Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Will's Heavy Path

District 98, the only home I'd known, was shifting under my feet. Tarin's leadership had brought order faster than I'd thought possible—chainrunners patrolled the streets, their sub-artifacts glinting in the dim light, and the chaos of war was being tamed. But the scars remained: cracked walls, shattered homes, and the weight of lives lost, fewer than District 97's devastation but heavy all the same. The air carried a mix of ash and hope, with workers hauling debris while others rebuilt. It was healing, but it'd take months, maybe years, to erase the damage. The faces I passed were tired, determined, carrying on because they had to.

I couldn't stay. My place wasn't here, not in these streets or great halls. The fog called, its pull stronger than the district's need for me. My goodbyes were quick, clipped, like I was tearing off a bandage. Tarin barely had a moment to spare, buried in meetings as Overseer, his desk piled with reports. Gustav, now chainrunner captain, was finding his footing without the pills the past captains had. But he had the district's second-best artifact, a blade that hummed with power, and a knack for surviving against odds—luck, maybe, or something more.

Elina caught me before I left, pressing a small stack of books into my hands. Their covers were worn, pages yellowed, titles too dangerous for her classes. "Study them," she said, her voice low, steady, like she was passing me a weapon. "But use what's inside carefully." I tucked them into my storage ring, its weight light despite the load of tools, crafting materials, a blank bestiary for the fog's creatures, all things I'd never have carried without it. This time, I'd bring back more than corpses, perhaps knowledge, maybe answers.

I headed for the guard post near the path to District 99, my usual way out. The fog loomed beyond the ward, gray and thick, its whispers faint but familiar. Three figures stood at the post, Roran, Kael, and Mareth, the same guards who'd always seen me off. Their armor was different now, not the old guard gear but chainrunner leathers, marked with C division patches.

After the war, surviving guards had joined the chainrunners, folded into a new hierarchy: C division under B's sub-artifact users, with A division, rare like Artemis and me, wielding true artifacts. They stood easy, joking among themselves, but straightened when they saw me.

"Can't stay where there's peace, huh?" Kael called, his grin half-teasing, half-knowing, as I approached. His spear leaned against the post, scuffed from use.

I stopped, Hazeveil shifting around me, its shadows faint in the ward's light. "They need me out there," I said, not a dodge but the truth I felt. The district had Tarin, Gustav, an army. The fog had threats I couldn't ignore.

Roran raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Got a requisition from the Captain? Or the Overseer himself?" He knew the answer, his tone light but prodding.

Kael and Mareth chuckled, Kael's laugh sharp, Mareth's quieter, like they'd heard this before. I met Roran's gaze, keeping my voice even. "Tell them I forced my way out."

The three exchanged looks, grinning wider. They knew I could've slipped past without a trace; the fog had taught me that much, but I didn't. Sneaking out meant searches, questions, Tarin pulled from his work. I didn't need permission, not after leaving this way before, but I wanted them to know I was going, not vanishing. Roran waved a hand, stepping aside. "Go on, then," he said, still smirking. "Don't die out there."

The ward's hum faded behind me as I stepped into the fog, its gray curtain swallowing the world. I stopped holding back, letting the mist inside me spill out. Frost poured from my skin, no effort needed; keeping it in had been the struggle, a constant fight to protect those around me. Out here, alone, I didn't need to suppress it. The mist flowed, cold and heavy as I walked, like a living thing I'd caged too long. Winter was gone, but each step I took left the ground crackling, ice spreading under my feet, a trail of frozen earth marking my path.

My mist wasn't just frost—it was me, unbound, a crimson beast's aura no longer leashed. It stretched wide, blanketing a mile around me, its chill thick enough to choke the air. Most creatures fled at its touch, their instincts screaming to escape. Lesser beasts froze solid, their bodies snapping under the cold. Only the strongest onyx beasts dared approach, greedy for the crimson core pulsing in my chest. I felt them the moment they entered my mist—not with my eyes, but with a sense sharper than sight, like the mist itself whispered their movements, their hunger, their fear.

I didn't need to pour mana into it. The mist was natural, an extension of my will, and within it, my power cost almost nothing. Ice blades formed at a thought, sharp and glinting, rising from the ground hundreds of meters away. Spears followed, then massive pillars, each striking with pinpoint accuracy. They hit beasts before they could close the distance, their bodies crumpling with wet thuds, blood steaming in the frost. This was who I was, with no restraint and no fear of breaking those around me. A crimson beast, alone, because holding back meant weakness, and out here, weakness was death.

I skirted Districts 99 and 100, their wards faint glows in the fog's haze. My path cut deeper, through lands I'd walked before, where no crimson horrors had yet crossed me. The creatures grew stronger the further I went, their presence heavier in the mist, but none matched me, not yet.

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My pace was slow, not from exhaustion but from the weight dragging behind me: Doomcarver, the legendary artifact, a two-handed sword so heavy it sank into the earth. Tons of metal, its blade rusted from the time I abandoned in the fog, yet its edge still gleamed faintly, etched with runes I'd studied while inside the ward. They pulsed, the Engraving of Dominion, converting willpower into strength, letting its wielder lift what no one should. A human had swung it once, not a beast like me, proof that will wasn't just raw power like mana; it was something deeper, harder to grasp.

