Heir of the Fog

Not the Enemy We Thought

I had let fascination blind me to my actions and to their panic. The sight of the cannons made me want to witness the thunder for its own sake, even if the mouths of those iron beasts pointed at me.

Maybe it was inherent to my aspect, an urge to witness and study creations as the one with a claim to the very aspect of creation itself. Regardless, I should've considered Tarin would nock an arrow against me.

Pain rang through me like a bell. Cracks flashed across my ice flesh, bright lines that knit almost as soon as they appeared. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said of my cloak, which the light had struck hard.

The illusion vanished, and I lay there with my true form exposed. "Hang on. I won't let you fall," I said, watching the cloak slip through me like liquid shadow.

It drank from my core to heal, and I felt its pain—the torment the light had driven into it. All the while, my form lay bare. Without thinking, I shaped a round cocoon of ice around me, not to shield myself but to spare the attackers from a sight they should not see.

The attacks didn't stop, which relieved me; distance had protected them. To confirm it, I pushed my senses forward, letting my sight pass beyond the ice and watch them in detail as if I stood among them. There I saw the tug of bowstrings, the scrape of boots, the brief prayers some men shaped with their mouths and never voiced.

I saw it all.

"See it? That's an Elrod, Overseer!" Cedric shouted.

Men saluted at his words, and the attacks grew fiercer. That surge of encouragement blinded them to the fact that it had been the only Arrow of Pure Light the bow could conjure for the next twenty-four hours.

Gustav and Leslo both glanced at Cedric, surprised. However, Tarin stared past them, attention snagged on something only he could see.

They saw my cocoon as weakness. Little did they know it was a curtain for their sake.

At Tarin's silence, Gustav stepped forward. "It's hurt," he said, "but alive. Focus on that… egg. Don't let it hide."

At his command, another volley roared from the cannons, punching deep into the ice, but not deep enough.

"Overseer? Sir—Tarin?" Leslo's voice thinned with worry as he gripped Tarin's forearm, fingers brushing the worn leather of his light armor. He shook him once, then harder, as though trying to pull him out of a dream that refused to let go.

"What?" Tarin said at last, voice hoarse, eyes blinking like he had surfaced too fast.

"Are you all right? You weren't answering," Leslo said, and those near him looked worried.

"What… what happened?" Tarin rubbed his temple with two fingers, as if a noise still rang in his head.

"What happened? What happened?" Gustav snapped. "You took a nap amidst the battle, that's what happened. Next time, we bring a pillow." The tension of the moment caught up with him, and he seemed to realize what he'd just said almost as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean… respectfully, sir."

"What's up with your gramps, jealous or what?" Artemis grinned. "Go ahead and take your nap as well. Nobody's stopping you."

Gustav looked at her as if weighing the consequences of his next words, but Tarin interrupted before he could speak. "Wait, wait. What's happening? Did I kill it?"

Whatever Tarin saw at that distance clearly affected him, though I did not know to what extent.

Gustav forced a smile. "Almost. It tucked itself into that egg. We're working on it, but the shell's thicker than those tentacles."

Tarin nodded once, as if he had expected that answer. "Losses? And the ward—how is it holding?"

They all looked at each other. Then Leslo answered, "None so far; the beast has yet to attack."

"So why are you joking around? Are you all nuts? Pick up a bow and fire as well if you have time to make jokes," he commanded, clearly shaken.

While they spoke, Hazeveil climbed my shoulders again. Shadows became ink, sketching the human mask. I again bore a human form: no markings, clean skin, as if untouched by blades or claws.

"Silence," I commanded the voices within once again, to make sure they would remain quiet as I prepared to end this.

The egg, or rather what I preferred to call a cocoon, opened. Then I gathered my will and spoke. "Master of the wind, please bless my next words to carry them far and wide." Another use of will, a command asking the winds to deliver what I had to say next.

A heartbeat passed, then another. On the third, the air thickened and turned, a soft current that combed my cloak like careful fingers.

Only then did I speak. "My friends, please cease the attacks. I mean no harm; I wish only to return to my beloved home. Your might is powerful, and I am impressed. However, my run has been long, and I am tired, in desperate need of rest and sanctuary."

Hundreds of soldiers; no, everyone within the District heard me, for the winds had been kind. They looked at one another, confused, asking if they had heard it too.

"The monster speaks," Cedric said, more wonder than fear in it. His crossbow dipped, and a dozen more followed his lead.

Gustav shook his head hard. "No. No. Don't buy it. It's deceiving you all."

"It called us friends," Cedric shot back. "And it hasn't struck. Not once."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"That's... that's because..." Gustav tried to convince everyone but failed, not even sure himself why the monster had not attacked.

I still remembered the day Cedric's father fell. Wrong side, they said. But no—they had merely stood on the losing side. The memory of him would not fade easily, nor would the name of the family entrusted to protect the district for so long.

The way Gustav and Cedric stared at each other made me realize Cedric was still stripped of any official position. Yet power, in the end, lies where people believe it resides, regardless of what any document might declare.

The people were torn over whom to follow—Cedric or Gustav—and the only one who could break the impasse remained silent, his face unreadable, though they all looked to him, waiting for his next order.

Then he looked directly at me and shouted as loud as he could, "Who is out there? Identify yourself."

The winds brushed across my cloak, answering my will as I said, "You know who. May I enter?"

Silence settled as murmurs spread; the attacks finally ceased. Everyone looked at Tarin as time stretched for long moments, broken only by the howls of fog beasts drawn by the noise.

