Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Call of the Chainrunner

I tried to replay the events in my head, searching for any clue about why I was there, in that spacious room filled with ornaments and beast trophies. The walls and shelves displayed skulls and horns of creatures I could barely name; one skull, big enough to fill the entire table in front of me, drew attention the moment anyone walked in. And there I was, about to speak with Lirien Blackthorn, the Captain of the Chainrunners.

Honestly, I thought meeting the Captain of the Guards was intimidating enough, but this felt like something else entirely. Even though she had a mountain of paperwork piled on her desk, her stare never drifted from me. Her glare seemed poised for battle at any moment, as if she expected a threat to leap out of nowhere.

But then, that was no surprise. Many Chainrunners remained in a battle-ready state even after they returned to the city. I heard most of them lived secluded in their facility near the outskirts, rarely seen by common folk. In all those years, I had barely caught glimpses of a few.

Lirien was said to be in her mid-thirties, yet she didn't look a day over twenty-five. She had an athletic build beneath what appeared to be light, form-fitting equipment, and scars etched their way across her arms and neck. Her short black hair framed a pair of piercing green eyes—eyes that exuded a kind of ruthless focus. Every breath she took felt controlled, disciplined—almost predatory.

[Kara]

[System Notification]

[Be warned, she is the equivalent of a Tier 2 Magical Creature.]

"What? She has a core?" I thought, failing to conceal my shock. My face must have shown it, because Lirien's eyes narrowed slightly, studying my reaction.

[Kara]

[Negative. Even though she has small quantities of mana running through her veins, it's not stabilized by a core. Instead, she must have taken some kind of improvement to her own body, what you know as a consumable artifact. In her case, something that helps her body utilize mana to enhance her physical abilities to the level of a Tier 2 Magical Creature.]

I pondered this, glancing at the scattered artifacts around the room—pieces of chainmail, battered weapons, even an array of monster teeth hanging from the ceiling. Lirien was the Captain of the Chainrunners, the holder of the legendary Dawnbreak Bow. It wasn't so far-fetched that she'd have access to powerful items, just as I had that AI Markus gave me.

"What if I get access to what she used?" I wondered, directing my thoughts toward Kara. "Would that help me form a core of my own?"

[Kara]

[Negative. That would be a permanent modification to the body, altering how mana interacts but with severe limitations. The user would not be able to fully utilize mana or even improve further after such changes. It should be noted that although she has the physical improvements of a Tier 2, she possesses far less mana than a Tier 1. However, the small mana she does have is put to perfect use.]

All the while, as I mentally conversed with Kara, Lirien continued to stare at me from behind her desk, leaning forward with her elbows on a thick ledger. She took in every detail—my posture, my expressions, the slight twitches of my eyes. By the time I realized I had gone silent and distant, she seemed to have grown impatient.

She tapped a gauntleted finger on the desk. "Good. You finally came back to us," she said, her voice low and precise. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten I exist. Hard to believe someone who drifts off like that could survive in the fog."

"No—no," I stammered, noticing how my words echoed in that trophy-laden room. "I just got… curious about your condition."

The moment it left my mouth, I realized I had basically revealed something I shouldn't know. A flicker of irritation flashed across her face.

"My condition?" Lirien repeated, voice edged with steel. "And what would that be?" Her glare felt like a physical weight pressing down on me.

I recalled my earlier meeting with the Captain of the Guards, how I had tried giving half-truths and only ended up losing his trust. There was no point risking another failed lie here.

"I can sense a bit of mana in your body," I replied carefully, "small amounts, but placed in a way that boosts your physical abilities beyond most beasts in the fog."

For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised, as though I had stepped past all her defenses with a single sentence. "Well, well," she murmured, leaning back in her chair. "It seems I misjudged you. This is supposed to be a secret, very few know about it, and I'm quite certain my son and the other Chainrunners wouldn't have shared it without my permission."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, lifting my hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't realize it was a secret. I won't tell anyone."

"Don't worry," Lirien said, though her intense gaze hadn't lost its edge. "I'm not here to threaten you. I was just… surprised. Nobody's ever noticed. Most people assume I'm just some freakish beast made human."

She gestured vaguely toward me. "Yet here you are, a nine-year-old boy, who picks up on my biggest secret within seconds. Meanwhile, I've spent all this time trying to figure out your own secrets, but I'm no closer to an answer."

A prickle of concern ran through me. "And what secret would that be?"

Lirien crossed her arms over her chest, regarding me with renewed scrutiny. "You survived in the fog," she stated. "Years ago, when you first showed up here, I wrote you off as a strange kid with insane luck. But then, on that veteran long run, when we tried to assess the state of the other districts, I lost most of my people. One by one, Chainrunner after Chainrunner fell, until hardly anyone was left. After that… I knew there's no such thing as mere 'luck' when it comes to surviving out there."

