Dragging the red kayak across the dusty camp, I sought solace in the physical exertion, a welcome distraction from the turmoil that had enveloped our little community. The idea of actually using the kayak on the river appealed to me as a much-needed escape, a brief respite from the complex web of emotions and events that had defined recent days. I'd much rather be testing this out on the river, the thought crossed my mind once again, as I set the kayak down, envisioning the serene glide through water, the rhythmic dip of paddles, the quiet enveloping me.

I considered the kayak's size, my hands gauging the space within. I reckon I'd fit in there perfectly, the thought brought a momentary smile to my face, a fleeting sense of playfulness in an otherwise abnormal situation.

A quick scan of the camp confirmed my solitude. Emboldened by the absence of onlookers, I made my decision. With a mixture of determination and a desire for a momentary escape, I positioned myself beside the kayak, hands gripping its sides before stepping in. The initial wobble as I settled down reminded me of the unstable ground beneath, yet the sensation of sitting within the kayak brought an unexpected comfort. "This is nice," I murmured to myself, allowing the fantasy of being on the water to wash over me, eyes closed, the breeze caressing my face as if to affirm my temporary retreat from reality.

Lacking actual paddles did little to deter my imagination, which eagerly filled in the gaps. My hands lifted, mimicking the motions of rowing, the kayak and I moving in harmony across the imagined waters. Go faster, harder, the internal encouragement spurred me on, my body engaging in the make-believe with a zeal that momentarily lifted the heaviness that had settled around my heart.

The illusion of speeding against the current, the imagined spray of water cooling my face, provided a brief but potent dose of escapism. Emboldened, I shifted to my knees, seeking to amplify the experience, the movement less graceful than I had envisioned, nearly causing me to lose my balance.

Paddling faster than the current, small bursts of spray spritzed across my face as I paddled harder.

"Watch out for the Gorwal!" Charity's voice, laced with jest, broke through the tranquility of my imagined river adventure. Her warning came too late; the kayak rocked violently beneath me, jolting me back to the harsh reality of Clivilius. In an instant, I found myself capsizing, the dramatic overturn sending me sprawling into the unforgiving dust. The taste of grit filled my mouth, and as I coughed it out, the sound of Charity's laughter echoed in the distance, a reminder of the moment's absurdity.

Red-faced and disoriented, I scanned my surroundings, catching just a fleeting glimpse of Charity as she vanished around the corner of the last tent in the row. The embarrassment of the situation washed over me, mingled with a faint sense of amusement at the unexpected turn of events. With a heavy sigh, I picked myself up, dusting off the indignity along with the layers of dirt that clung to me. The kayak, now a vessel of my downfall, was set upright once more, the dust settling at its bottom a testament to my folly.

Playtime is over, the thought echoed in my mind, a sobering reminder of the stark realities that awaited me beyond the brief respite of my imagination. The weight of our situation, the looming threats, and the unresolved tensions within the camp pressed heavily upon me as I made my way toward where Charity had disappeared.

As I rounded the corner of the final tent, the sight that greeted me was one of sombre reflection. Charity stood by the river, engaged in conversation with Beatrix and Jamie. The heaviness in my heart grew as I approached, the sight of Jamie still clutching Duke tight a visceral reminder of the loss we had all suffered. The churn in my stomach mirrored the turmoil of emotions that gripped me—grief for Duke, concern for Joel, and a pervasive sense of uncertainty about what lay ahead.

As I edged closer, the snippets of conversation I caught were enough to send a chill through me. Beatrix's question, filled with a mix of fear and disbelief, hung heavily in the air. "Do you think somebody in the camp killed Duke?" Her voice, though meant to be a whisper, carried the weight of our collective anxiety and suspicion.

"Nobody that you know," Charity's response was cryptic, hinting at a complexity to our situation that we were only just beginning to unravel.

What do you mean?" The question from Beatrix and Jamie, voiced together, underscored the growing unease. "There's someone here that we don't know?" Jamie added.

"A Portal pirate," I found myself interjecting, stepping forward to join the conversation. The words felt heavy on my tongue, the revelation of this new threat a burden I had reluctantly agreed to bear. This knowledge, shared with me by Charity, had placed an invisible weight upon my shoulders—the responsibility of guarding this secret while assessing the potential danger it posed to our community.

"What the actual fuck?" Jamie's reaction was a mirror to the shock and confusion we all felt, his eyes wide with disbelief as he processed the implications of my words.

