Traverse The Fog

As Cyrus smiled, his attention was drawn to her face. With a button nose and soft lips, she would have certainly turned heads in any circumstances. But something was amiss. Her verdant eyes—they were a bit too oval. And her ears. Cyrus subconsciously flinched. Her ears were long with pointed tips... Was she another species altogether?

Unfortunately, Lady Dílis caught his reaction. With a polite smile, she blanketed her ears with her long hair and took the lead.

"This way, Traveler Wade."

Shit.

Following in tow, Cyrus held back his questions to avoid appearing crass. Down to the first floor and rounding the knotwork-paneled hallways, the two soon entered a parlor room lined with rows upon rows of bookshelves.

"Take a seat," she said, following her own advice. "Someone will be serving us tea soon."

Cyrus practiced a chuckle. "Do you mind if I stretch my legs? Sitting down for hours makes me restless."

And the week of imprisonment. But Cyrus avoided mentioning that grievance.

"As you wish." Lady Dílis took a more proper sitting form. "I hope things weren't too... difficult during your stay at the wall." A probe? Cyrus didn't hazard a guess. Yet a knock on the door drew their attention. "Ah. That must be the tea."

Indeed. The maid walking in brought Cyrus a moment of peace that he took full advantage of. Quickly, his gaze swept over a shelf of books and the titles on their spines.

The Rune Theory. Wayfarer Guidelines. Advanced Magical Formations. Starlights Above. And Pylon Functions and Repairs—I don't understand any of these.

There and then, he wished to ignore his host and crack one of these boys open. But Cyrus had to keep up appearances.

"Your home is beautiful, Lady Dílis." Cyrus turned to her with a practiced smile. "In truth, I've never been in one like it."

Lady Dílis smiled. "Thank you. It has given me plenty of fond memories. Oh, and please, call me Lilie."

"Then call me Cyrus if you don't mind," he responded with a polite nod. But to his surprise, he found her twitching her brows in response. "Is something the matter?"

"There is no issue if that's what you wish to be called, traveler Cyrus," she said, sipping some of her steaming tea.

"Is it wrong to want to be called by their first name?" Cyrus asked, furrowing his brow.

"Your family's name isn't Cyrus?" Lady Dílis lowered her cup, and a silent pause hung between the two.

"Forgive me." Cyrus smiled and bowed his head. "Let me reintroduce myself; I am Wade Cyrus, but call me Cyrus."

Lady Dílis chuckled. "Clear skies, Cyrus."

And just this simple interaction proved to him how ignorant he was of this world.

"Do you mind revealing some of your customs?" He played the apologetic man by rubbing the back of his head, embarrassed. "I wouldn't want to insult someone."

Lady Dílis bloomed a smile. "Yes, of course."

The next few minutes delved into mannerisms and greetings. Having stepped into the role of a confused man, Cyrus sat before her and greedily drank in all she spoke until another maid came by to announce dinner.

And so, they set off. However, as time drew closer to meeting with the enigmatic leader of Avalorn, a sinking feeling welled in the pit of Cyrus' stomach. Was there more to this?

The two moved into a simple but spacious dining hall. There, Cyrus witnessed Butler Leal overwatching the staff, who were serving piping hot vegetarian meals of unknown plants and fruits.

Both he and Dílis sat down and spoke some more. That was until the butler suddenly strode over to the double doors and held on to their brass handles.

"His Excellency, Díllis Cosan," He reverently announced, opening the door.

And it was as if the air had subtly shifted. The staff, Lady Dílis—everyone turned to the man who stepped inside.

Clean-shaven and built like a noble, he was an older man with long brunette hair and graying streaks tied into a ponytail, which betrayed his rather mature but paradoxically youthful visage. He wore a formal vest suit that seemed comprised of black bark, while the white dress shirt looked threaded with white flower petals.

Those sharp, dark-brown eyes scanned the entire room until ultimately landing on Cyrus. And it was as if Lord Dílis' gaze pierced into his very being.

Powerful—all human. And Cyrus nearly shuddered at the attention.

"Clear skies, everyone," Lord Dílis peacefully said with a subtle yet friendly smile. "I hope the day went well for all of you."

Everyone, save for Lady Dílis, stood and crossed their hands onto their hearts. "Clear skies, Lord Dílis."

"Wade Cyrus greets The Steward, Díllis Cosan," he formally introduced, bowing his head."

"Oh, your family's name is Wade instead of Cyrus?" Lord Dílis said, sitting across from him.

The close distance brought more pressure on Cyrus.

"Yes, my lord," he said. " I'm still unaccustomed to your culture, and I thank Lady Dílis for her help."

Lord Dílis glanced at his butler. "Not Archer?"

"I'm ashamed. Please forgive me." Butler Leal bowed his head.

"Looks like I'm rubbing off on you, Archer," Lord Dílis said jovially. "The saplings will grow into trees before anything gets done with me around." Without the grace befitting his station, he quickly sat down and unceremoniously grabbed a plate full of food. "Please, sit down and try the food." A teasing smile played on his lips. "I'll have you know that I've grown it all myself!"

Lady Dílis snorted, nearly rolling her eyes. "Father, you grew all the food in Avalorn."

