Or maybe it didn’t.

Around the flickering campfire, all five finally gathered. The fire danced and hissed, its amber glow pushing back against the ever-hungry dark.

Stan sat cross-legged. Silent. His gaze never left the fire. But he wasn’t really seeing it — not truly. His mind was still trapped somewhere else.

Back in that hallway.

The echoing voice.

"three days."

And then — the faint, almost adorable "boooo."

Stan’s lip twitched.

A tremor passed through him — but not from the cold.

On the other side, Sunfield was talking. Loudly. Proudly. Naturally. One hand gesturing dramatically as she recounted her personal heroism with all the the tales of glory.

“…and if I hadn’t personally taken charge, we’d all be ghosts by now,” she proclaimed, chest out.

Across the fire, the second team finally stepped forward.

First came a girl. Long, indigo robes dragging just above the earth. A wooden staff balanced carelessly on her shoulder — like it weighed nothing, like she’d been carrying it her whole life.

“I am Visceria,” she said. Her voice was silk. Smooth, elegant, but faraway.

Even when her eyes met theirs, it felt like she wasn’t truly there.

Like she was watching something else. Something behind them.

Sunfield squinted slightly. Nito blinked.

Then came the second. A young man, plain sword sheathed at his side, a faint crusader’s emblem glowing on his chestplate.

“Yoma,” he said with a small, respectful nod. “Crusader. That’s all.”

Stan studied them both.

Too calm.

Too clean.

Too… normal.

As if summoned by the same thought, Nito quietly settled beside Stan.

A flicker of the flame reflected in his eyes.

“Everything feels normal, right?” Nito murmured.

Stan raised an eyebrow, not looking away from the fire.

“Yeah… too normal. What’s the catch?”

Nito was quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“I think this has already happened. Not like déjà vu — I mean really happened. But I don’t know when.”

Stan inhaled, the breath slow and heavy.

“Did we die?”

“Yeah. I think… I think we did. But I wasn’t conscious when it happened.”

“Like… in our sleep?” Stan guessed.

Nito nodded slowly.

“Exactly.”

Stan’s heart rate spiked. His breath caught.

“Wait. Wait. Nito — is this exactly the same as what happened before?”

Nito glanced across the camp. At the fire. At the others.

“…Yeah. It’s the same.”

“Then where’s their leader?” Stan’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp with urgency. “There should be six of us. We’re five. One of them is missing.”

Nito’s eyes widened a little. He looked again. Carefully.

“You’re right. There wasn’t a third one last time either. I previous time cycle”

“So why did we forget?” Stan stood abruptly, crossing the fire to where Sunfield was still talking.

She trailed off, confused by his sudden movement.

Stan’s eyes narrowed on the newcomers.

“Do either of you possess holy or unholy powers?” he asked, firmly.

Visceria blinked — startled.

Yoma answered evenly. “We… no. We two don’t. Is there a problem?”

Sunfield tilted her head, now watching him closely.

“You said ‘we two’ just now,” Stan said. His voice was cool, but focused. “So you’re two. We’re three. Makes five.”

“…Yes?” Yoma answered, calm. “That’s what I said. We’re two. You’re three.”

Sunfield’s expression shifted. Something itched at the back of her mind.

“Three… three… third!” she gasped. Her eyes darted toward the camp.

Stan stepped closer.

“I’m going to ask again. You’re two, not three, right?”

Yoma’s reply didn’t change.

“Yes. Just us. Two.”

Sunfield called out.

“Stan, come back!”

He turned but kept his eyes on the strangers.

“You two. Don’t move.”

He returned to Sunfield and Nito, voice lowered.

“Fill me in,” Sunfield said quickly.

Stan glanced over his shoulder.

“This already happened. Nito confirmed it. Which means… we died in our sleep.”

“Nito?” she asked.

“I don’t remember everything,” Nito admitted, “but I know you went to sleep first. Then me.”

“No,” Sunfield corrected. “I slept after you.”

“Which means…” she paused, the realization chilling her faster than the night air, “they were awake while we were out. And they won’t remember — because it hasn’t happened yet.”

Stan nodded.

“They don’t need to remember. Because they’re going to do it.”

“But how do we know it wasn’t a ghost?” Sunfield countered. “It could’ve killed them first. Then us.”

Stan tapped his chest.

“My instincts say otherwise.”

“Instincts?” Sunfield’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“They’ve never been wrong.”

“…And if this is the first time they are?”

Stan stepped back toward the fire.

“Then we stay up. All of us. No sleep tonight.” He looked at each of them, eyes firm. “If they make a move, we know it’s them. If it’s a ghost, we’ll deal with it. If nothing happens…”

“We live,” Sunfield finished.

“Agreed.”

“Fine.”

Nito gave a silent nod.

The fire crackled again. Shadows danced longer.

The cold deepened.

And so the five sat in silence — not waiting for dawn,

…but for the truth.

-------------

Unseen by the firelight, far beyond the reach of their senses,

someone watched.

Nestled in the crook of a dead tree, high in the skeletal branches, a small figure sat — legs swinging gently, head tilted, observing them.

The moonlight touched only part of her face. The rest lay shrouded in shadows deeper than night.

Her eyes, gleaming like twin voids, never blinked.

They fixed on Stan.

Then to Nito.

Then back to the fire.

Their voices didn’t reach her, but she didn’t need to hear them.

She already knew.

The loli ghost leaned her head to one side.

Her voice — no louder than a whisper — slipped into the night like mist curling beneath a door.

"He won’t let you escape," she said softly, to no one and everyone.

"Whatever you do. Whatever you plan..."

Her lips barely moved.

"His eyes… are always on you."

She smiled.

A slow, eerie, knowing smile.

And the wind changed.

Leaves shivered in their branches.

The fire hissed.

And down below, none of them noticed the tree creak ever so slightly,

as if something was finally starting to move.