Traverse The Fog

Chirp!

Cyrus' gaze snapped open.

"B-Bird?" he stammered, his voice weak.

To his shock, he felt its feathers ruffle between his fingers. Before he could react, Bird popped its red-stained head out. It looked around in a daze as if it had just woken up from a nap rather than suffering a mortal wound. Bird then just stared at him with beady eyes full of curiosity.

Chirp!

"You're alive," Cyrus whispered, more a prayer as he held the canary close to his chest with the utmost care. "You're really alive. But how?"

Such a question was asked with trembling words. Of course, Bird simply stared at him in silence. The sight of it brought a mix of stifled laughs and choked breaths. What else should he have expected?

"Listen here, Bird. Don't ever do something that stupid again," he said softly, chastisingly. "You hear me?"

For a moment, the two simply stared at each other in silence. And Cyrus was the first to break. Softly, tenderly, he rubbed the canary's head, smiling at the soft coos Bird emitted. How could something so small, so weak, simply fly into harm's way to save him? There and then, Cyrus knew that Bird deserved better than he was. And all he could do now was ensure its safety and happiness.

Time passed as he sat there, but only when a distant explosion brought Cyrus back to reality.

"Shit," he muttered, propping himself up with only his legs. "We're still stuck here."

How long had he been lying here? Cyrus fell into thought. Had it been a few minutes? Hours?

Slowly, he began his walk, occasionally drawing seeds to feed Bird as he slowly moved through the forest. And there it was as Cyrus left it. The wraith remained there—headless, broken, beaten. Beside it was his spear, headless and battered as well.

Yet, Cyrus did not approach it. Despite the restless hate dwelling in his heart, the feeling of moving feathers within his palms easily quelled it. No, best to let sleeping dogs lie in their grave. With the thought, he turned around and left. Next stop, the ruined hamlet.

***

"What a mess."

Sweat-laden and muscle-aching, Cyrus dragged himself through the forest with Bird in tow. His hands, mucked with dirt and blood, were without a weapon, nor did he have the mana crystals to continue a prolonged battle.

And should something else appear...

Cyrus shook his head and picked up his steps. He had to search for his pack, which carried a few extra mana crystals. Then, Cyrus wouldn't be so helple—wait. Didn't he have a replacement? Cyrus momentarily stopped and reached into his spatial pouch. And what came out was a silvery shovel.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Cyrus muttered, accustoming himself to the tool's feel in his hands. It was rather light for a metal meant to empower enchantments.

Forward he went. The fog clinging onto the trees and ground would have created an eerie presence... if it weren't for how little fucks Cyrus had left to give.

He was tired. At this point, all he wanted was to escape and sleep in that comfy bed in Avalorn or even the wall's prison cells. Anything was better than this. These thoughts were swept away by another far-off explosion from the North, followed by a red flare that covered the landscape.

"...Latriaen," Cyrus muttered, picking up his steps.

Every second spent at a slow pace was a second wasted. With that in mind, he kept jogging. After getting lost while retracing his steps a couple of times, Cyrus finally found the forest break he was searching for.

There it was. His gaze landed on the charred remains of the hamlet, but he quickly stopped caring and began his climb down the slope. The climb soon shifted to a bolt, and he appeared before the darkness font in no time.

If this is indeed the convergence…

Click

Again, his camera revealed nothing. Had Cyrus chosen wrong? Had the cave carried the secret to escape? Or was there someth—tap

Cyrus froze. His ears began to ring at the crisp sound of two wooden bars striking at each other.

Tap Tap Tap

Quickly, Cyrus moved to defend himself. With radiance in his left hand and a shovel in his right, Cyrus dashed away from the pond and stopped before one of the charred houses. Heart speeding, his gaze flickered at his flying companion before shifting toward the tapping's direction.

The sight of it stopped the flow of air in his lungs. Wearing a carved tuxedo, it sat resting before the now ruined entrance of the house where he had met The Weeper long ago. Its wooden, glazed-over gaze remained fixed on Cyrus as it smiled that unnerving smile directly at him.

The long-missing puppet had finally returned.

Was this some sort of sick joke? There and then, Cyrus was to preemptively fire radiance just to be rid of the creepy thing without asking questions. But the letter resting before those wooden shoes brought him to a pause.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Cyrus groaned. Sweeping back his sweaty and messy hair, he considered his options: Simply smash the puppet and be done with it, or risk falling into a trap. And the thought nearly paralyzed him.

"Fine, I'll play your game," Cyrus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Slowly, he drew closer to the target, and his golden gaze shifted about in search of anything hiding within the fog and darkness. Yet nothing awaited him—No monsters or screaming horrors—just the swirling fog.

Once before the puppet, Cyrus slowly knelt down. His gaze never left the puppets as he slowly reached out for the envelope. Then, he jumped back with the envelope in hand, expecting an attack at any moment. Luckily, there were none. Still, Cyrus waited. Only when Bird perched itself on his shoulder did he relax and shift his attention to the envelope.

Despite its pure ivory color and the delicate embroidery on the corners, the envelope felt heavy in his hands. When Cyrus turned it over, he saw a wax seal depicting the two faces of comedy and tragedy. His heart clenched at the sight of it. Of course, this confirmed everything he had been questioning so far.