Charity elaborated on the nature of our unseen adversary. "He's likely lost and has been separated from his partner. Some danger must have befallen one of them before they could execute the location registration. They're always in pairs. Never work alone." Her explanation, while informative, did little to assuage the growing fear. "Cunning and violent bastards when they're together, but alone, they can be brute savages. Their instinct for hunting and survival runs deep."

Swallowing a deep sigh, a reaction I desperately wanted to unleash in response to Charity's harrowing insights, I steered our conversation back to a subject that, while still grave, felt more immediate and tangible. "Charity managed to kill one of the beasts last night. It's at the camp if you want to see it."

Jamie's reaction was swift and definitive, a fierce shake of his head indicating his refusal to entertain the thought. Yet, driven by a strange compulsion to share, I pressed on, the words tumbling out with an odd mix of excitement and dread. "She wounded another, and it appears, somehow, that a third shadow panther managed to follow Beatrix through the Portal to Earth." The gravity of this information, the implications of such a creature loose on Earth, seemed momentarily lost on me, caught up as I was in the narrative unfolding.

Jamie's attention snapped to me, a flicker of hope in his eyes that was as surprising as it was misplaced.

Regret washed over me instantly, a bitter realisation that I had ventured into territory best left unexplored. I should have known better than to bring that up, I admonished myself silently, feeling the weight of my insensitivity.

"It doesn't change anything for you," Charity's voice cut through the tension, her words a blunt reminder of the stark reality Jamie faced. Her hand on his shoulder was a gesture of comfort, yet the message she delivered was anything but soothing. "You'll never leave Clivilius alive."

Seizing upon a thread of hope, however misguided, I interjected, "But I think Duke can. You could have Luke take him to be buried on Earth?"

"Fuck no!" Jamie's response was a torrent of anger, the injustice of the suggestion igniting a fire within him. "It's not fair on Henri. Duke belongs here now. We'll find a suitable place to bury him here, today." His words were a declaration, a fierce refusal to entertain the notion of parting with Duke in such a manner.

My efforts to navigate the conversation, to offer some form of consolation or solution, had only served to exacerbate the pain and division among us. With a silent nod, I acknowledged Jamie's decision, the futility of my intervention becoming painfully clear.

"That's not possible to bury him," Charity's words cut through the heavy air with a finality that left me grappling for a response. What now? The question echoed within me, a silent wish for Charity's silence in the face of Jamie's palpable grief.

Yet, Charity seemed oblivious to the turmoil her words had incited, pressing on with a rationale that, while logical, felt like a cold splash of reality on our mourning. "You have no walls, no protection. Burying him will only attract creatures much worse than shadow panthers and Portal pirates."

I give up, I conceded inwardly, the weight of her logic undeniable yet unwelcome. "What then?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, bracing for the answer I feared would come.

"You'll need to cremate his body." The suggestion, though pragmatic, felt like a betrayal, a final severance of Duke's physical connection to this world that none of us were prepared to face.

I knew I shouldn't have asked! The thought was a torment, a prelude to Jamie's vehement reaction. "Like fuck we will!" His outcry, fierce and desperate, was a raw expression of his refusal to accept Charity's suggestion.

"Don't worry, Duke. I won't let them destroy any trace that you ever existed." Jamie's tender whisper to the lifeless form he held was a heartbreaking affirmation of his promise, a vow to preserve Duke's memory against all odds.

"Jamie," I ventured, my own voice laden with empathy for his loss, "we don't have a lot of options here." The attempt to bridge understanding, to offer solace amidst the harsh dictates of our survival, felt like navigating a minefield of emotion and resistance.

"No," Jamie's defiance was a wall, impenetrable and resolute. "We're not burning Duke." His words, a declaration of his stance, left no room for compromise, his determination to protect Duke's memory an immovable force.

In a gesture of desperation, I spread my arms wide, encompassing the vast, unforgiving landscape that had become our home, our prison. The gesture was an appeal to reason, to the blunt reality of our situation that offered little in the way of easy choices.

Beatrix and Charity, each adding their voices to the tumultuous debate, created a cacophony of dissent and desperation. The discussion, now a battleground of conflicting emotions and survival instincts, underscored the complexity of our plight. In this desolate expanse, under the shadow of threats both known and unknown, the debate over Duke's final rest was more than a disagreement; it was a microcosm of our struggle to maintain our humanity, to honour our bonds, in a world that demanded unceasing vigilance and adaptation.