If I were truly a monster, the longer he spent in contemplation, the more beasts would gather beyond the ward, and he realized that quickly. "Yes," he said, but he did not move his hand from his bow, clearly waiting to see the ward's judgment.

The tentacles bore me forward. The miles left in my run vanished. As they thinned, the ward shimmered around me at my touch, and the tentacles finally set me on the ground.

Then they broke with brittle sounds and became snow before hitting the ground.

Their defense line stretched across the open ground, a thin seam of men and iron a hundred meters from the ward. When the ice fell away, surprise moved down the ranks like wind through grass, mouths opening, hands tightening on their weapons.

I understood their suspicion; words would carry only half the distance. So I pushed the hood back and let them see my cloak's illusion fully: a human face, the same features that had always marked me, though clearly aged to resemble what I should be.

"Human," some of them said.

"Not a monster," another said, as if not quite believing it.

"That's… Omen."

They talked among themselves, and some even recognized me somehow. Actually, maybe they didn't; perhaps they thought it should be me, as I doubted any other chainrunner went into the fog alone.

Slowly and carefully, I placed my hand through the ward, letting my cloak hide me from its sight as I stepped in. The ward refused me, but the cloak lied for us both, and no one needed to learn that truth.

After all, I feared what they would think if they learned that not even the ward recognized me as human anymore.

Tarin showed no hint of fear as he walked toward me, bow finally lowered, eyes locked as if doubting the sight before him. For a moment, he halted, staring past me, then he massaged his temples with two fingers, as if annoyed by a headache, and continued walking on as if nothing had happened.

I didn't have to look back to know he was staring at empty air.

"Long time no see, brother," I said.

He looked at me for a few more moments before asking. "Is it truly you?"

"Who else would it be?" I asked. "Have you started sending solo chainrunners other than me?"

Slowly, as if recognizing my voice and my features, he began to accept the truth, though he kept staring past me. "You do realize you left a long time ago, right?" he asked.

"I thought so," I said. "Time was strange where I was, hard to keep track of it. How long has it been?"

He seemed dumbfounded. "Eighteen years… eighteen fucking years, that's how long," Tarin replied, his tone mixing a hint of happiness with anger.

Eighteen years was a long time, but it was nothing compared to how long I thought had passed. "But now I'm back. I told you I would. Don't you remember?"

He contemplated for a moment, as if trying to recall, but failing to do so. "No matter what you said, eighteen years have passed. We all considered you dead. And now you simply appear like this, out of nowhere?"

His anger was understandable. I had left him to deal with the politics of New Araksiun all by himself. Even if I had not expected it would take me that long to return, that didn't change what had happened.

I couldn't form an excuse and, honestly, didn't want to offer another lie. "Yes," was all I managed.

"You are truly Omen," Tarin said. "Only Omen would be that smart and that dumb at the same time. To think I almost killed you… I'm sorry."

He hadn't almost killed me, but there was no need to bruise his pride. "Don't be sorry. You had no way to know. That's my fault; none of you could have known."

We didn't speak loudly enough for everyone to hear, but as we stood face to face, whatever suspicion remained vanished. People eased at last, and even Tarin's shadow—Artemis, who had walked up behind him without his noticing, lowered the dagger she was ready to throw at me.

I had barely met her before I left, but she was not someone I would forget easily. In truth, I could distinguish them all quite well despite the effects of time.

"So we ain't killing this monster? All that fuss was just a family reunion?" she asked, startling Tarin.

She reminded me of the Isari, following orders only when they believed them the best course of action, yet always loyal. For a moment, I considered asking if she would accept the Isari's path after death, then realized it was neither polite nor the best way to start a conversation.

Maybe I should ask later…

"Artemis, what did we say about sneaking up on me? This isn't the time," Tarin said, then looked at me. "And you—yes, we had no way of knowing, but couldn't you have said something from the start? That loud mouth of yours can be heard for miles."

"I was fascinated by those cannons. I wanted to see them in action," I replied honestly.

Gustav, Leslo, and Cedric arrived together. Gustav still had his axe in hand. They heard my words, looked at each other, and then said almost in unison, "Elrod."

As if that explained everything.

The battle had ended without a single soul lost, but the field still held them. Relief moved through the ranks instead of anger, relief that it had only been a false alarm, relief at knowing they would all return safely to their families.

Gustav noticed the shift, still holding his artifact axe in hand, and couldn't help asking, "Care to explain all that ice? Those things moved at your will, a powerful artifact you found?"

Not many had questioned my power before I left the ward; most thought it rude to ask for secrets someone hadn't offered willingly. Still, I already had an answer prepared. "Spent too long in the fog and learned some of its tricks."

It was the truth, though not the whole truth.

"Tricks?" Cedric asked. "Dangerous tricks, those—like the fog beasts'. Have you become one of them?"

Blunt and direct. The answer was yes, it had always been yes. I considered whether to admit it, yet before I could reply, Tarin spoke for me, loud enough for everyone, even those far away, to hear. "What matters if he is?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Cedric stammered. "I was only asking if he uses magic like the beasts, that's all."

"What matters if he does?" Tarin pressed, louder now, though it was clear he wasn't speaking to Cedric but to the watching soldiers, knowing that what they heard now would echo across the district. "Fighting fire with fire has always been the best way. Our artifacts themselves are born of the fog's power, turned against it. So what does it matter if we use the same fire or, in this case, ice? As long as it's on our side, it matters not."