Slowly, almost mechanically, Cyrus opened it.

"Marvelous performance, my dear lead," said the simple letter inside. "Yet this is only the beginning. There are many more acts that wait—more stories waiting to be told. Remember, the audience is always watching, and you wouldn't want to disappoint."

It was signed by 'A fan.'

"That's it?!" Cyrus growled and flipped it over. "'P.S To exit stage left, use the puppet. And don't forget: Be bold. Be grand. And be just a little bit crazy.'"

Tiredly, Cyrus weakly let go of his hand and watched the two objects fall before his feet. What was all this trouble for? The several near-deaths, the fighting, and the fires—just for a letter of congratulations? As if that weren't enough, who left this letter for him? Was it from that being? If it were truly a god, then why act like some sort of director trying to motivate his employees? Weren't gods supposed to be lofty existences, far beyond an ant such as him?

Hypokrites—the director, Cyrus thought, furrowing his brow.

Shaking his head, he then stared at the puppet.

"Were you... clapping earlier?"

There was no answer. Yet that disgusting smile on its face was more than enough motivation for Cyrus to start blasting it with flames. However, Cyrus refrained from doing so and instead reached for his pouch.

Click

And what he saw shook him to his core, forcing him to stumble a few steps back. On the puppet's wooden surface was a cobweb of... mana? Energy? Whatever it was, it stretched outwards into the very aether around him. These strands stretched on forever, appearing like fractured glass on his camera's screen.

Then there was the puppet itself. But Cyrus could barely recognize it as such, considering the countless runes that twinkled like stars in the night sky on it. And oh, how incredible they looked—like the rules of the domains shaped into written form. There was no lack of variety in them: earth, water, darkness, order, light, air, fire, and light.

Cyrus gasped at a particular cluster. "Are... are those spatial runes?"

Indeed. These violet runes clustered around order runes and nearly entwined with them like a tapestry of fabrics woven together. They sort of reminded him of an enchantment.

Cyrus blinked at the thought. Had an enchantment been powering this place? Was this 'the convergence' his teacher spoke of?

"Ignorance isn't bliss," he muttered, returning his camera to his inner pocket.

Now, there was only he and the puppet. It no longer appeared as a work of art in his gaze, but now just a creepy little thing.

"Now what?"

He's been asking that for a while now. Slowly, Cyrus channeled his mana through his light runes. If the only means of escape was through this, shouldn't he destroy it as Latriaen commanded him to? Still, another thought rendered him impotent. The more he considered it, the more uncertain he became about the results if he tried to destroy the puppet. This was an object that held the fabric of reality. Wouldn't it attract a catastrophe?

"...Damn it." Cyrus gritted his teeth, then whistled a tune to the flying Bird. "Keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

Chirp!

The bird flew up in the sky and scouted the area around them.

"Now," Cyrus began, kneeling before the puppet. "What should we do with you?"

Thankfully, the puppet did not respond. Nor did Cyrus want it to lest he would suffer a sudden heart attack. No, it only stared at him in silence with that mocking, shit-eating grin.

Click click click

Again, Cyrus took pictures. However, this time, he took photos from different angles, and what he discovered furrowed his brows. Shining and brilliant, these runes lined the puppet's entire surface. The sight was more of a lesson on the more limited aspects of his insight. However, that didn't upset him. To Cyrus, it was better to learn this lesson now than when it mattered.

"Well, time time for some testing."

Slowly, Cyrus stood up and breathed deeply. With both hands on his shovel, he raised his arms into the air and then swung down with all of his might. The shovel struck true, its rather sharp edge cutting into the wood and splitting the creepy puppet into two. At least, that's what he hoped would have happened.

"What kind of wood is this?!" Cyrus growled as he swung again.

Then he swung again. And again. And again. And again. By the time Cyrus gave up, the puppet was left slightly imprinted into the dirt. It did not matter where he struck, be it joints or the neck; it remained untarnished despite Cyrus' attempts.

"Time for magic?" Cyrus asked, curling his arm and clutching his fist.

Inside, his light runes illuminated in unison. However, he had not struck just yet, for Cyrus was all too keen on his lack of mana crystals. Should he empty his mana pool and something attacked from the foggy shadows...

Shaking his head, Cyrus scanned the area. "Where the hell is my pack?" With a tilt of his head, he looked to the skies at Bird and whistled. "Can you help me find my pack?"

Chirp!

It then circled the hamlet. No more than three minutes later, he watched it fly behind some rubble of a ruined house.

"Don't tell me," Cyrus muttered, heading off in tow.

Oh, yes. His pack simply lay there as if moved by a prankster, maybe even a puppet. Scoffing at the sight, Cyrus searched through it and found nothing missing. More importantly, there were just enough mana crystals to last him the week.

Moving the pack to the front of the hamlet, Cyrus left it in the opposite house to the awaiting puppet. He hoped there would be enough ample room should something... unexpected occur. Moreover, Cyrus called for Bird to hide in his coat's pocket just to be safe.

Now? Now, he was ready.