Traverse The Fog

Another night. Another nightmare. That all-too-familiar chase in the cloudy forest. The Weeper, drawing ever closer. Its blackened hands just about to—Cyrus awoke with a gasp, sweat dripping off his brow.

What's going on?

As he sat up, his groggy mind struggled to piece together his surroundings. Everything appeared unchanged, and his gaze fell on Latriaen and Bird, both still asleep.

Maybe it's just nerves, Cyrus thought, sighing.

He lay down again and watched the pitch-black skies before him. Gone were the days when Cyrus could stare at those twinkling lights, forever replaced by... this.

A sigh escaped his lips. There may have been one or two regrets he carried from his choices. But it was too late for that. With that in mind, Cyrus forced himself to fall asleep. Unfortunately, this scenario repeated several times throughout the night. By the time morning came, Cyrus was already awake, staring at the sky again.

Anticipation had consumed him. Today marked the day whether he could ever take Lord Dílis' word—anyone's for granted. But Latriaen's grunt, followed by his stirring, withdrew Cyrus from his thoughts. The Ork stood up and dusted himself, appearing to keep his gaze closed the entire night. Every night.

"Do you remember the route?" he asked, his red gaze trailing along the upward slope.

"Yes," Cyrus replied, trying to sound calm, but the strain in his voice gave him away.

The duo ate and performed their morning routines. Once they were done, they removed all signs of their stay and ascended the slope.

Forward they went. Cyrus decided to retrace his steps and follow along the ridgeside instead of crossing the forest. He had to because he hadn't had the nerve to enter the stuff of his literal nightmares just yet.

Thankfully, the fog graced them today in its dilution. So, Cyrus was able to distract himself by gazing upon those colossal stone walls that shielded Avalorn from the rest of the world. His attention then shifted to those bright, metal pyres crowning these walls, radiating brilliance.

Those enormous crystals held on top appeared to be in the light domain. Was there a treasure trove of light crystals somewhere in Avalorn? Cyrus wouldn't mind if someone gave him a tour of it... for tourist reasons. Yeah, that's why.

But his thoughts soon came to a halt when they arrived where he had first awoken, on the cliffside. Cyrus frowned, transfixed. Slowly, his hand unconsciously drifted to his abdomen to calm a phantom pain. On that day, he had been held aloft before an unspeakable creature, waiting for a death that never came.

But in truth, Cyrus felt like he had died that day, regardless of some magical orange sigil saving his life. In any case, he had to scope the area one last time. No signs of old, spilled blood or scattered black ink-like substance were revealed. But it's not like Cyrus expected otherwise. If the hamlet were truly gone, like Lord Dílis said, then it would explain why his spilled blood was missing in the first place.

"Why are you so quiet?" Latriaen said from behind, his annoyance evident through his voice. "You've been standing there for a full minute."

"Oh, what?" Cyrus broke from his stupor.

He turned his head and was surprised to find Bird already perched on his shoulder.

"Sorry. You see, I was thinking about a wraith," Cyrus said, forcing a casual attitude. "It ambushed me, but I managed to escape. Pretty close call."

"A wraith?" Latriaen slowly fell into contemplation. "And if you survived, then it shouldn't have been powerful."

Cyrus chuffed. "Yeah, I guess not."

"And what about now?" Latriaen's gaze grew brilliant. "What if you saw it again. Would you run? Or fight?"

Cyrus felt his heart lurch. The monster was dead, hopefully. But did he feel confident enough to face it again? Gaze falling into his hands, he channeled mana through his light runes, and out came a tiny, pale light from his palm.

"Yeah," he muttered, clutching his fist. "I think I would fight."

"Good," Latriaen said, nodding approvingly. "Then your next objective is to hunt this wraith and slay it."

Cyrus nearly choked. Thank goodness it had been blasted into motes of dust back then.

"All right," he said, holding back his emotions from his face. "I think it lives in the hamlet."

Latriaen nodded. "Lead the way."

Cyrus nodded and turned his attention towards the forest that awaited. Silent, thick with fog, he could almost hear the weeping again. Almost. With a deep breath, Cyrus began to move.

So off they went, unaware of the set of the aged animal tracks leading into the forest merely meters beside them.

So you finally came back? Where a dazed Cyrus man once stood, a man sprouted from the very earth.

He dusted his vest and meticulously wiped the lilie on his breast pocket. With sharp brown eyebrows, his countenance betrayed a man who faced countless tribulations. Anyone who guessed his age would assume fourty years, but that would be twenty years off the mark.

Lord Dílis in the flesh. The 'man' silently scanned the area. Something here must have caught the young boy's attention. Why would he stand there for minutes on end doing nothing? But he, too, found nothing of worth. So, he turned his focus onto the leaving boy and Ork.

Now, let's see what you've been hiding.

With that, Lord Dílis melded into the trees and became one with the forest. His mind was clear despite the constant influx of information. Every leaf—every blade of grass—gave him sight.

His attention fell onto the crushed leaves and twigs from the duo. Not so much from the arcanesmith, but from the boy. He watched the boy dazedly stop by a tree and place his pack up and down again.

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Strange. And the arcanesmith thought so as well.

The boy then faced deeper into the forest. He moved on to another tree and traced a small mark left behind long ago. A mark? Not bad. It could lead him toward this hamlet he's heard so much of.

Lord Dílis focused his attention and instantly found a trail. It leads toward a glade nestled within this ancient forest. And that was it. Thoughtful, he scanned the outer perimeter in search of more marks.

Nothing. Just like the last few times, he swept over the area in the past few months. And it was a shame, as Lord Dílis wished to survey the site before Cyrus. But, he paid no mind to it. Once Cyrus reveals the truth, everything will be under his grasp.

