Traverse The Fog

Confidence writhed inside Cyrus like adrenaline in his veins. But as the minutes trailed on during his walk back, his steps slowed into a crawl.

Is it really okay to use these bodies for practice? He thought, entirely stopping.

With slow steps, Cyrus made his way toward the terrace's edge. And contemplated his question. Just what were wraiths? He had learned that they came from the fog and were related to the dark domain, but nothing more. Were they still alive down there? Or were they undead? Was there undead? Was the blight a disease that could be cured? Or was there no help? What's more, these things only moved once Cyrus was before the closed wall, not before. Like it was a trap.

"Did you bring them back to life?" he muttered softly.

No one heard his question. But Cyrus wasn't speaking to a person, but a force. And that force remained unresponsive, silently drifting through the air, behaving like any other natural phenomenon.

But Cyrus wasn't fooled. Oh, no. Suspicion ebbing, his gaze trailed far into the horizon and the direction where a certain hamlet awaited. And he was so sure that it was there. Still waiting.

Memories flowed into his mind. The Weeper, the orange rune, that... Entity, wraiths, actors; all were part of some grander whirlpool of mystery that threatened to drag Cyrus in should he tread too close. And worst of all, no one had mentioned anything about the fog as a sentient being.

Shaking his head, Cyrus decided to drop the thought for now and focused on his earlier reflections of the echoes. And yet... his gaze never left the horizon... the hamlet.

"Lilie herself said she had never killed a person before," he eventually muttered. "But I'm sure she had slain echoes. Does she not consider them people?"

Maybe that's what people considered them: Unfortunate corpses whose bodies were desecrated to the point of becoming mindless monsters.

"Necromancy?" Cyrus asked.

He hadn't heard that such things existed in his books. Not that Cyrus was looking. Sigh. Just another thing on the list to ask about. Lord Dílis is going to have a field day once they meet again.

Cyrus shook his head and resumed his walk. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Wayfarers usually wipe out Echoes, Cyrus thought, staring at the gray skies above. So why shouldn't I?

He stopped thinking, letting his mind settle into a calm stillness. Soon, the cave entrance came into view. Slowly spreading out from the tunnel's entrance were echoes. Listless and aimless, they wandered about without rhyme or reason, as if their very existence had no meaning.

"Maybe it's better this way," Cyrus murmured, slowly making his way toward one, spear-ready.

Then, he stabbed. The spear swiftly pierced through the absent-minded echo's skull without any issue. And it died as simply as that. The corpse then slowly crumbled to the ground, the thud drawing the attention of the others. They soon trudged toward him. Their emancipated bodies barely kept them afoot as they weakly lifted their arms in a pitiful excuse of an attack. The sight of them brought Cyrus to a frown. And any remaining excitement he had felt vanished without a trace, leaving an empty void.

Cyrus sighed. "To work."

There was no grand battle of blood-boiling excitement. Cyrus simply minded his footing as he slowly stabbed one after another for ten minutes. Once Cyrus was done, he didn't bother to investigate for valuables, no. Instead, he spent the next ten minutes watching these empty husks just lie there, forever gone. But there was nothing that could be done. Shaking his head, Cyrus' attention shifted to the tunnel before him.

Should I go back? Cyrus tilted his head from left to right.

The idea didn't sit well with him. Not after what had swirled in his thoughts recently. But. Once Latriaen returned and learned of the metal vein, Cyrus had no doubt that the former would make him clear them out. Besides... it was a sort of practice. To help him accumulate himself better in the world of Wayfarers.

Cyrus sighed. "I'll do it."

His vision was tinted yellow. And he was back inside the mountain. It didn't take long to find some lingering echoes in the tunnel, which were swiftly brought down. While Cyrus had considered cremating them when he finished, he soon dropped the idea.

Better to not light fires in enclosed areas with little air.

Then, the glowing moss room came. It was filled with a large, shambling congregation that shuffled around aimlessly. This scene made Cyrus frown again. But he remained silent and did not waste time taking them out in batches. Still, Cyrus took the time to only use his spear and work on his evasion. Sometimes, he took blows, but they were merely painful lessons to learn from.

Time passed. And another echo crashed lifelessly onto the ground before Cyrus.

That was too easy, he thought, maneuvering to another.

He had made a comment earlier. But his perception was slowly shifting from 'slaying damned corpses' to 'getting rid of these obstacles.' Was he dehumanizing these victims? Would it be as easy if he were forced to kill a living being?

Cyrus stabbed another and watched it crumble like a rag doll. Do people cope this way?

They were just doing their job. The thought reminded Cyrus of Caitríona, but he quickly pushed it aside.

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Don't let it fester. Cyrus stabbed at another mindless husk. Think of something else. Fast!

In a bid to change the monotony, Cyrus moved back. He then flung away the putrid, black rot that clung to his spear and infused it with light. The echoes burned as they shielded themselves from the light and were left even more vulnerable to his attacks. He then quickly struck another, slicing into its skull like hot butter. And as soon his infusion flickered off, did he retrieve his spear.

If light, why not flame? He wondered. Was it possible to inflame his spear?

Something to mull over in a safer place. In the meantime, Cyrus continued the cleanup. Eventually, he slowly whittled them down. Sweating and aching, Cyrus stabbed the last echo standing in the puddle-ridden area. He lowered his spear, took a deep breath, and surveyed the room, taking in his handiwork.

