Three days after the full moon event began, many players had already died in the corners of Prague, due to carelessness, due to lack of strength, or due to bad luck.
In the northwest outskirts of Prague, a nature reserve, Wild Shalka.
The sky was azure, with casual, scattered white clouds, as if a painter had casually brushed a few strokes with a white brush.
A squirrel jumped between towering trees, advancing rapidly.
Soon, it reached the edge of the forest, facing a yellowish-white country dirt road, with tall wild grass on both sides and a red-roofed white-walled rural villa at the end of the road.
The squirrel's round, black eyes scanned the surroundings, and its tiny nose twitched continuously, assuring no strangers were around before it quickly ran towards the cottage.
The thick grass parted as it passed, closing again behind it.
The squirrel reached the door.
"Knock, knock, knock."
It knocked on the door, keeping an eye on its surroundings like a secret agent.