Glenda's voice, edged with panic, sliced through the tense atmosphere. “Has anyone seen Joel this morning?” The concern in her voice was palpable, a sharp contrast to the heated debate that had just been consuming us. My body tensed, a reflexive reaction to the sudden shift in concern, as I scrambled mentally to recall any sighting of Joel since dawn.

"I've been with Jamie since I arrived," Beatrix's response, while immediate, offered no reassurance.

A sense of unease settled over me as I searched my own memories, coming up empty. "I've not seen him at all this morning," I admitted, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. The assumption that Joel was simply resting, safe within the confines of his tent, suddenly seemed naïve. "I just assumed he was still resting in his tent. Is he not there?"

Glenda's negative response, her head shake a silent harbinger of fear, sent a chill down my spine. The realisation that Joel was missing, truly missing, turned the morning's tension into a pressing emergency.

The situation escalated as Jamie, overwhelmed by the compounded stress of Duke's loss and now Joel's disappearance, collapsed.

"Jamie!" Our voices merged in a chorus of alarm as we converged to assist him, the urgency of the moment temporarily binding our frayed edges.

Kneeling beside Jamie, Glenda's swift assessment spoke to her competence and calm in the face of crisis. Her directive to me, "Gather everyone to the campfire," was a clear command, pulling me from the shock-induced paralysis that had momentarily taken hold.

With a nod, I acted on Glenda's instruction, my body responding with a readiness that belied the turmoil within. The quick pivot and stride back to the campfire were automatic, driven by the need to unite our group in the face of this new crisis.

"That thing is still hideous," I couldn't help but comment loudly as my gaze drifted back to the shadow panther's corpse lying ominously beside the campfire. The reminder of last night's terror seemed even more grotesque in the light of day.

"And it's beginning to stink revoltingly already," Karen's voice pulled me away from the grim sight, her expression a mix of disgust and apprehension as she emerged from her tent. "I've never smelt something so deathly before." Her words hung in the air, a testament to the unsettling presence of death that had invaded our sanctuary.

My brow furrowed in thought. What does death smell like? The question lingered in my mind, uninvited. Duke's passing hadn't brought with it an overwhelming stench, or perhaps my senses had been too numbed by grief to notice.

"Are you okay, Paul?" Karen's concern broke through my reverie, her cautious approach signalling a genuine worry for my well-being.

I shook off the distracting thoughts, chiding myself internally. Focus, Paul! The urgency of our current situation demanded my full attention. "Have you seen Joel this morning?" I redirected, bypassing Karen's inquiry about my state. Our missing companion's whereabouts were of paramount importance.

Karen paused, her fingers tracing lines of thought across her forehead as she dredged her memory for any sign of Joel. "No," she admitted after a moment. "I don't think I've seen him since we were all at the campfire last night." Her confirmation, while expected, did little to ease the growing knot of worry in my stomach.

"That's what I feared... and Chris and Kain?" I probed further, their absence at the campsite adding another layer of concern to the already tense atmosphere.

"They're at the lagoon." Karen's response caught me off guard, a surge of surprise and apprehension washing over me. Surely, they know the risks?

"Chris is helping to clean Kain's wounded leg. Glenda thinks the water may actually speed up the healing process," Karen elaborated, offering a rationale that did little to quell my concern for their safety.

"That doesn't surprise me," I acknowledged, my thoughts drifting back to a painful yet revealing moment by the river with Glenda. Her unconventional methods, though often met with skepticism, had proven effective more than once. "Regardless, can you go and bring them back to camp, please Karen." My request was firm, a reflection of the importance I placed on regrouping as we faced the uncertainty of Joel's disappearance and the ominous threat that still loomed over us.

"What? Now?" Karen's incredulity was palpable, her reaction a mirror to the sudden urgency I had imposed. The timing, given Kain's condition and the myriad of challenges we were already facing, seemed less than ideal to her.

"Yes, now." My response was firm, underscored by a sense of immediacy that couldn't be ignored, despite the ongoing concerns with Kain's leg and the broader safety of our camp.

"But Kain's leg..." Karen began, her protest highlighting the practical challenges of pulling everyone away from their current tasks.

"I'll make it brief, I promise." The assurance was as much for her as it was for me, a verbal commitment to expedite the process in light of the pressing matters at hand.

Karen's head tilted, her silence loaded with unspoken questions. Make what brief? The underlying query was clear, even if unvoiced, reflecting her struggle to understand the rationale behind my urgent request.

