The morning after the meeting did not rise like any other morning.
No wind blew, no hungry dogs stirred in the ruins. Even the crows that used to circle as if watching the end—vanished.
But something in the air had changed.
No one announced a plan. No orders were issued, no banners were raised. And yet, people began to move.
It started simply, like a sentence said out of idle curiosity:
"You know… they used to say there were still wells in the west that hadn't dried up. It's just… no one ever dared go."
Then came the map.
A new map, pinned to the broken wall of the old administrative building. It bore no signature, no name, no seal—but was drawn with meticulous care, depicting the surrounding terrain of the city as if life still breathed in it.
On its edges were green circles, marked with phrases like: "Possible food storage," "Ruins suitable for settlement," "Alternative route to the southern base."
The drawing was too beautiful to be real.
And yet… people believed it.
By noon, the townspeople gathered in the square, as they did when danger—or hope—was whispered.
No one called them, but they came, as if something unseen was pulling them.
Ashura stood at the front, shoulders tight, sword at his side, voice steady:
"We're not obliged to wait for a slow death behind these phantom walls. Before us lie paths, chances—maybe a way out. All we need... is courage."
Beside him stood Zorem, silent. Just watching, his eyes unmoving, as if memorizing every face in the square.
In the back, Meer watched in silence, half her face hidden behind a scarf. She said nothing, but her gaze seemed to dig into everyone's intentions.
There was no threat… but the air was charged.
Then a man from the back rows spoke, his voice shaking:
"Who will go? Us? The ones who barely survived the winter? Who have nothing but children and spoiled soup?"
Naiv replied, with calculated lightness:
"No one is being forced. But whoever wants to be part of the future… must help build it. We're looking for those with courage—not asking for sacrifice."
His words made too much sense.
And then came the long silence. Then, as if someone unseen had scripted it from the beginning, a young man raised his hand. Then another.
Forty people on the first day.
That night, the whispers spread like wildfire:
"I heard they'll be given extra rations." "They say those who go will have their names sent to the Oracle base… maybe they'll be accepted there." "Supplies are now being given first to volunteers… that's only fair, right?"
No one knew who started these rumors. But they spread as if they'd been planted in their minds beforehand.
The next day, name lists began. Voluntary, of course.
But anyone who refused… was met with stares. Silent, charged stares, as if saying: You're just a burden, aren't you?
And that was the first victory.
By the third day, no one had left yet.
But the city had changed.
People no longer talked about food, but about "preparations."
About "their turn," about "the map that our steps will draw."
In the center of the square, a new board appeared.
Title: "Proposed List for Initial Exploration."
It wasn't an order, just a suggestion—on paper.
All names were written in neat handwriting, with proposed dates and "destinations open for discussion."
But everyone knew:
The choice had been made. Not officially… but socially.
By evening, stories began to circulate:
A woman claimed someone had volunteered first and was preparing to leave tomorrow—though he never said that.
Another man spoke about "those not yet on the list," in a light tone, but his eyes were not joking.
These were not accusations. They were soft nudges… poison wrapped in words of responsibility.
By the end of the first week, it became normal to be asked:
"Did you sign up?" "They didn't pick you? Strange… you're strong and smart."
There were no commands, no raised voices, no threats.
But the very air had changed.
That evening, the five met again:
Naiv, Ashura, Zorem, Elsa, and Meer.
Naiv was calm as usual, but this time he seemed... satisfied.
"People don't need orders. They just need the illusion of choice."
"We make them want to go. Not because we asked, but because they think staying is shameful."
He looked at the others.
Then added:
"The cruelest prison is the one where no one sees you as a prisoner. But as a role model."
Ashura didn't comment, but he was smiling—fiercely.
Elsa looked hesitant, but didn't object.
Meer finally spoke, in a quiet voice:
"Once the first one goes… no one will be able to stop.
Not even us."
Silence.
But this silence was not hesitation.
It was anticipation.
Waiting for the moment when the first would step forward…
and the gate would open.
On the morning of the fifth day, the city gates opened for the first time in weeks.
Six individuals, faces stiff with tension, stepped beyond the gray protective boundary.
What drove them wasn't courage, but the illusion of duty… and a vague hope that something out there was worth discovering—or at least, escaping the silence devouring the city.
There was no farewell. Only eyes watching from cracks in the walls, frozen as if any movement would bring the cracks upon them.
Above, from the minaret, Meer watched them.
She told Naiv:
"It's like we're sending them to vanish. No return. Not even a chance."
Naiv:
"Yes… that's why they can't be us."
But the city did not quiet after their departure.
No void was created—only space for suspicion.
No one asked, "Did they come back?"
They asked, "Why them?"
"Who chose them?"
The next day, rumors of a second list appeared.
Then a third.
Then whispers that anyone who didn't "help" might be added.
The fear was no longer of the outside—but of the inside.
Of the very walls.
Of the dark basement where the five gathered.
That night, they met again.
Ashura: "The plan is working. Not because they fear the rift, but because they fear each other."
Elsa (quietly): "It's like the city is the rift."
By the eighth day, people no longer spoke about the explorers as they did before.
Silence replaced anticipation—and with it, something deadlier: caution.
The first disappearance happened quietly.
"Layla"—a woman in her fifties who only left the shelter to hand out bread.
One night, she didn't return to her bed.
They said a rift appeared suddenly in the square and swallowed her—even though no one heard a scream, or saw anything.
Ashura said in the meeting:
"The rumors are starting to spread. Excellent."
The next day, "Jalal" vanished—one of those who often spoke about leaving.
Then "Saheem." Then "the deaf boy."
Each case had a different pattern:
Sometimes silent theft.
Sometimes blood trails leading to an alley, then stopping.
Meer didn't say much, but his face grew grayer by the day.
As for Elsa, she slowly detached from reality, as if her body remained, but her mind wandered between dreams and echoes.
In the basement, a new table was set.
Upon it: maps, notes, and tightly sealed black bags.
The work was done at night, silently, in small batches.
Naiv stood before them all and said:
"We didn't create this hell. But we chose to remain in it.
And if staying means becoming demons… then let's be the smartest demons."