She reached behind the desk and lifted a battered file. From within it, she withdrew a piece of paper, a charcoal drawing of me from the day I arrived in District 98. My heart tightened. I recalled how that same veteran run destroyed the majority of experienced Chainrunners in the neighboring districts, including ours. Lirien was one of the few to return from as far as District 11, a feat nobody thought possible since everything from 100 to 11 lay in ruins.

Slowly, she set the paper down and met my gaze again. "I've always wondered how you managed it. In fact, I sent my son, Tarin, to observe you. I thought maybe you'd teach him something about survival, turn him into a better Chainrunner than I am."

Suddenly, it all made sense: Tarin's constant scrutiny in class, his odd questioning, and the way he seemed to watch my every move. And the reason I was even suggested for those advanced lessons in the first place. My mouth opened to respond, but a hard look from Lirien was enough to keep me quiet.

"He came back convinced there was a misunderstanding. He said you were just a weak boy, maybe an illegitimate child kept off the District's records. Foolish kid," Lirien said, shaking her head. "He has no instincts."

She flipped open the file again, sorting through a few blank sheets at the back, and started jotting notes with a quill pen. "But now I see exactly what's different about you," she added without looking up.

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My heart thumped. A part of me feared she had guessed the secret of my corruption or of Kara's presence in my mind. But then she said, "It's your instincts—far beyond any I've seen. In one moment, you saw what nobody else noticed. That's the same sharp instinct you must have used to survive in the fog."

I exhaled, recalling that, in truth, not every monster in the fog tried to kill me on sight. I didn't have a beacon over my head to draw them all, and Kara certainly helped. Without overthinking, I decided to clarify some of it. "I recently found an artifact," I began, choosing my words with caution. "It was a consumable artifact, so I can't show you… but it gives me…" I paused, worried they might mistake it for demonic possession if I said there was a voice in my head. "It improves my analytical capabilities."

She tapped her quill on the paper, then wrote something else. "A consumable artifact of that kind," she mused, "would be a huge advantage for someone with instincts like yours."

It almost sounded like she was dismissing the idea that the artifact itself gave me the knowledge to spot her secret. Or maybe she simply suspected there was more that I wasn't saying.

Yet for now, she didn't press the issue.

"Your last trip," Lirien began, her voice calm but intense, "you stood in the fog for a month and a half. I must say, I am curious—where did you find the courage to go there alone? I can barely convince my son to take up the role of a Chainrunner voluntarily someday. Of course, he knows his duty, but I see fear in his eyes whenever he looks at that endless haze."

She paused, leaning back against her chair. Behind her desk, the curved wall of her top-floor office bore signs of heavy use, chips in the stone where weapons may have been tested or thrown, and on the shelves, a neat row of battered helmets. She drummed her fingers on the worn wooden surface, as though weighing my answer.

"But right now," she went on, "I'm more interested in your tactics."

Her look suggested she expected some precise battle stratagem, a careful breakdown of how I supposedly survived out there among monsters. Maybe she imagined I went sleepless all that time, dodging and fighting every second. I shook my head inwardly at the thought; it was nothing that dramatic. Still, I gathered myself and spoke.

"I go alone," I said, "because it's easier to hide that way. I'm fast, and I make little noise. The biggest advantage beasts have is their sense of smell, so I use weeds that grow in the fog. I burn some of them, carry others around, switching types now and then so my scent doesn't become predictable."

In truth, I was simply repeating everything Kara had taught me. Lirien listened quietly, arms folded, brow furrowed in mild fascination. She seemed especially interested when I mentioned disguising my scent.

"And you say the beasts don't come after you immediately?" she asked. "That the fog does not send them, and you can hide out there?"

"Well," I replied, "I guess so. Yes."

Her eyes flicked toward a thick folder on the desk. "So all those claims you made about the fog speaking to you, about the destruction of District 95…" She opened the folder and wrote something on a half-filled page. Her pen scratched the surface with a decisive flourish, but I couldn't see exactly what she was recording.

The mention of District 95 jolted me. If a month and a half had passed since I ventured out, she surely knew something about it by now.

"My message… have you sent it?" I asked, trying to steady my tone.

Lirien nodded. "Yes. You were lucky, though. I'd never arrange a full run all the way to District 95 just to deliver a message for you. Every time we cross the ward's boundary, I risk the lives of my Chainrunners. But we had another run scheduled a few weeks later, so I just decided to do the run a few weeks earlier."

Relief washed over me, and she noticed. She tapped the pen thoughtfully against her desk before speaking again. "As for District 95, we found out a few days ago—through another neighboring team of Chainrunners—that it no longer stands. It's gone."

