Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Longing for the Fog

The first thing I thought I would feel upon becoming part of District 98 was a sense of accomplishment. Instead, a tinge of pain struck my heart, as though I were betraying my real family. Still, I told myself they would understand. I was certain they would.

I also found myself thinking about what it meant to become a Chainrunner. I had always been so afraid of that possibility. Yet, when someone posed the question to me for the first time, I felt no fear; in fact, I felt excited. It was that same alien feeling that once made me long for the fog beasts to find me. For a moment, I even wondered if this was the corruption acting.

It might have been. But Kara had already explained that this corruption was now part of me. I felt so fragmented, as though my real mind had been broken into countless pieces that stitched themselves together depending on the circumstance. Over time, I realized that was the real effect of my condition—the corrupted anhydrobiosis—and that my so-called instincts reassembled my mind's fragments as needed.

After I spoke with the Captain of the Chainrunners, Lirien Blackthorn, whom I supposed I should now consider my adoptive mother, she asked her second-in-command, Dain, to collect my things and accompany me to my new accommodations.

That was to be the home of one of the wealthiest families in the district, the Blackthorn family. It would also be my first visit to the center of District 98, since even the Chainrunners' facility stood near the outskirts.

Lirien decided to accompany me as well, still scrutinizing me with subtlety—far more subtle than Tarin ever managed. Yet, I could definitely tell, thanks to Kara's constant alerts.

My weapons and gear had been left on the first floor before my meeting with the Captain, so she seemed surprised when she saw them. "Is that yours?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as I picked up my equipment.

"Yes," I said while strapping on my gear, "I have just a few more clothes in the residential district. This is basically all my belongings."

I worried it might look rude, walking around the city with all these weapons attached, especially while accompanied by the Captain and her second-in-command. But there were so many spears, daggers, and pouches—plus the bag fitted with holders for both meat and spears—that it felt impossible to carry them by hand alone. The weight itself was not much, even with my bag full; it was the awkward bulk of so many items. And yet, I could handle them with surprising fluidity when equipped.

Lirien cast a careful glance over each weapon. "These," she said, tapping one of the spear tips with her gauntlet, "they look like Diremaw beast parts. Good ingenuity on your part, using those for weapon-making."

I was astonished that she recognized the beast parts so easily. "Yes. I made them myself," I replied, still hesitant but willing to let her inspect a few items. I handed over a dagger for her to examine.

She turned it slowly, the sharpened edge catching the dull light in the corridor. "Interesting," she murmured. "I've seen a handful of beast-forged weapons, but none constructed entirely from monster parts. It's crude, but definitely functional." She showed it to Dain, who studied it with equal curiosity.

That prompted me to ask a question that had nagged at me for a while. "If I may ask, why aren't all weapons in the district made from beast parts? The creatures out in the fog are infused with mana, and they seem endless. People like you could surely kill Diremaws, at least, and that wouldn't use any battery power for resource extraction."

Lirien shrugged as though it were obvious. "Yes, we do bring back beast corpses whenever possible, but they're heavy and take time to haul out of the fog. We can only do it if our cargo load is small enough."

She paused, giving me a moment to consider it and indeed, it should be obvious, but I forgot that they are always racing against time when inside the fog, all the while having to protect the man carrying cargo along the way. Moreover, the more cargo they carry, the slower they move.

"That makes sense," I said quietly. "But why not hunt them right next to the ward?"

This time, Dain answered while returning my dagger to me. "That's how many districts fell in the past," he said, his tone grave. "It's forbidden to deliberately attract beasts near the ward. You never know what might be lurking just out of sight. Hunting expeditions do happen, but they aren't common and they carry heavy casualties, even for veterans."

I took a good look at Dain then. He was another veteran, bearing that same subdued aura most Chainrunners carried, like someone who had witnessed too many horrors. Unlike Lirien, he truly looked middle-aged, perhaps in his forties, though stress lines suggested more years than that. He was broad-shouldered, with short brown hair streaked by gray. There was a calmness about him that made me think even a storm could not rattle his heartbeat.

