The Monster Gamers

Kim Jisoo adjusted the straps on his pack and held Haru's hand a little tighter as they stepped deeper into the woods. Behind them, the wreckage of the Jeep and the melted remains of what had once been Ji-won lay silent beneath a canopy of withering branches and thick fog.

The boy's footsteps were soft on the damp forest floor. His hand, small and clammy in Jisoo's, tightened every few minutes—as if checking to see he was still there.

"Where are we going?" Haru asked, his voice small, uncertain. Tired.

Jisoo looked ahead. His eyes didn't blink for a long moment. His expression didn't shift.

Then he finally answered. "Back to the lab isn't safe."

"Because of… grandma?" Haru said. He didn't say the word "monster." He didn't have to.

Jisoo gave the faintest nod.

"Then where?"

"We're going deeper," Jisoo said. "Into the forest."

"Why?"

"Because," he hesitated, and then added in a quiet voice, "I think something's in here. Something important."

Haru blinked at him. "How do you know?"

"I just do."

The boy didn't ask again. He trusted him.

Jisoo's instincts had never failed him. Even as a child, when everyone thought he was strange, when his father called him broken, he had known things. He couldn't explain it. But when the Earth shook, when the sunlight dimmed, when everyone else thought it was just an eclipse, Jisoo had already packed his bags.

That same instinct pulled him now. Not fear. Not logic. But a tug in the center of his chest—quiet, steady, and absolute.

So they walked.

The forest thickened around them. Trees loomed overhead like ancient bones, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers. Moss carpeted every surface, wet and spongey beneath their boots. But what struck Jisoo more than anything was the silence.

No rustle. No birdsong. No buzzing insects.

Just the sound of two pairs of feet and the slow, ragged breathing of two exhausted survivors.

The deeper they went, the more unnatural it became.

The air grew hot and sticky, pressing against their skin like a wet cloth. Both of them were sweating now—Jisoo's shirt clung to his back, and Haru's bangs stuck to his forehead.

The humidity wasn't just uncomfortable. It was wrong. Heavy. Still.

Like the air hadn't moved in days.

Jisoo paused once to check his compass.

The needle spun wildly, then stopped… pointing straight up.

He stared at it for a moment, frowning, before tucking it back into his bag. "Figures," he muttered.

They kept walking.

Time became hard to track in the unnatural light. The forest canopy above blocked out what remained of the sky. Their surroundings blurred into shadow and mist, and the air felt thick enough to choke.

At one point, Haru stumbled, his breath coming in sharp pants.

"Wait," the boy gasped. "My legs…"

Jisoo stopped and crouched beside him, pulling out the last bottle of water from his side pouch. "Sip."

Haru obeyed. Jisoo wiped the sweat from the child's neck with a piece of cloth.

Even now, even through exhaustion, fear, and confusion, Haru didn't complain. He didn't whine. He just tried.

Jisoo said nothing, but something deep in his chest twisted.

They continued walking—slowly now—when Haru suddenly tugged on Jisoo's sleeve.

"Look…"

Jisoo followed the boy's pointing finger.

And stopped cold.

Light.

Faint at first. Thin shafts of it shining through the dense trees—silver and soft, almost like moonlight, but not moonlight. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive.

"What is that?" Haru whispered.

Jisoo stepped forward, cautiously.

Every nerve in his body screamed alert, but his instincts didn't scream danger.

Not yet.

The beams of light were filtering in from somewhere far deeper in the woods. They flickered and shifted slowly, as though moving with a heartbeat—almost hypnotic.

Jisoo stepped off the main path and moved toward the light. Haru followed close behind.

The humidity grew worse, but they were too focused now to care.

They passed under trees that were weirder than before—leaves black at the edges, bark that shimmered faintly. The moss beneath their feet felt spongier, like it had soaked up more than just water.

But the light—God, the light was beautiful.

It spread slowly, a silver glow illuminating the trunks of the trees, crawling over the ground like fog made of stars. It wasn't harsh. It didn't burn like a flashlight or a flare.

It welcomed.

Still, Jisoo's grip tightened on Haru's hand.

There was no such thing as safety anymore.

And beautiful things in this world were often the most dangerous.

They pushed through the last thicket of brush and gasped.

The trees opened into a clearing.

And everything changed.

The ground was blanketed in strange plants that glowed softly—petals like glass, gently opening and closing. The air shimmered like heat rising off pavement, but cooler. More… serene.

In the center of the clearing stood a massive tree, towering higher than any Jisoo had ever seen. Its bark was silver and black, and it pulsed softly with light. Dozens of smaller lights swam gently around it, like fireflies in slow motion.

Haru stood completely still. His mouth opened slightly, breath caught in awe.

"…It's alive," he whispered.

Jisoo couldn't speak.

His instincts—the thing that had pulled him here, through blood, loss, and terror—had gone completely silent.

Not because there was danger.

But because, for the first time in forever… there was something else.

Something other.

And they were not alone.

From the edge of the clearing, the light shifted.

And something moved.

Not a monster.

Not a human.

Something… in between.

Jisoo stepped in front of Haru.

And waited.