Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER FORTY

A Fading Light

The moment I summoned the pile of carcasses—beasts spilling from the storage ring onto the training ground—the crowd around me froze. Terror and awe wrestled in their wide eyes. Lirien's gaze locked onto the heap, her stern face tightening as she studied the twisted hides and jagged claws. Tarin stood beside her, mouth half-open, and the uncles mirrored them, the ring itself fading from their focus. The air buzzed with their silence, thick with the stench of blood and fur.

I had just muttered, "Blessed be the fog," without meaning to—words that felt as natural as breathing, although I had no idea why. I hadn't planned it; I had only wanted to talk about hunts and future plans. Now that casual invocation hung in the air, unsettling me almost as much as it did everyone else.

Would they exile me for it? I glanced at the Chainrunners scattered among the crowd—hardened men and women, some still raw from losing friends in the last run. I'd all but toasted to those deaths. Wasn't that wrong? Shouldn't I hate the fog like they did? But part of me didn't. It was the cycle of life and death. Still, I knew I should feel bad about it. The contradiction gnawed at me, splitting my thoughts. Half of me saw the fog as natural, half screamed it was the enemy. It was like my human side and the beast side of me were arguing, neither winning.

I stood there, lost in that tangle, until I noticed the crowd shifting. The fear in their faces had eased, they'd realized the beasts were dead. A few stepped closer, hands brushing the matted fur, testing the stillness. Whispers started up, cutting through the quiet. But my eyes drifted to Lirien. She wasn't just the Captain to me—she'd pulled me from the streets, given me a family name, a chance, even if I was more asset than son. I couldn't read her now, and that mattered more than I wanted it to.

The Chainrunners existed to fight the fog, carrying supplies between wards, sure, but born to push back its edges. And I'd said we should accept it. Not shut off the wards and surrender to the beasts, but to stop pretending we could erase it. The fog wasn't leaving; it was part of the world now. Maybe we needed to adapt, not resist. Araksiun's old masters seemed to grasp that on some level. Who knows—maybe the fog's arrival wasn't an accident after all. The city felt almost too prepared, as if they knew it would come.

The murmur grew as traders pushed through, offering to buy—sums so big I couldn't fathom them. I raised my voice over the noise. "This is the fruit of a Chainrunner incursion. It's theirs, property of the Chainrunners, to be shared with the whole district."

We'd get our cut; I wasn't worried about that. This much magical beast meat would draw funding like flies to a corpse.

Furthermore, I had no doubt Lirien would ensure the Chainrunners were taken care of, from the beast parts that could be turned into weapons to the prime cuts of meat. But my bigger hope was that some of this bounty would reach the dining halls.

The district's meager grain rations left people half-starved, and magical beast flesh—especially from those with higher-tier cores could make a difference. Kara's calculations based on gathered data from last week suggested District 98 would need seven to nine tons of high-grade meat monthly to stop the slow crawl of hunger. It was a bold figure, but seeing the vast fog brimming with monsters, I thought it was feasible. I could keep hunting; the fog was full of life. My storage ring would handle the overflow, and I would endure any long sleeps that came my way.

Of course, not every part of a beast was edible, so I would need to consider that. Even so, those numbers felt realistic—at least for this one district. If I kept hunting and bringing in more kills, no one needed to starve.

The fog teemed with beasts—big, small, endless. I didn't need to hold back anymore. Even if I drew attention, even if the long sleep hit me, the storage ring would hold it all. It felt like a solid plan—hunt, store, feed.

Still, the words "Blessed be the fog" lingered, tainting the atmosphere. Even now, Lirien's face held an expression I couldn't decipher—a flicker of alarm, maybe. Dain rubbed his eyes, as though suspecting this was all a bizarre hallucination. Shouts and footsteps crowded my ears as more traders called out prices or tried to gauge the best approach to me. It reminded me of District 100, when a crowd's curiosity could morph into distrust in an instant. My pulse hammered, bracing for a confrontation that might explode at any second.

My instincts flared, bracing for an attack from people I'd called family. My breath caught, waiting for it.

But it didn't come. No one moved against me, and the tension in my chest loosened. Still, my words would spread—ripples through District 98 and I knew plenty wouldn't like them. Jharim's old saying echoed in my head: "A man with no enemies never stood for anything." Maybe that was true. I'd find out soon enough.

I stepped toward Dain, cutting through the chaos. He was hunched over papers, scribbling. "Did you record the storage ring capabilities?" I asked, loud enough to pierce the din.

He blinked, slow to register me amid the clamor. The City Guard had fanned out, keeping order, and I caught Norman's glare—defiant, familiar. Dain shook his head, focusing. "Recorded? What? Oh, your storage ring? Yeah, kid—uh, sir. Five tons. This" he waved at the carcasses—"proves it."

"Good," I said. "There's my cloak, Hazeveil, too. Helps with stealth, manipulates shadow magic. Can't test it now, so take my word for it. And a sword, but it's back at my place in the fog. I'll bring it later."

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No point hauling Doomcarver now, we couldn't measure it here anyway. I just wanted them to start trusting me. I'd lived in the fog for years, fought its beasts, but they'd only half-believed me until this. Now, with the carcasses piled up, maybe they'd listen, even if I was still a kid to them.

Those stares, though, they wouldn't let up. Too much like District 100, where trust had turned to blades. It was getting under my skin, itching at me. I'd done what I came to do—shown the ring, the haul, the worth of the Chainrunners incursions. Lirien and the others could handle the rest. "I'm heading out," I said, mostly to myself.