I reflected on the notion of beast hunting. Even for someone like Lirien, it was dangerous. The corruption would eventually draw some monstrous horror capable of testing the ward's strength. In a sense, we were all hiding since the ward started to run out of power, and more powerful beasts might be roaming the fog now than ever before.

For a moment, I wondered about the "great ward" that supposedly covered all of Araksiun. If these Obelisks were losing power, could the main ward—if it truly existed—be weakening as well, allowing terrifying creatures like Markus to enter the city? Perhaps that explained why we had still managed to survive for thousands of years. If the Great Ward had been this weak all along, we would have been overrun long ago.

I decided to ask Kara about it, but I learned only that I lacked sufficient permission to access those details. Besides, she had no record of the Obelisks' specifics or the Great Ward. In itself, that was revealing; she confirmed no knowledge rather than denying the Ward's existence. That indicated it must exist, just that she did not have the information.

Those thoughts needed to be pushed aside as we proceeded toward the center of the district. The closer we came to the Obelisk, the more the people around us seemed to change, as though we were entering a different world. It looked nothing like the outskirts where I had lived. Here, no one appeared starving, and there were no cramped residential blocks.

Instead of run-down multi-unit dwellings, the streets were lined with single-family homes. Farther in, these homes transformed into mansions, each one larger and more ornate than the last. While Dain guided me through these unfamiliar areas, he explained that there was no such thing as a dining hall here; families took their meals in private, within their own walls. Observing the bustle, I noticed that everyone's clothes looked far more expensive than anything I had owned. My own ragged attire stood out, making me self-conscious. I suggested heading to the residential area for the nicer clothes I used during advanced class, but Lirien insisted those would not be necessary anymore. She intended to provide me with new outfits, ones befitting a member of the Blackthorn household.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Their family home, if one could even call it just a "home," stunned me. It was bigger by far than any building in Elina, Jharim, and Meris's section of the district. Yet as Lirien explained, the Blackthorn family was not particularly large; they simply commanded a great deal of space near the Obelisk. Lirien was the head of the house, followed by her son, Tarin. There were cousins and aunts, but nowhere near the number you might expect for a mansion so massive. Even so, the building felt almost endless as we stepped inside.

Servants filled the halls—maids dressed in dark uniforms and a butler who seemed to be in charge of coordinating them. I soon learned they all lived on-site, and there appeared to be more servants than family members. Lirien led me on a lengthy tour of the mansion, showing me its key areas: multiple sitting rooms, kitchens, training halls, and corridors lit by battery-powered lamps. I did not see any other Blackthorns along the way, only servants who bowed or nodded in our direction. The place had a heating system installed throughout, which meant no one worried about cold drafts or the changing seasons. My new room turned out to be larger than the entire space Elina, Jharim, and Meris shared, and the bed alone looked big enough for several people to sleep in comfortably.

"So this is how people at the center of the district live," I thought. Yet despite the servants, the warm rooms, and the array of conveniences, from private cooks to round-the-clock training facilities—it did not feel like home to me.

Not the way my hiding place in the fog felt. Not that swirling haze of condensed mana, full of danger yet strangely comforting. Even if it was surrounded by beasts, I used to feel more at peace there. That night, I slept on the softest bed I had ever known, part of me wondered if it was some minor artifact—yet I struggled to rest, and the dream I normally had did not come.

I kept thinking about my place in the fog.

In the days that followed, I stayed inside the ward instead of venturing out. I tried to understand my new reality. I gave half of the beast meat I had brought to Meris's family and gave the rest to the cooks at the Blackthorn mansion, who barely batted an eye at the sight of it. Evidently, they were accustomed to seeing exotic ingredients from time to time.

And my old family? I was torn. Elina, Jharim, and Meris were still the people I considered my real family, yet I found myself belonging to two families now. A part of me disliked that duality, but when I visited them, they were truly happy for me. I had gone from living on the streets to being part of one of the district's most prominent households, and they celebrated that. Meris looked a bit sorrowful that I could not be around as often, but I tried to visit as much as I could.

The main obstacle was the butler who insisted on following me around whenever I left the mansion, determined to teach me "proper etiquette" and ensure I did nothing that might shame the Blackthorn name.