"We need to do a final headcount," I explained, attempting to project a confidence I was far from feeling. The act of rolling back my shoulders and standing tall was as much an effort to convince myself as it was to reassure Karen.

"Why?" Her confusion was evident, the sudden shift in priorities seemingly coming from nowhere.

"Joel appears to be missing." The words hung heavy between us, the gravity of the situation slowly dawning on Karen.

Eyes widening as the realisation fully sunk in, Karen nodded, her initial resistance giving way to a shared sense of urgency. Without further delay, she quickly left for the lagoon, her strides purposeful as she moved to carry out the instruction.

I continued watching her until she vanished beyond the first dusty hill, a silent sentinel wrestling with a mixture of worry and resolve. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon my shoulders, the task of ensuring everyone's safety a daunting challenge amidst the unpredictable dangers of Clivilius. In that moment, as Karen disappeared from view, the solitude of my position was acutely felt—a lone figure tasked with rallying our small band of survivors, each step forward a testament to the hope that somehow, we would navigate through the perils that lay in wait and emerge together, unbroken.

A mumbled voice abruptly halted my internal debate, causing me to spin around. "Ahh, Beatrix!" Relief momentarily lifted the weight off my shoulders as I spotted her making her way through the camp, her slow shuffle kicking up small clouds of ochre dust.

"What do you want?" Her voice was gruff, laden with the exhaustion that seemed to permeate our camp.

"I've sent Karen to the lagoon to fetch Chris and Kain. Hopefully, Joel found his way there, too. You've still not seen him?" My question was tinged with hope, albeit faint, clinging to the possibility that Joel had simply wandered off and found refuge with our other campmates.

"No," Beatrix's terse response dashed that hope.

A wave of frustration washed over me, my annoyance not directed at Beatrix but at myself. Injuries, death and now a missing person... and it's barely been a few days! The thought was a harsh indictment of our current state, a reflection of the myriad challenges we faced in Clivilius, each day seeming to unfold with a new crisis.

"Which tent is Jamie's?" Beatrix's inquiry momentarily diverted my train of thought. "He needs clean clothes." Her practical concern was a grounding force, pulling me back from the edge of despair.

"Follow me," I responded, motioning towards Jamie's tent, grateful for the distraction from my own spiralling thoughts.

As we approached the tent, I held back the front flap for Beatrix, a simple gesture of courtesy that felt disproportionately significant in the moment.

"Impressive," Beatrix's voice softened as she took in the interior of the tent, her initial observation cut short by my interjection.

"They're ten-man tents," I explained, almost mechanically. "Almost military grade." The description was factual, a straightforward statement that belied the complexity of emotions I felt. Offering this piece of information, though trivial in the grand scheme of things, was an attempt to anchor myself to something concrete, a detail that was unchanging in a world where everything else seemed to be in constant flux.

A loud grunt, incongruous with the sombre mood of the tent, drew our attention downwards to Henri. The small, chubby dog sat there, his gaze lifting forlornly to meet ours, a picture of dejection that tugged at my heartstrings.

"He looks so sad," the words escaped me in a whisper, my squat beside Henri an instinctive response to his apparent melancholy.

"He's hungry,” Beatrix's scoff cut through the quiet, her tone a mix of amusement and realism. "Don't mistake that resting bitch face for sadness. I've seen that gluttonous look in his eyes many times." Her interpretation of Henri's expression, so different from my own, was a reminder of how easily human emotions could be projected onto animals.

Henri’s yapping, a sound filled with impatience and perhaps a hint of indignation, followed by the swishing of his fox-like tail across the tent floor, seemed to underscore Beatrix's assessment. The dog's behaviour, so characteristically petulant, brought a faint smile to my lips despite the weight of recent events.

"Come on, Henri," I urged, standing up and moving towards the collection of bags stored along the wall of the right wing of the tent, intent on finding something to satiate his hunger.

"I'll feed him," Beatrix quickly took charge, her brisk movement towards the pair of empty food bowls drawing Henri's eager attention.

Rummaging through the bags, I found an unopened tin of dog food. "Here, catch," I called out to Beatrix, tossing it towards her with a flick of my wrist.

Beatrix caught the tin, pausing only briefly to read the label before Henri’s impatient yapping urged her to haste. The sound of the pull-ring breaking the seal of the can released a strong beef and gravy aroma into the tent, a smell so surprisingly appealing that it momentarily distracted me from the pangs of my own hunger.

