They appeared at dusk.
Not all at once.
One by one—stepping out of the forest as if the trees were merely doors they'd forgotten to close.
Jonah noticed the pattern immediately.
None of them looked injured.
None of them looked lost.
And none of them looked alive in the way the survivors were.
The first was an old woman with silver hair braided down her back. Her feet were bare, her skin weathered, eyes sharp as blades.
Then a man in a military jacket from a war Jonah recognized only from history books.
Then another.
And another.
Seven of them in total.
They formed a loose half-circle around the survivors, leaving space—as if this meeting had rules too.
Mara stiffened. "Residents," she whispered.
The old woman smiled. "We prefer stewards."
Someone laughed nervously. "You live here?"
"No," the soldier said calmly. "We remain."
Jonah stepped forward. "How long?"
The soldier's eyes flicked toward the sky—calculating.
"Long enough to watch empires rise and forget why they fell."
That did it.
Fear snapped into rage.
"You could've warned us!" one of the men shouted. "You let us die!"
The old woman's smile faded.
"No," she said. "The island let you choose."
A low vibration moved through the ground.
Agreement.
Jonah felt it in his bones.
"What happens to those who stay?" Jonah asked.
The residents exchanged glances.
Finally, a young man—barely older than Jonah—spoke. His voice was tired in a way sleep could never fix.
"You don't age," he said. "You don't heal. And you don't forget."
Jonah's stomach dropped.
"You become memory," the young man continued. "You guide tests. You watch people fail for the same reasons you once did."
"And if you refuse?" Jonah asked.
The forest creaked.
The soldier answered. "Then the island teaches you why refusal is a lie."
Mara stepped forward. "Why show yourselves now?"
The old woman looked directly at Jonah.
"Because the island is preparing a handover."
Silence slammed down.
Jonah felt the weight then—immense, deliberate.
The attention he'd been trying not to name.
"It's choosing a new voice," she said. "A new conscience."
Jonah's heart pounded. "And if I say no?"
The residents spoke together, voices overlapping like echoes:
"Then it will choose someone worse."
The fog behind them stirred.
Shapes moved within it.
Watching.
Waiting.
The island was not asking Jonah if he wanted the role.
It was asking how much damage he would allow by refusing it.