I dragged Doomcarver, its tip carving a trench in the frozen ground, each step a test. I didn't have the will to wield it, not yet, but carrying it felt right, like the strain might forge what I lacked, maybe part of the process in which someone might acquire such a strong will.

The fog thickened, its whispers louder, and then I felt them, at least forty presences, fast and sharp, slicing through my mist from above. Aerial beasts, bat-like, wings cutting the air like knives, led by one stronger than the rest, an apex onyx, its hunger a bright pulse in my senses.

"Grrrr," they snarled, teeth bared, flying swift as arrows. Their wings brushed my mist, frost clinging to leathery skin, slowing them but not stopping. I stood still, Doomcarver's hilt in one hand, its blade grounded, and let my power loose. Dozens of ice blades materialized, gleaming in the mist, launched with a thought. They streaked upward, slicing air, aimed at the swarm. Two beasts fell, wings shredded, crashing with screams that echoed. The rest twisted, dodging with uncanny speed, their leader weaving through the barrage untouched.

"Great," I said, a grin tugging at my lips. A real fight, no holding back. I had seconds—ten, maybe less, before they reached me. Another volley of blades flew, not precise but numerous, a wall of ice to force them to swerve. It worked, slowing some, but they were too fast, frost not freezing them solid in time. My mana barely dipped, the mist amplifying every move, my control absolute within its reach. I felt their wings beat, their claws flex, without looking; my eyes stayed on the ground, calm, steady.

I pushed harder. Dozens of blades became hundreds, a storm rising from the ground, slicing upward. The beasts roared, some impaled, their bodies dropping, blood spraying in arcs that froze midair. The leader dodged, its wings a blur, closing fast. "Time to stop playing fair," I said, voice low, realizing I hadn't moved, hadn't even glanced at them. Doomcarver stayed planted, my hand loose on its hilt, my power flowing without strain. The mist was mine, every inch alive with my will.

I let the blades multiply, not just from below but above, raining down like a cage. Precision didn't matter; quantity overwhelmed. Ice tore through wings, throats, chests, each hit a heavy thud, bodies piling in the frost. The leader screamed, a blade grazing its side, but it kept coming, eyes locked on me. I felt its rage, its drive, and met it with more blades from every angle, a relentless storm. It faltered, wings icing over, and fell, crashing hard, its core dimming as frost claimed it.

I stood, unmoving, mist swirling thick around me. The fight was over, but the surge in my chest lingered. I'd suppressed this power too long, and now, free, it felt right—mine by right. Every crimson beast must feel this, I thought, the world bending to their will. It echoed the third rule, a truth I couldn't name but knew, deep in my core, as I gripped Doomcarver and walked on.

The fog clung to me as I reached a place burned into my memory, a scar from past failures. District 3 loomed ahead, a wound in the earth, a crater so vast it swallowed the horizon, its edges jagged, unnatural, like a god had clawed it out. I stood at its rim, the ground dropping away into darkness, too deep for even my eyes to pierce.

Caves dotted the walls, black maws hinting at unseen horrors, their silence louder than any roar. This place had broken me before, taught me pain and persistence in equal measure. Last time, I'd been too weak, my power too small. Now, I was different—stronger, sharper, a crimson beast with mist and mana to command. But the challenge ahead hadn't changed.

At the crater's edge, a single path stretched forward: the bridge. Narrow, polished stone, barely wide enough for both feet side by side, it jutted into the void, no railings, no supports, just a thread of magic-born rock vanishing into the fog. Dozens of kilometers, maybe more—I couldn't see its end, only the gray swallowing it whole. I'd tried crossing it before, slipping, falling, clinging to its edge as the abyss pulled. Each failure had cost me, but each had built me, too. Now, I was back, the mist curling at my feet, frost crackling where I stood.

My power wasn't the issue anymore. My mist could shield me, my mana summon blades to fend off threats. But this wasn't about raw strength. Will—true will—was something else, something I still lacked. That's why I'd brought Doomcarver, its massive blade dragging behind me, carving a trench through the frozen ground.

The legendary artifact, tons of rusted steel etched with runes, turned willpower into strength. A human, Sethis Vauren, had wielded it, not a beast like me with mana to spare. That fact gnawed at me, a puzzle I couldn't solve. The sword wasn't just a weapon; it was a forge. I believed it was also a tool to build the will it demanded. Carrying it, feeling its weight, was the only way I could explain how a human had done the impossible.

I gripped Doomcarver's hilt, my arm straining under its mass, and stared at the bridge. Crossing it with my power alone would be hard enough, the path narrow, slick, endless. But with the sword? Madness. Yet I felt it, deep in my core, maybe instinct, maybe the gray realm's whispers, maybe my own stubbornness: this was the path. The bridge, the burden, and the blade would shape me or break me. I didn't flinch from that. The fog stirred as I stepped closer, the crater's depth yawning below, a promise of death if I faltered.

I glanced inward, steadying myself. "Kara," I said, voice low, the words half-lost in the fog, "what do you think my odds are of crossing this bridge with this sword?"

[Kara]

[0.0002%]

A laugh broke from me, sharp and rough, cutting through the tightness in my gut. "So you're saying there's a chance?" I said, half-joking, half clinging to the spark of defiance her number left me. The bridge waited, silent and unyielding, the abyss below whispering of terrors I couldn't yet name. I shifted Doomcarver, its weight grounding me, and took the first step.