"That almost smells good," I chuckled, a hand unconsciously rubbing my stomach as it reminded me of my own neglected need for sustenance.

Henri's loud snort, whether in agreement or impatience, was a sound so thoroughly grounded in the present, a reminder of life’s simpler needs.

"Hey, Beatrix!" My voice echoed slightly in the spacious tent as I beckoned her from the left wing—the designated sleeping quarters—curiosity piqued by something unusual I had stumbled upon.

Wandering over with a hint of reluctance, Beatrix's inquiry was laced with skepticism. "What am I looking at?" she asked, her gaze following mine to the ground.

Crouched beside the mattress, my index finger hovered over the canvas floor, pointing out several small droplets that seemed out of place. "Does this look like blood to you?" The question felt more serious than speculative, the implications of my discovery not yet fully understood.

Beatrix squatted beside me, the stench of the empty food tin momentarily forgotten as she scrutinised the droplets. "I guess it could be," she conceded, her uncertainty mirroring my own.

Disappointment washed over me, not so much at the ambiguity of her response but at the missed opportunity for clarity. "I would have thought you'd be able to give a more certain answer given how much blood you've seen recently," I remarked, a comment I regretted almost as soon as it left my lips.

Her eyes rolled in response, a clear sign of her annoyance as she disregarded my comment and moved toward the suitcases and bags, dismissing the conversation entirely.

Realising the insensitivity of my words, I hurried to apologise. "I'm sorry, Beatrix. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine," Beatrix snapped back, her terseness indicating anything but.

Just drop it now, Paul, I admonished myself silently. Acknowledging the need to let the matter rest, I was silently thankful that the exchange hadn't spiralled into a full-blown argument. The thought of how differently this might have unfolded with Claire stung with a pang of regret for the friction that often characterised our interactions.

Turning my focus back to the suspicious droplets by the mattress, the gravity of our situation settled heavily upon me. "I think Joel's in real trouble. We're just not equipped to survive out here." The words were heavy with resignation, a sobering acknowledgment of our precarious existence in Clivilius.

Beatrix's head snapped up as she turned in my direction. "There's a bunch of camping gear and related shit piled in Luke's living room."

"Really?" The surprise in my voice was genuine, a spark of hope ignited by the prospect of additional resources.

"It's where that kayak came from," she reminded me, tying the pieces together in my mind. "I think some of it may have got a bit damaged during the shadow panther attack last night, but I can bring you everything that's there anyway."

My enthusiasm was palpable. "That'd be great," I responded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. The responsibility of leadership felt less burdensome with each potential solution that presented itself. "We'll sort that out once we've decided what to do about Joel."

"And Duke," Beatrix interjected.

The mention of Duke instantly dampened my spirits. "It's really sad that we can't give Duke a proper burial," I admitted, the weight of our situation settling back upon my shoulders.

Beatrix's silence as she collected a handful of clothes was punctuated by her parting words at the archway, "Jamie won't let you cremate him." Her brisk exit left me in a momentary lull of introspection. Is Beatrix mad at me? The question lingered, unanswered, as I debated the undercurrents of tension that had woven themselves into our interactions.

Compelled to address the issue head-on, I followed her out of the tent. "Charity is right, Beatrix," I began, stepping into the open air, the tent flap falling closed behind me. The assertion was my attempt to bridge the gap, to find a middle ground in our differing views on handling Duke's remains.

"You take charge of it then," Beatrix's response, sharp and dismissive, was a clear challenge to my leadership. Her abrupt departure, a swift turn on her heels and a brisk walk away, left me standing in the aftermath of our exchange, pondering the complexities of leading a group through such unprecedented circumstances.

Glenda's quizzical look caught me off guard as she suddenly materialised a few feet away. In my head, I couldn't help but silently question her sudden appearance, though outwardly, I remained composed. Where the heck did you come from? The thought lingered, unanswered, as we both turned our attention to the more pressing matter at hand.

"The dog needs to be cremated," Charity declared firmly from beside the campfire. Her movements were deliberate, cleaning her bloodied blade on a leather tassel of her skirt before sheathing it with an air of finality that left no room for dispute.

My gaze shifted between Charity and Glenda, the former's statement hanging heavily in the air. I'm not going to be the one to argue with the woman with a bloodied knife, my eyes silently communicated to Glenda, hoping she'd pick up on my reluctance to challenge Charity's assertion directly.

