Traverse The Fog

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At the top of Wuriupranili's peak stood a young man holding a red camera, taking pictures of the forest that stretched far into the horizon. He wore a simple dark green camping fatigues to match the greenery around him. Well, the greenery down below.

With a ruffled huff, he swept back his long, messy hair with a sun-kissed hand before pulling away from his device, revealing a pair of clear steel-blue eyes.

When he returned to his photo shoot, he could not help but recall his friends' and family's teasing. After all, how often had they called him 'wildman' or 'barbarous,' telling him to get a proper cut? Yet, despite his 'wild status,' this man felt nothing but peace as he pulled away from his camera to take a look at his gorgeous surroundings.

Up here, high above the earth and alone, he felt completely at peace.

A peace shattered once his phone rang, forcing the man back to reality. He sighed and intentionally ignored the ring, hoping whoever was calling would get the picture and give up. That did not work. So, the man slumped his shoulders in defeat before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Glancing at the caller ID, he let out a dramatic groan.

You reap what you sow.

It wasn't fair to not answer, not after she'd tried so hard for so long. She deserved better than him. So, he answered the call.

"Hey, Liz," he sheepishly greeted, spacing the phone far from his ear.

"Don't 'Hey Liz' me, Cyrus," Elizabeth replied, with such a spine-tingling tone. "Why did you just run off like that? Again!"

"I'm... sorry, okay? I needed the space. You can understand that, right?"

The same excuse over and over again. Yet, Elizabeth always forgave him despite how often he had ghosted his friends and family. However, this time? This time was different.

"You always do this, Cyrus!" She hissed, her frustration boiling over the limit. "I don't know what to do anymore." A pause. "I—look. We'll talk when you get back."

She then hung up without so much as a goodbye. At that moment, Cyrus' phone felt heavy, and he almost wished he could drop it and forget about everything.

"I need to head back," he muttered.

And yet, his legs propelled him forward and halted just before a cliff's edge. He kicked some pebbles, watching them fall down the precipice as their bodies smashed into smaller pieces.

Although he wondered as dark thoughts filled his head. I could try to fly—ah, there's the gray again.

Cyrus shook his head, dispelling those unhappy thoughts. While the void was calling for him, he knew he would never answer. Instead, he would rather search for meaning in life. Thus, Cyrus stepped back, turning around to pick up his black camping pack.

"The trip's a bust," he grumbled.

As he packed his equipment, Cyrus pulled out his phone and turned on the radio, hoping it would distract him from the coming argument. Meanwhile, he carefully placed his bulky camera within a foam mold and safely stored it in a metal box.

The radio buzzed to life. Lo and behold, its transmission was weak. The sudden static brought Cyrus to a scowl as he searched for a working station. Luckily, he did find one.

"-Bzzt-... Breaking news," a newswoman buzzed into life. "Researchers are baffled by the sudden global drop in temperature. And what once was a heated debate completely reversed! Without a proper explanation, we—"

Cyrus changed the station, hoping to find something more local. Soon, a familiar newsman's voice sifted through the static.

"-Bzzt- Today marks the twenty-third anniversary of the Brinewood murders. The serial killer known as The Electrocutioner left terror in his wake, leaving his victims completely charr—"

"Please," Cyrus muttered in despair. "Let it be positive."

"—Bzzt— Both Furosia and Durien's forces are advancing towards Edenia," a man voiced numbly as if he'd accepted the worst. "Commercial flights may be at risk. Please, go find your fam—"

Cyrus turned off his phone. "Why was life like this?"

All Cyrus had wanted was to escape life for a few weeks in tranquility. Yet, reality had other thoughts in mind, filling him with negative thoughts that threatened to drown him. He sighed, hauling his pack over his shoulder, and began climbing down the sloping hill. At least it was an easier climb down than up.

Avoid the weak soil, Cyrus thought, holding onto the hanging branches and vines around him.

It wasn't his first time at this. Cyrus had been going out as often he could, scouting the forests surrounding Oakland. At this point, he could do this in his sleep. But complacency brought intrusive thoughts. And oh, did he hate them. They dove deeper and deeper until Cyrus could not help but imagine his coming conversation with Elizabeth.

Hey, Liz, I'm sorry I left. I just needed space—a thought. No, I do care about you. —Another. Liz, we need to talk about us…—More. I'll have to go back to my dead-end job. Always there. I'll have to spend time with people I don't care about.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

It seemed the world had changed according to Cyrus' sentiments. Around him, the soothing sounds of the forest grew silent and listless while the voices in his head rose louder and louder. The stress threatened to consume him. His heart began pounding, and the tightening of his chest nearly caused him to have a panic attack there and then.

Everything around him was turning gray again. Meanwhile, Cyrus' vision blurred as he clung to a vine, forcing him to blink repeatedly to stave off its effects. Yet it did him no good. Happiness lost its voice among the melancholic choir, and they proved too much to the twenty-year-old.

His steel-blue eyes lost their luster, turning dull and cloudy.