Meanwhile, Cyrus paid attention to his surroundings.

The fog is getting thicker, he mused.

He paused and warily scanned the drifting substance. Was it going to reveal itself before he and Latriaen?

"Bird, come here." Cyrus whistled, beckoning.

Once the canary perched on his shoulder, he remained still in silence. It was almost as if he could hear that weeping again.

"What's wrong?" Latriaen asked, frowning. "Are you having another hallucination again?"

"No!" Cyrus turned to him, sheepishly smiling. "It's just that, uh. Old memories die hard, you know?"

A breath passed between them before Latriaen nodded. "Memories that will dissapate once you slay the creature. Let's get on with it."

"Right." Cyrus sucked in a breath. "It's just over here."

Forward they went. They drew closer and closer past the treeline, and—Suddenly, the three vanished into thin air.

"Oh... Oh, no."

Lord Dílis melded from a nearby tree. Frowning, his gaze remained fixed on the spot. He then moved, perfectly retracing Cyrus' steps down to the slightest muscle twitch. And once he stepped where the boy stood. Nothing save for the empty glade before him.

"Well, this isn't good," Lord Dílis remarked.

He then stretched out his arms. A grand aura of vitality encompassed his surroundings. Swathes of land came under his scrutiny. And yet, it was all fruitless.

But The Dúndraíocht didn't give up. If he couldn't find Cyrus in broad strokes, then it might be a matter of specialization. So, he revealed another orb.

It took some time for this item to reach his city, but Teamleader always managed to get the job done. Instantaneously, mana channeled into it. A bright, purple light shone, enveloping in its tint.

One minute. Two.

It suddenly shimmered as words appeared upon its glassy surface, an observation of the world around him.

Lord Dílis frowned. "So, I was right. Spatial distortions." A sigh escaped his lips, tone lowering into a whisper. "Then it could mean only one thing." An earnest murmur then came out. "Lady of the Grand Forest, please protect them."

Meanwhile, a clueless trio remained in sight before them.

There it was. The hamlet.

A thousand thoughts raced through Cyrus' mind until they coalesced into a single question. Did he lie to me?

Had Lord Dílis concealed some discovery and kept it hidden? But surely he would have anticipated Cyrus' return. Slowly, his gaze followed the rotten, small houses before trailing back to his mentor. The man himself was in a daze as he looked in the direction from which they came.

"Teacher? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Latriaen abruptly turned his gaze toward Cyrus. "It's nothing, Boy. Let's go. The sooner we search the area, the sooner we leave."

Cyrus nodded. With his hand to his chest, he took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady his heart. It worked... somewhat. At least the searing pain in his chest was long gone.

He sighed. "Let's go."

Each step felt akin to stepping into a thick tar that threatened to still Cyrus' momentum. His ears strained to their limits in search of it—the weeping. But there was none—No monster, sentient fog, and no apparent danger.

Just the echoes of the past.

With this realization, Cyrus felt his shoulders relax, and his breath lighten. Past the very first cruck house was the center of the hamlet, where a pond, as dark as the blackest night, awaited them. Cyrus swept his gaze, trained on the houses, and imagined his phantom memories replaying his past escape.

"Strange," Latriaen muttered.

"What's strange?" Cyrus asked, snapping his attention toward his teacher.

His teacher had knelt down before the opaque pool, a frown creasing his face as his attention remained transfixed.

"Do you remember the water crystals you found?"

Cyrus' brows would have shot into his hair if they could. "You mean..."

Latriaen nodded, his blazing gaze shining. "A font. There is a high concentration of dark runes in this... pond." A pause. "And the people who lived here were stupid to build a home around such a place."

Latriaen stood back, stepping away from the pool. Cyrus followed suit yet could not help but extend his mana sense to the tar pit. A black void awaited. One where Cyrus hesitated to touch.

"Why would it be so harmful?" he asked, retrieving his mana sense.

"It is believed that places with a higher concentration or affinity of dark runes amplify the fog's corruptive effects and strengthen a wraith's abilities."

"That makes sense," Cyrus muttered.

Wraiths carried dark runes. So, if a mage within an environment with a high affinity that matches their domain gains strength, why not a wraith?

But Latriaen's following words halted his thoughts. "And there's even a stigma that dark mages might transform into wraiths more swiftly in places such as these."

"Is there any truth to that?" Cyrus asked, troubled.

If such a thing were true, he didn't know how to trust an umbralmancer.

Latriaen fell silent, his gaze fixed on the pond as he pondered the question. "I don't believe so." His tone was soft, but his searing gaze hinted finality toward Cyrus. "In any case, don't discriminate against another because of mere rumors. That's the thinking of a weakling."

Taken aback, Cyrus nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. I haven't met a dark mage anyways."

Of course, that was a lie. His first encounter with one had been with a crazed zealot who had sought to kill him in some ritualistic sacrifice. But even with everything that's happened, he still knew it wasn't every dark mage's fault. Should he incinerate children on the mere notion of being actors?

No.

But that wouldn't stop Cyrus from taking pictures just to be safe. Speaking of pictures...

Click

Cyrus checked the image on his camera and found a massive black void filling the screen. It was as if someone had broken the screen to keep the pool's secrets hidden. And Cyrus frowned at the sight. He silently revealed his findings to his teacher, who nodded in return.

"Like I said, high concentration."

His teacher's words sparked an idea. Mana channeled through his light runes, and Cyrus lifted his palm, which carried brilliant radiance. He shot a light forward and watched it penetrate the darkness before him.

At least, that's what he hoped. In reality, his light completely vanished once it came into the void, as if a black hole swallowed it.

"Don't touch that pond," Latriaen immediately pulled him back. "You wouldn't like what would happen."