I triggered Hazeveil, its shadows curling around me like a second skin. Before the crowd could blink, I slipped away, melting into the dim edges of the training ground. Only one pair of eyes tracked me—Lirien's, steady and unreadable, but she didn't call out or stop me.

Once I was clear of their sightlines, I gripped the rough stone of a nearby building and climbed, fast and sure, my hands finding holds from years in the fog. We were near the district's center, the open fields of the training ground ringed by tall, weathered structures. In moments, I vanished into their heights, trusting Lirien to handle the chaos below.

I didn't go far—just high enough to stay hidden. Perched on a ledge, I peered down at the scene unfolding below, the crowd still clear in my sharpened sight. They couldn't spot me up here, shrouded by Hazeveil's faint shimmer. I settled in, watching, catching my breath.

Lirien and Norman moved quick, barking orders to form a perimeter around the beast carcasses. Chainrunners and City Guard fanned out, corralling the traders and gawkers. Dain stood off to the side, rubbing his face like he'd just been handed a week of sleepless nights. The pile of paperwork those beasts meant was written all over his slouched shoulders, he didn't even pretend to hide it.

Up here, away from the press of bodies, I started noticing a pattern. People flinched when they first saw the carcasses—eyes wide, steps faltering. Then they'd edge closer, a hand brushing a claw or hide, and some of that fear drained away. It was like the dead heap proved the fog's beasts could be beaten, that the dread they carried wasn't unbreakable. I knew what I'd done would send more people into the fog, some would die out there, beyond the ward. But they'd go free, choosing it, and maybe that was the best I could offer.

I didn't stick around to see it play out. Scanning the crowd one last time, I realized none of my first family—Jharim, Elina, Meris—were there. "Odd," I muttered, the word slipping out.

Meris had told Tarin I couldn't die, not just hope, but something she knew. They'd watched me take beatings, starve, collapse in the cold, and wake up when others didn't. Back then, I thought it was only long sleeps, confused why the others never came back from their long sleeps. Now I knew better, those weren't naps; they were something else. They'd seen it too, kept it quiet all these years, never pushing me to explain something I didn't understand. When I'd promised I'd return, they'd believed me. So where were they?

No one had my back up here. It was my chance. I dropped from the ledge, Hazeveil softening my fall, and hit the streets, heading for the outskirts where they lived. The walk was calm—most folks were either working or still gawking at the training ground. The residential zone felt different, quieter. Tall, cramped buildings loomed, their walls thin enough to catch muffled voices—kids arguing, pots clanging, life grinding on.

Their home was still the same shared building, one room among many. I climbed the creaking stairs, ears picking up every sound through the plaster—someone coughing, a chair scraping. I stopped at their door, knuckles rapping once. Movement stirred inside, and my stomach knotted with anticipation. The door swung open, and I froze.

Jharim stood there, but not the Jharim I remembered. The man who'd worked the forge, broad and solid, was gone, replaced by a frame so thin it looked like the wind could snap him. His shirt hung loose, bones sharp under sallow skin. Behind him, the small room came into focus. Elina sat near a cot, her own face gaunt, eyes sunken. And Meris—she lay on the bed, still, her chest rising and falling wrong, each breath a shallow rasp I could hear from the doorway.

"Omen. Is that you?" Jharim's voice cracked, pulling Elina's head up. Her gaze darted to me, uncertain.

I nodded, stepping closer. "Yeah, it's me." Hazeveil shadowed my face, and I'd grown taller since they'd last seen me, but who else my age would come knocking? Worry gnawed at me as I crossed the room toward Meris.

Jharim forced a smile, thin and wobbly. "We knew you'd come back, but hells, you took your time."

"We heard you were back," Elina added, her voice soft, hesitant. "But we can't leave her alone for long." She gestured me in, hands trembling slightly.

I barely registered their words, my eyes fixed on Meris. Her skin was pale, almost gray, sweat beading on her forehead despite the chill in the room. "What happened to her?" I asked, my voice tighter than I meant it to be.

Elina looked at Meris, pain creasing her face. "The healers say her heart's weakening. She doesn't have long. We're just trying to keep her comfortable."

Jharim's smile faded fast, crumbling into something hollow. I stepped closer to the bed, and my breath caught. I could hear it—her heartbeat, faint and uneven, each thump weaker than the last. My senses, sharpened by the fog, picked it up clear as a bell. The change was small, but undeniable. The healers weren't guessing. Meris was slipping away.

I sank to my knees beside her, the cot creaking under my weight. She'd been the one who'd patched me up after the beatings, who'd slipped me bread when I was starving, who'd sat with me through those long sleeps when I didn't know if I'd wake. Her hair was thinner now, plastered to her face, but I could still see the girl who'd grinned at me across the fire. My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading. I hadn't seen them in years—hadn't thought it'd be like this when I came back.

"Meris," I said, quiet, testing if she'd stir. Her eyes fluttered, half-open, but didn't focus. Elina touched my shoulder, her hand light but steady.

"She's been asking for you," she said. "Kept saying you'd walk through that door. Guess she was right again."

Jharim coughed, a dry sound, and shuffled to a chair. "She never stopped believing it. Even when we doubted."

I stayed there, listening to Meris' ragged breaths, each one a countdown I couldn't stop. They'd held onto me all this time—my first family, the ones who'd known me before the Blackthorns, before the fog. And now I was losing her, right when I'd finally made it back.