A chill ran through me. My suspicions were correct, but hearing the words still stung.

"Your message, though, had some impact," she continued. "There were a few crazy folks who decided to travel to District 96. Some of them even hired local Chainrunners to escort them. Luckily, just a bit over a hundred people went for it, and only a few dozen survived the run, even with the Chainrunners' help."

"Only a few dozen out of a hundred?" I murmured, the number swirling in my head. "But why do you say 'luckily'?" I frowned. "Shouldn't we have tried to save more of them?"

She narrowed her eyes, as though questioning my innocence. Then she sighed. "And feed them with what, exactly? Another district has fallen, meaning fewer supplies overall. Picture if the entire population of District 95 had relocated at once. District 96 would buckle under the strain—too many mouths to feed, not enough resources, all with winter always looming. I only delivered your message because I thought it might be useful to have you owing me."

Her words were blunt, and there was a casual detachment in her voice that made me uneasy. But she was a Chainrunner Captain, someone who had seen entire districts collapse. Maybe she no longer had the luxury of dwelling on each tragedy. She stood up abruptly, turning toward the large window behind her. It arched outward, giving a broad view of District 98 below. Even from there, on top of the Chainrunners' facility, I could hear the muffled hum of life—people going about their daily work in the narrower streets and cramped housing.

Lirien rested one hand on the window's frame. "It's hard, I know. But that's the world we live in. If you don't like it, then change it." She glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. After a second's pause, she picked up a small stack of papers. "That said… consider your debt null and void. At first, I planned on forcing you to become a Chainrunner to repay what I did for you, but after seeing that District 95 really did fall, exactly as you warned, I'm not going to call it a debt anymore."

"Thank you," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. The tension in my shoulders relaxed, and I exhaled.

She handed me the papers, many bearing my name. Her expression softened—just barely—before she explained.

"I made you an official member of District 98 in order to collect this debt. Yes, I realize you already have people here, but you still needed an official parental sponsor. So I put myself down as your adoptive mother. No one will dare question my decision."

I blinked rapidly, absorbing that. For years, Elina and Jharim tried to adopt me, only to be refused by the council. We hoped that once I was older, when I qualified for an apprenticeship—things might change. And here Lirien Blackthorn simply wrote her name on some forms, making me a legitimate resident of District 98. My heart thumped with both relief and confusion.

She set the papers aside on her desk. "I had intended to make you a Chainrunner apprentice, like Tarin, because of the debt you owed me. Now you have a choice. You're already part of the district, recognized by law. You don't have to become a Chainrunner if you don't want to."

I stood there, mind reeling. The window behind her cast a faint glow over the trophies and scattered maps pinned to the walls. Bits of monster hide dangled among scribbled route plans. All of it looked surreal, as though I had stepped into someone else's life.

Part of me wanted to remain safe, far from the deadly runs and the endless threat of the fog. Yet the memory of so many destroyed districts, Markus's threat, the day he arrived—flooded my thoughts. Did I want to live the rest of my life just hoping we wouldn't be next?

After a while, Lirien grew quiet, still looking out at the city below. My thoughts swirled, and I recalled every person I'd met who had lost something to these horrors. Finally, I spoke, voice hushed but resolute.

"Thank you, Lirien Blackthorn," I said, "but I think I would like to become a Chainrunner as well."

She turned, genuinely surprised. For a moment, the hardened Captain seemed taken aback. "You do realize you have no obligation now, yes?" Her words slowed, enunciated as if to ensure I understood. "It's your decision. You'll be treated as Tarin is, living here under my name if you choose. You could even pick another profession as an apprentice, or stay out of the Blackthorn family business altogether."

"Yes," I answered, "but as you said, I can't stand how things are. I don't want to wait around for the next disaster."

For a second, she scrutinized me in that same disconcerting way as before, as though searching my eyes for any hint of manipulation or deception. But there was none. My choice was sincere.

She probably expected to corner me with some forced apprenticeship. Instead, I stood there, a child of barely nine, willingly volunteering for the life that killed more than half its recruits. And there was no debt to force my hand anymore—I just… wanted to do it.

Something in her expression shifted. Maybe she realized I was telling the truth, that I genuinely sought to change the world in my own small way. The tension eased from her stance, and she slowly nodded, setting down the last paper on the desk.

"Then welcome to the family, Omen Blackthorn."

The words carried a weight that seemed to linger in the silent room. Outside the tall window, District 98 sprawled in cramped alleyways and uneven rooftops, oblivious to the new bond formed up there. My heart hammered at the enormity of what I'd just agreed to, but I felt oddly at peace. This was my decision.

And so it began.