"I'm so tired," he whispered, no longer paying attention to the ground under him.

Down the hill and over the horizon remained another day—another damn, meaningless day. These thoughts clung to his back like ghosts, forcing Cyrus to move faster and faster just to escape their drag. Or was it from his life? Stomping onto the soft soil beneath him, he cared only to reach the bottom—Reckless. So it was no surprise when he stepped on a loose rock, lost his footing, and tumbled down the slope.

His heart lurched. Following his training, Cyrus instinctively covered his head with his arms in a bid to protect it. However, the jagged rocks and fallen branches battered his body as the world spun around and around. After what had felt like an instant and an eternity, Cyrus rolled to the bottom of the slope, alive. A miracle despite everything. Dazed and in pain, he fluttered his eyelids and looked around as he stumbled into a stand.

"Ugh, am I dead?" He groaned softly. "Where am I?"

There before him was a grove. And while beautiful, the bathing sunlight blinded him from enjoying the scenery. Cyrus instead moved his gaze back to the slope to shield his eyes before recalling what had just occurred. He sighed in relief at not having broken his neck.

"I need to be mo—" His eyes widened, and all the bruises and aches no longer mattered. "My camera!"

Carefully placing his camping pack down as if it would fix some unknown damage, Cyrus hoped his most prized possession would survive the fall. After all, he could not remember a day without his camera. Almost instantaneously, his impatience began to fester, and he quickly scrambled to open his pack.

Past some unimportant broken survival equipment, and there it was. The black metal box was surprisingly unharmed despite no doubt rolling over it several times.

"Please don't be broken," Cyrus whispered. With careful, shaking hands, he opened the package. Within was that bulky, red camera shining brightly against the sunlight. "What would I have done without you?" Cyrus mumbled.

He pulled it out, tracing his soft fingers over the white nameplate—ZoomZephyr. Was it damaged? Of course not. Yet, Cyrus could not help but wipe away imaginary dust and sift through every corner.

"It's still feeling heavy," he said with a smile. "So I can still use it as a blunt weapon."

He was joking. After all, it would damage his camera.

Playing with its smooth buttons and curved edges, Cyrus turned it on before peering through the lens in search of signs of damage. He encountered none. Still unsatisfied, he meticulously pressed every button and searched with a fine-tooth comb. Only when he found that absolutely nothing had changed was he finally pleased.

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But then Cyrus winced. And those 'invisible' aches and pains suddenly returned, forcing him to check over his bruises.

"At least I'm alive," he muttered. Yet that relief vanished once the world darkened around him. "Wha—what's going on?"

He turned to sudden shock as a thick blanket of fog crept before him, blocking all sunlight. It slithered around. And fog-like tendrils broke from it, clinging onto trees and branches like ghostly snakes.

He was surrounded. Confused, Cyrus stepped through it, hoping to find a way out. Yet, the fog was too dense. One second became thirty, and the lost Cyrus picked up his pace.

Eventually, there was a break, and Cyrus broke through the mist into an open area. At first, he was happy. But when Cyrus looked around, he furrowed his brow.

He was back in the grove again.

So, he went back into the fog, only to return. Again and again, he strove into the mist until panic took hold. Cyrus ran. Through the endless fog and in random directions, trying desperately to find an escape.

There was none. Cyrus looked around and gripped his head.

"I must be going crazy," he yelled, voice straining.

After all, logical explanations for everything that had happened were thrown out the window. How could he explain this other than a break in sanity? Was it the fall that caused all this?

But a sudden chill stilled his thoughts. All of a sudden, a primal part of his brain screamed at him, telling him to run.

Cyrus was being watched.

So he bolted through the only gap of open space. Meanwhile, it was as if the fog sprang into life. Whenever Cyrus drew close, it would almost solidify and split snakey tendrils like a living hydra, coiling around trees and blocking his way.

It was clear that it was leading him, and something deep within the back of Cyrus' mind urged him to listen. So compelled by the fog, Cyrus was forced to follow around Wuriupranili's peak. The fear of the unknown nearly consumed Cyrus, but underneath it all was a deeper terror—the fear of dying alone, meaningless, and forgotten in this strange, sinister place.

Regret. Cyrus had had so much regret. And yet, despite the horror and how reality seemed to warp around him, he couldn't help but stop, raise his hands, and—Click

Take a picture.

The familiar weight and bulk comforted Cyrus. And it separated him from the events unfolding around him and kept him sane. With that strength, he pressed forward, snapping photos of the smoke-like serpents coiling around the trees, guiding him along the path.

"Maybe someone will find this someday, he muttered. "And then my life would have meant something."

It was a small comfort, but was he so willing to quickly give up?

Regardless, time blurred as he followed the fog's guidance until it finally led him to the source of all this. There, nestled on the slope of the hill, was a cave. And from within, thick plumes of fog spilled from its dark entrance.

Cyrus stood frozen from the sight as fear and despair took hold. And yet, despite everything, he didn't think of his friends and family. Of Elizabeth. On what could be his final moments on this earth, his only thought was to take one last picture.

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