Tarin, on the other hand, was surprisingly content with my arrival. He had regarded me as a weak child before my prolonged stay in the fog, but now that I had returned, having lived out there alone—he seemed to accept his mother's choice. Not because he liked me, I guessed, but because he saw me as an asset to the family. Someone who did not fear the fog and could survive in it.

It felt strange. This new family… did not resemble a family at all. I hardly saw them, and during dinner at the mansion, I thought I might finally meet the other Blackthorns. Yet each evening, it was just me, the butler, and the servants. None of the others bothered to join us, or if they did eat, it was out of sight, in private quarters. I could not help but recall the meager meals in the outskirts with my first family, how they would leave their building to eat soup with me outside in the cold, just so we could be together. We sat on the icy ground, but those times felt genuine. This grandeur did not.

At least Kara was satisfied. The mansion contained multiple training halls stocked with racks of weapons, practice dummies, and mechanical contraptions to hone one's skills. Each day, she devised new drills for me. By now, I took her guidance without question, recognizing she knew far more than I did. Oddly enough, her disembodied presence felt more supportive than anything I found in this family household.

Weeks passed. Winter ended, and the advanced class resumed. I could not help worrying about the home I had set up in the fog. I had tried my best to camouflage the remaining dead beasts, hoping the layer of foliage and weeds, which gave off powerful scents, would keep other monsters away. Thanks to the magical properties of Araksiun, food and plant matter took a very long time to spoil or lose potency. I still knew it was possible that something might stumble upon the stash, but I had to trust my precautions.

When advanced class started again, it felt very different. I no longer dressed at my old home, nor did I walk there with my old friends in the mornings. Instead, I departed from the center of the district alongside Tarin, someone I had barely spoken to despite all this time. He mostly asked about my experiences in the fog.

For him, every social misstep I made could be excused because I possessed something he wanted: the so-called instincts. I suspected his mother had told him he lacked them, and that I might teach him. Even though he was technically my older brother, he did not act as a superior in any way as I feared he would and that included ignoring my lack of "civilized manners," as the butler kept calling them.

Deep down, I believed Tarin feared the fog. He knew that someday, as a Chainrunner, he would have to face it for real. But duty and family legacy drove him on. He wanted to make his mother proud, to follow in the footsteps of centuries of explorers in their lineage.

He was three years older than me, yet we felt so different. Perhaps because his life had revolved around training from a young age, preparing for the day he would enter the fog without a childhood. In contrast, my decision to become a Chainrunner had not been difficult at all. If anything, life inside the ward made me feel more like an outsider. Out there, in the mana-laden haze, I felt somehow alive.

As more days passed, I found my thoughts constantly drifting back to the fog, longing for its enveloping warmth and the sense of freedom it granted me. Spending time with Elina and Meris during class was nice, but I could not wait until the next moment I could disappear beyond the ward.

Meris's birthday approached, which also meant mine—a day we had always shared, even if neither of us was certain of my exact birth date. I was about to turn ten, and I still felt unsettled. Tarin stood as an official Chainrunner apprentice, though he was not expected to go on fog runs until his twenties. That was how the family worked: you trained and trained, waiting for the time they deemed you ready. Was I meant to do the same?

I once thought I needed to visit the fog for supplies or training. Now, as a Blackthorn, I lacked neither equipment nor teachers. Food and any form of instruction—I had it, courtesy of the family. Even magically infused meat appeared on the dinner menu from time to time, though the stock I had personally brought ran out weeks ago. So there was no pressing need to go back.

Yet I felt out of place.

I tried once or twice to slip outside the ward, but the guards refused to let me pass without parental consent. And since I technically had parents now, they enforced that rule. Meanwhile, the butler shadowed me every day, so escaping unseen was nearly impossible.

All the practice sessions in the mansion, the sparring with hired tutors or retired Chainrunners, felt empty. Yes, I improved by their standards at an alarming rate, but it meant nothing to me. I missed the fog with an ache I could not explain.

That was how I found myself at the Chainrunners facility again, seeking another audience with my new mother, Lirien Blackthorn. I needed to talk to her about the discomfort I felt—this inability to settle into a life that was sheltered from the fog.

Because, for better or worse, I still yearned for the place where I truly felt I belonged.