Fortunately, the tension was broken by the approach of familiar figures in the distance. "Look, it's Karen and Chris returning with Kain," I announced, grateful for the distraction. Their progress towards us was slow, yet there was a palpable sense of relief at their safe return.

"And Lois," Glenda's tone softened noticeably as she crouched to welcome the bounding dog, her actions a brief respite from the earlier tension.

As Karen, Chris, and Kain finally closed the distance, their camaraderie was evident. Kain's announcement, "The feeling has returned in my uninjured leg," caught me by surprise. Had it ever been gone? I wondered, my brow arching in response.

"Well, that's a relief," Glenda responded, as she stood back up. Her inquiry about his other leg was both professional and filled with genuine concern.

"Seems to be quite the miracle," Karen added as they came to a stop near the campfire.

Crouching in front of Kain, Glenda's focus was entirely on the wound as she carefully examined it. The sight sparked a train of thought that had been lingering in the back of my mind. Jamie, Joel, Kain, and myself. That's four of us now that have had rather miraculous wound recoveries, I mused silently. The healing properties of the water in Clivilius were something akin to a marvel, yet a sombre realisation followed closely. So, why couldn't the waters help Duke? Are animals excluded? The question hung heavily, a shadow of doubt amidst the glimmers of hope we'd found in our strange new world.

As Glenda rose to her feet, her professional demeanour never wavered. "You'll still need to give it plenty of rest," she advised Kain, her tone a blend of authority and concern.

"We can make you some crutches," Chris offered, his suggestion born out of a genuine desire to help. He shifted his weight to better support Kain, whose arm was draped across Chris's shoulders.

"Forget making crutches," Karen interjected with a huff, her voice cutting through the air. "Just get Luke to bring us some real ones." Her practicality, often blunt, was in this moment a beacon of common sense, pointing us towards a more straightforward solution.

"That's a much better idea..." Glenda's voice trailed off, echoing the solution that had crystallised in my mind. But before she could finish her thought, her attention shifted, prompting me to follow her gaze. My eyes landed on Beatrix and Jamie as they reappeared from behind the tents. Jamie was cradling a small bundle in his arms, a sight that tugged at my heartstrings, the weight of recent events pressing down on me. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a reminder of my role within this group whispered encouragement. You are their leader.

Straightening my back as a physical manifestation of my resolve, I addressed Jamie, my voice betraying the emotional turmoil I sought to conceal. "Jamie," I began, only to be interrupted by a cough as my voice cracked under the strain. "I know things are a bit painful right now, but we need to know when you last saw Joel."

Jamie's abrupt stop and the ensuing silence that enveloped us were palpable. My heart raced as I waited for his response, the silence stretching into an almost tangible barrier between us. When Jamie finally spoke, revealing the last time he saw Joel was just before the shadow panther attack, a chill ran down my spine. The implications of his words were clear, yet the uncertainty of Joel's fate lingered like a dense fog.

"And when you returned?" The question hung heavily in the air, my hesitation giving way to a forced steadiness as I sought to uncover the truth. Jamie's subsequent expression, a mix of resignation and sorrow, accompanied by a simple shrug, spoke volumes. Words failed him, but his message was clear.

"Then it's settled," Glenda declared, her voice cutting through the tension, her posture one of nervous determination. "Joel is missing." Her statement, though stark, was a necessary acknowledgment of our predicament.

I gulped, feeling the weight of events crash into me like a wave. This is all really happening, I realised, the acknowledgment hitting me with a palpable force that seemed to compress the air around my chest.

Charity, with a presence that commanded attention, stepped forward. Her voice was not just confident but imbued with a strength that seemed to anchor us. "I am certain Joel has been taken by the Portal pirate. I will hunt him down and bring Joel back." The mention of the Portal pirate, a shadowy figure that had loomed over us since Joel's disappearance, sent a shiver down my spine. Not this bloody Portal pirate again, I thought despairingly. As if the shadow panthers weren't a sufficient testament to our nightmarish reality.

"I'm coming with you," Jamie blurted out, his voice cutting through the tension with a raw determination that caught me off guard.

Charity's nod was solemn. "Prepare your things. We leave immediately." The decisiveness in her tone left no room for doubt or hesitation.

The terror that flickered in Jamie's eyes, however, revealed the conflict raging within him. His gaze dropped to Duke, the bundle in his arms, a silent testament to the grief that was consuming him.