Now, the echoes were real corpses. Cyrus approached one and inspected it for a few minutes. It was as emaciated as any other, with a single hole where its right eye had been.

"No signs of movement... and still with cloudy eyes... eye," Cyrus muttered, pulling out his camera and sighing. "There's also no blood. Just what do these rely on to move and act?"

Click

There were no signs of life. But wait, what's this? There was a black splattering on the cadaver's corpse.

Dark runes? Cyrus knelt down and lit a flaming palm. He traced his hand just above the cadaver and searched for signs of black splotches on the skin and ragged cloth.

Nothing.

That meant that dark runes littered an echo's body. Which was in line with what Blake said weeks ago.

"Darkness can mimic another domain's properties," Cyrus muttered, his gaze tracing along the corpse. "So are these dark runes mimicking life domain properties? Is that possible?"

What did he know about life, both figuratively and esoterically?

More questions. No answers. Cyrus began pacing while his mind churned. Darkness. Darkness. The domain was one of the highest affinities in the land and could mimic other domains. Did that mean that the fog was alive through the darkness domain?

Stop. Stop. Cyrus turned still and gestured as if a third party speaking to himself, flaming palm and all. Did you forget what you've been telling yourself?

Don't push yourself. But the idea swirled within the depths of his mind. Did the hamlet have something that could crack this case wide open?

"But the hamlet was gone. Isn't it?"

There was no one around to answer. Just the corpses wreathed in mist.

"Let's focus on something else." Cyrus strode to the four tunnels with his arms wide open. "Like these tunnels. Should I explore one of them?"

They all led into the dark abyss where even his flame and light could not penetrate.

Cyrus scoffed at the thought. As if I wanted to court de—"Cyrus."

Cyrus moved by instinct. He twisted around, hurled his hungry flame, and moved back a few paces while readying his spear. The figure before him was instantly engulfed in flames. Cyrus was ready to strike, but just when his spear moved, he immediately dropped it at the sight of the fire abruptly extinguished, revealing Latriaen.

Silence.

"I have not found anything, but I see you've stumbled upon a wraith nest," Latriaen gruffly said, breaking it.

"Uh, yeah." Cyrus turned his awkward gaze to the tunnel to the far left. "They played dead until I stumbled upon a vein of magic ore."

"A magic vein?" Latriaen showed interest, not bothering to bring up what had just occurred.

"Yeah... My camera revealed a large body of earth runes, and I followed it."

"Then, show me." Latriaen said.

He strode over and quickly hopped over the corpses Cyrus' makeshift grenade killed without so much as a look back.

"Uh. What about the wraiths?" Cyrus asked, glancing at the fallen bodies. "Shouldn't we... you know, check to see if there are more of them?"

His teacher shook his head. "We'll clear out the room with the vein and then leave."

Cyrus slowly stepped over the gaps between the bodies. "Isn't the wraith nest important? And I'm sure you could clear this place out easily."

Latriaen kept moving deeper into the tunnel. "That's a Wayfarer's job. Something I'm not."

And something he was not.

"Alright," Cyrus muttered and followed him.

The two passed through the tunnel. And stepped over burnt corpses along the way. And there was the exit. Beyond lay a room with few trudging echoes that stepped over melted corpses.

Latriaen cared not about them. But his face did sour for other reasons.

"You've used the glamour? Seems like a waste," Latriaen commented, gesturing toward the remaining echoes. "Well, go on. Clear them out."

Are you serious? Cyrus thought incredulously as he looked at Latriaen.

His teacher was as calm as still water in spite of Cyrus' stare. The latter simply sighed and brandished his spear. And the fight began. Well, Cyrus wouldn't have called it one, as the leftovers underneath his spear were utterly helpless and fell to their fate.

Once the area was cleared, Latriaen approached the vein and placed a single hand on it. His gaze remained fixed on the vein as faint glimmers of gray flickered in it. A few minutes later, he turned to Cyrus and nodded.

"Not a bad find, Cyrus," Latriaen remarked. "This orichalcum vein could provide enough material to forge a large array of enchanted equipment if mined. It's quite a fortune—there might even be earth crystals beneath the rock."

Cyrus's eyes brightened at the mention of 'fortune.' It wasn't the idea of the metal itself or mere currency that moved him, but what it represented. Now, he had his own means of securing valuables and necessities.

And best of all, Cyrus could leave Avalorn right now, head to another city-state, and still do fine. Maybe.

Unknowing and uncaring of Cyrus' thoughts, Latriaen raised a green, calloused finger upward. It burned with a bright flame. And then, under Cyrus' shocked gaze, it sliced through rock and metal like a hot knife through butter. His fingers, now all incandescent, dug into the metal. Latriaen scooped it out as if it were ice cream. Once a large chunk of greenish metal was in his hand, Latriaen nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright, let's go," he said, examining the glowing metal chunk in his hand.

"Wait." Cyrus shook his head and gestured at the wall. "Didn't you say this was valuable? Let's take all of it."

"You're right, it is valuable." Latriaen nodded, but his expression glinted with a hint of mockery. "So, are you volunteering to carry all of this?"

Cyrus froze. Right.

He stayed there as numerous scenarios raced through his mind. And a single conclusion came. One that his logical side called him stupid, an idiot. Was he really going to say his thoughts? There was a silence that hung between them. But in the end, Cyrus took the gamble.

Looking deep into Latriaen's searing gaze, he whispered, "Teacher, I have a spatial pouch we could use."