlight pour through, lighting up the leaves in a soft, golden hue. Blaire settled down, unpacking her supplies as she prepared to make a fire. She worked with careful hands, stacking the kindling, striking a match, watching as the flame slowly grew, licking up toward the sky in tiny bursts of warmth.

The fire crackled to life, and Blaire sat back, watching the smoke rise, the smell of earth and ash filling the air around them. She prepared the rabbit with an almost practiced grace, her fingers moving deftly, making sure to waste nothing. It was something she’d picked up from her time on the move—this reverence for what the land offered, the understanding that nothing was promised, that every meal, every drop of water, every small comfort was a gift.

As the rabbit cooked over the flames, she let herself drift back to thoughts of the cabin. She remembered the nights she’d sat there, wrapped in her old jacket, staring out the broken window, watching as the world outside moved on without her.

There had been a time, back then, when she’d dreamed of staying in that cabin forever, letting the world pass her by. She’d imagined it so clearly: the seasons shifting, snow falling on the roof, rain tapping gently against the window, flowers blooming just outside the door. But she knew, deep down, that it couldn’t last. The world was too unpredictable, too dangerous. And so she’d moved on, leaving behind the warmth of the fire, the creak of the old floorboards, the sense of safety that had begun to feel like a memory.

Storm nickered softly, bringing her back to the present. Blaire smiled, reaching out to scratch his nose, feeling the warmth of his breath against her hand. They’d been through so much together, seen so many places, survived countless trials. It was strange, but she felt a sense of companionship with him that went beyond words. He was her silent partner, her constant, the one who’d been there through everything.

As the meat finished cooking, she divided it, offering a small portion to Storm, who sniffed at it before nibbling carefully. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, feeling the warmth of the food spread through her, a comfort she rarely allowed herself to enjoy. Out here, under the open sky, with only the sounds of the forest and the soft crackle of the fire, Blaire felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: contentment. It wasn’t happiness exactly, but it was a kind of peace, a feeling that, for this one moment, she was safe, that she and Storm could just be.

When they’d both finished eating, Blaire leaned back, resting her head against a fallen log, her eyes drifting up toward the sky. The first stars were beginning to appear, faint pinpricks of light in the dusky blue, and she felt that familiar yearning rise within her, that ache for something she couldn’t quite name. It was a longing for the world as it had once been, a wish to go back to the days when she’d looked at the stars with wonder, with the knowledge that her life was her own, full of potential and possibility.

Now, her life was something she held onto carefully, like a fragile, precious thing. It was survival, yes, but it was also more than that. It was resilience, it was strength, it was a refusal to let go of the things that made her feel human.

And as she watched the stars blink into the night, she realized that she hadn’t lost that part of herself. It was still there, deep down, waiting for the chance to dream again.

But tonight, sitting high in the branches of an ancient tree, the stars didn’t feel like friends. They were cold, distant. She watched the sky with a lingering sadness, naming constellations in a low murmur, trying to feel that old spark. There was Cassiopeia, the proud queen; Orion, the hunter; and Ursa Major, the great bear. They twinkled down at her, just as they always had. Yet the comfort she once found in their light felt dulled now, washed over by the reality of a world broken and abandoned.

The forest around her was silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves as a soft breeze swept through. She tightened the strap around her waist that held her to the tree. From up here, the stars were clearer, sharper against the midnight sky. She could almost convince herself she was back in the observatory, peering through Mario’s telescope, letting herself fall into the wonder of it all.

But now, the stars felt like a reminder of everything that was lost. Her friends, her family, the future she once thought she’d have. She sighed, her breath a faint cloud in the chill air, and closed her eyes, letting the stillness wash over her. And yet, somewhere deep down, a small flicker of hope lingered—the stars were still here, unmoved by the chaos below. Maybe, just maybe, they could still be her guides through this darkened world.

But, the stars were a constant. Every night, without fail, Blaire could look up and know exactly where she was by their arrangement in the sky. No matter how far she’d traveled or how lost she felt, they were there, steadfast and unchanging. It was a quiet sort of comfort, one she held onto tightly when everything else seemed so fragile and fleeting.

She’d spent countless nights navigating by their light, the patterns becoming second nature. Even in this ravaged world, where familiarity was a rare gift, the constellations were like old friends, waiting to guide her back to safety. The North Star gleamed above, pointing her toward firmer ground, while Orion’s belt stretched out as a reminder of courage and strength.

Settling back into the curve of the tree branch, Blaire took a deep breath, letting her gaze trace each cluster. She whispered their names, her fingers moving over invisible lines between the stars, connecting them into constellations she knew by heart. It was a habit she couldn’t shake, a ritual that made her feel as though the world she’d lost was still somewhere up there, hovering just out of reach.

In these stars, there was still beauty, order, and a strange, unyielding sense of peace. As long as she could see them, she’d find her way through the darkest nights, the wild forests, and even the ruins that once held her home. They were her anchor, her map, her reminder that even when everything else faded, the stars would be there to light her path.

Blaire had always been fascinated by the stars—not just as points of light but as something deeper, something that felt personal. She knew each astrological sign, its strengths, its flaws, and what it all supposedly meant. Leo, her own sign, seemed fitting: the bold lion, fierce and unafraid. Leos were said to be natural leaders, proud and stubborn, qualities she’d always thought described her perfectly. Her friends used to joke that her hair was proof enough; wild and untamed, it was like a lion’s mane.

But now, her Leo traits took on a new, lonely meaning. Leadership and pride felt hollow when there was no one around to lead, no one left to remind her of who she used to be. The bravery and strength Leo was known for—she wasn’t sure if she embodied those things anymore or if she was simply surviving because she had no other choice. It was strange to realize that the traits she once embraced now felt more like burdens. Her pride made it harder to accept help, her stubbornness often kept her in danger, and her loyalty, she knew, had driven her to make reckless choices.

Still, she found herself turning to the stars for reassurance. Each constellation, every sign, felt like a quiet reminder that she was still someone with a story, a path—no matter how far she’d wandered from it. Sometimes, she’d find herself thinking of other signs and what they might mean in this world: Aries, the warrior, with its endless courage; Virgo, the healer, a symbol of wisdom and patience; Cancer, the nurturer, a reminder of the warmth and care she now found only in memories.