Charity, understanding the stakes, closed the distance between them with a few purposeful strides. Lifting Jamie's chin gently but firmly, she locked eyes with him. "If you want any chance of finding Joel alive, we must leave immediately." Her words, though spoken with a steely resolve, carried an undercurrent of empathy that underscored the urgency of our situation.

I bit my lower lip, wrestling with the urge to step in, to offer some form of solace, yet knowing deep down that this was a moment for Jamie to confront on his own terms.

"I need to say farewell to Duke first," Jamie's voice broke, the words barely more than a whisper, yet they reverberated with a profound sadness that seemed to echo the collective heartache of our group.

Charity's gaze never wavered, her eyes holding Jamie's with an intensity that was almost palpable. "Life is full of decisions and consequences, Jamie," she said, her voice steady and devoid of warmth. "You need to make a choice: Joel or Duke." The starkness of her words, the ultimatum she presented, was a harsh reminder of the brutal truths we were all grappling with.

That moment, witnessing Jamie's heartbreak and the unbearable decision he faced, shattered the last vestiges of my resolve. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the scene unfolding before me. Yet, the darkness offered no refuge; instead, it conjured a haunting question that echoed through the depths of my soul. Charlie or your children? Or worse, Mack or Rose? The thought was a blade, slicing through the fragile barrier I had erected to protect myself from the reality of our existence in Clivilius.

Forced to confront the tormenting prospect of such impossible choices, my eyes flew open, seeking escape from the prison of my thoughts. The sight that greeted me—Jamie, with a silent nod, entrusting Duke to Beatrix—was a poignant reminder of the sacrifices we were all being compelled to make. Beatrix's gentle hands taking Duke from Jamie was a tableau of sorrow and resignation that gripped my heart with a merciless ferocity.

"Duke knows you love him, Jamie. He won't ever forget that," Beatrix's voice broke through the heavy air, laden with tears that mirrored the grief etched deep within all of us.

Jamie's final act of love, a kiss placed on Duke's shrouded form, accompanied by his whispered apology, was a testament to the depth of his anguish. "I'm so sorry, Duke," he murmured, a farewell laced with regret and love.

I won't make that choice! I silently railed against the inevitability of such decisions. The thought of Mack and Rose, safely ensconced on Earth, was a balm to my battered spirit, a reminder of why I endured, why I fought so hard to maintain my humanity in this unforgiving world.

Jamie's resolve, as he announced his intention to prepare for the journey, was a stark contrast to the turmoil that had just unfolded. "I'll grab my things," he declared, his voice steadier than I would have thought possible.

But the quiet whisper of Clivilius, insidious and unyielding, challenged my defiance. But you already have made the choice, it murmured, a reminder that the decisions we faced here were not confined to the immediate or the physical. They were battles fought within the recesses of our hearts and minds, each choice a reflection of the sacrifices we were willing to make for those we loved.

Jamie's sudden halt and the glance he cast over his shoulder were laden with an emotion that words could scarcely convey. "Take good care of Henri for me," his voice carried a mixture of hope and resignation, a final plea before embarking on a perilous quest.

I stepped forward, feeling a surge of protective resolve as I scooped the full-bellied dog into my arms. "We'll keep him safe, Jamie. You have my word." My assurance was more than a promise; it was a vow, a commitment that transcended the current crisis.

Jamie's departure, with Charity at his side, marked a moment of silent solidarity among us. Their figures, moving towards the tent, symbolised not just a mission to retrieve our lost friend but also the sacrifices we were all prepared to make for one another.

The voice in my head, however, refused to grant me peace, probing the depths of my fears and uncertainties with relentless precision. Where are your children now? It echoed, a haunting reminder of the choices I had made—choices that felt increasingly like gambles with stakes too high to comprehend.

My frustration mounted, the internal debate raging within me. I pulled Henri closer, seeking comfort in the warmth of his presence. The physical act of holding him, feeling his heartbeat against mine, was a temporary balm for the turmoil that churned inside.

They can't survive here, I countered the voice's insinuations, clinging to the belief that I had made the right decision for Mack and Rose. The conviction that Clivilius was no place for them was unwavering, a pillar of my resolve amidst the storm of doubts.

Are you certain they can survive on Earth? The question struck with the precision of an arrow, piercing the armour of certainty I had clad myself in. The world I had left behind was far from perfect, fraught with its own dangers and uncertainties. The realisation that safety was a relative term, that the challenges awaiting us on either side of the Portal were merely different facets of the same struggle for survival, was both sobering and terrifying.

"Clivilius!" The sound of Glenda's scream pierced the air, the intensity of her emotion grounding her to her knees as she pounded the earth beneath her in a display of raw, unfiltered distress.

What the hell's going on? The question echoed through my mind, a tumult of confusion and concern as my gaze locked onto the doctor, her actions painting a picture of torment I couldn't immediately understand.

As Glenda raised her head, her eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and revelation, caught mine. The transformation in her expression was startling—a mixture of pain and elation that seemed almost too intense to be contained within a single moment.

Taking a cautious step forward, I ventured, "Glenda, are you alright?" The concern in my voice was genuine, the bizarre turn of events leaving me grappling for understanding.

The wild flame that ignited behind Glenda's eyes was unsettling, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt almost otherworldly. The grin that slowly spread across her face was equally disconcerting, morphing her features into a mask of eerie jubilation that seemed to consume her entire visage.

Eyeing Glenda with a mix of worry and bewilderment, I couldn't help but wonder about the nature of her distress. Was this a medical emergency, or something even more inexplicable? In Clivilius, the line between reality and the unimaginable was perpetually blurred, leaving room for endless possibilities.

"My father is alive!" The declaration burst from Glenda with a force that seemed to propel her physically, her hands reaching skyward as if in celebration of some miraculous revelation.

Gobsmacked, I could only stare, trying to process the sudden shift from despair to triumph. Glenda's trance-like state, her eyes unseeing yet filled with an indescribable fervour, left me at a loss. Even Chris' attempt to capture her attention, his hand waving futilely in front of her unresponsive gaze, did nothing to break her from her reverie.

Out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of movement snagged my attention away from the unfolding drama with Glenda. "Where the hell is she going?" I muttered under my breath, a mix of confusion and frustration colouring my tone. Beatrix, with Duke cradled in her arms, seemed to be meandering away from the camp's centre of gravity—away from us. "Beatrix, where are you going?" My voice carried across the distance, aimed at her retreating figure.

"Home!" The word exploded back at me, Beatrix's shout slicing through the air with a decisiveness that left me momentarily speechless.

"What? Now? What do you mean?" My confusion escalated into a shout, my attempt to bridge the physical and emotional distance between us abruptly interrupted by Kain's sudden declaration.

"I'm going with Beatrix," Kain announced, his determination breaking through the physical constraints of his injury as he clumsily disengaged from Karen's support, only to stumble to the ground.

"You need to rest," Karen's voice was a blend of concern and command, her stance firm despite Kain's defiance.

"I need crutches," Kain shot back, his frustration manifesting in a physical push against Karen's attempts to aid him.

Meanwhile, Chris's efforts to rouse Glenda from her shock—or whatever trance had seized her—were relentless but fruitless. "Glenda... Glenda," he repeated, a mantra of concern.

Amidst the chaos, Lois, ever the loyal companion, rose on her hind legs, pressing her front paws against me as if seeking to anchor the moment. Her bark, followed by a playful nudge of Henri's back paws, added another layer of complexity to the scene.

"Lois, down!" I commanded, struggling to maintain my grip on Henri, who squirmed restlessly in my arms. The challenge of managing the dogs mirrored the larger turmoil enveloping our group.

Turning my gaze back to Beatrix, I caught sight of her figure scaling the first dune, her progress relentless. The sight of her, so determined, so singular in her purpose, struck a chord within me. The camp, our makeshift sanctuary, was unraveling at the seams, each of us pulled in different directions by our fears, hopes, and the instinctual drive to find safety, to protect those we cared for.

"Oh my God!" The words slipped out in a hiss as I struggled to manage the turmoil unfolding around me. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I lifted Henri away from Lois, whose playful antics felt wildly out of place amidst the unfolding mayhem. My mind was a battlefield, thoughts and worries clashing in a relentless storm. With Joel missing, suspected foul play, Jamie imminently departing to hunt a Portal pirate, Beatrix and Duke heading toward the Portal, Karen and Kain arguing, and Chris unable to wake Glenda from her hypnotic state, I cataloged the pandemonium that had engulfed our camp. This camp has descended into utter chaos! Can it possibly get any worse?

In that moment of overwhelming despair, the piercing voice of Clivilius cut through the tumult of my thoughts, bringing with it an intense burning in my chest—a physical manifestation of the emotional and psychological strain I was under. Be brave, Paul. Now, more than ever, your people need their strong leader.