Her father laughed. "Indeed."

Between the two, the heavy pressure suffocating Cyrus suddenly whisked away. As soon as dinner started, the room filled with a pleasant atmosphere, which Cyrus tried to match despite his trepidation.

The food was delicious, and there was always a conversation—from a casual conversation with a father and daughter to city reports from Bulter Leal. Cyrus kept silent as he was more than willing to lurk in the backdrop.

But it was strange. For not once had Lord Dílis singled him out—no questions or remarks. That was until he thrice clapped his hands. The staff, including Butler Leal, then dispersed, leaving the Dílis family and Cyrus alone.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Here it comes. Cyrus mentally prepared himself.

"Traveler Cyrus." Lord Dílis began, tone light and friendly. "You're not from this continent, are you?"

This assumption again. It was one where Cyrus could take advantage of it if he played his cards well. "No, my lord, I'm... not too sure."

Lord Dílis nodded, his subtle smile seemingly forever painted on his lips. "Well, you do understand there's only the one, correct?"

Oh.

Cyrus said nothing. Indeed. There was a breath of silence between the three.

The Steward chuckled as he sliced into a fruit pie. "Come now, Cyrus. This is not an interrogation." He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring the pie's tangy flavor, mouth full. "And just to prove it, I'm willing to delay this conversation for a few days." Cyrus arched his brows. His surprise was evident and was not lost on the city lord. "I'll have you know that I'm a fair man, and this conversation requires knowledge you lack." —Lord Dílis' gaze fell upon his daughter— "So, Lilie will give you a tour of our city."

Lady Dílis lowered her head. "If that's what Father wishes."

Lord Dílis took a moment to enjoy his pastry as the gears in Cyrus' head churned. This lord was rather considerate. After all, if Cyrus were a city lord, he would study any strange phenomenon immediately. But was it a ploy? Maybe it was time to test the waters.

"May I have my stuff back?" He asked, tone intentionally nonchalant.

Yes, of course." Lord Dílis tilted his head in thought. "Although two of your devices seem to have lost power."

"That's fine, as long as there are no damages."

Lord Dílis clapped his hands, his smile widening. "Splendid. For now, let us enjoy this wonderful meal."

And surprisingly, the rest of dinner went without incident. After a round of goodnights, Cyrus was then sent to a well-furnished guestroom where he could reside for the time being. But that wasn't all. Behind him was Butler Leal with a wooden cart. It carried several books and a leather bag on its polished top.

"Please inform us if you find anything wrong. " Butler Leal said, bowing. "And have a good night, Sir Wade."

Soon, Cyrus was alone again. He scanned over the books but held back his greed and sifted through the bag. And what a surprise, it was his gear. Ecstatic, he triple-checked it—phone, charger wires, charger, headphones, and his priceless camera. Oh, and his survival gear and clothes were there, too. But what's this?

My flare gun is missing. Cyrus frowned but quickly relaxed. They must think it's dangerous.

Then, that's fine for now. Shrugging, Cyrus picked up his camera. The feeling of the red camera in his hands comforted him as he took photos of the room, furniture, and the faraway city.

Click

Once satisfied, Cyrus picked up a book titled A Brief Look into History and sat by a desk next to the window. Eager, he quickly dove into its knowledge. The knowledge that promptly forced the gears in his head to start moving.

Ten thousand years ago, the gods awakened and brought light into the world, ridding it of muck and darkness. Only when satisfied with the world's beauty did they create man and law. Then came the age of peace. And yet, so quickly, the age of peace left before the age of strife, for not one god of one element would tolerate another.

Gods... Cyrus frowned. They exist.

If this were months ago, he would scoff at the idea of magic and the supernatural. But now... the universe was opening up to him. It would be ignorant to deny the notion of gods now. However, it did not mean that he should start worshiping.

But what about the fog? Cyrus frowned before shaking his head. "That was no god. It was a scourge."

Now, back to the books. A new world—a new beginning awaited, after all.

Wars were unending. Yet, life persisted nonetheless. That was until it all changed with the sudden disappearance of Adhier, Godking of the Skies. And when he left, so did the sky itself. The fog—it came quickly and brought forth a blight that shattered empires overnight. Wraiths, we now call them, sprang forth from the mists and consumed everything in sight.

Only when Archmage Aiden and the founding members of The Academy of Forás appeared did civilization regain its foothold. And it all started with the first city of Comraich.

Tentatively and mechanically, Cyrus closed the book. With infinite weakness, he placed his hands behind him and stared at the ceiling.

From one cell to another. But was that truly the case? Should Cyrus oppress himself by staying in Avalorn forever? No—don't lose hope yet, Cyrus.

Slightly reinvigorated, he spent hours sifting through books. Only when this strange world constituted their idea of "dawn" did a vague picture form in his head.

Archmage Aiden invented and built the purifier pylon, a magical device that purified this blight, which explains the lack of fog in Avalorn. Then came the academy. They trained more mages and soldiers who gathered resources and protected the people—the Wayfarers and the Guard. The strongest of these mages became rulers of future city-states, known as Dúndraíocht.

There was also mention of a group called The Spectres, but Cyrus could only find vague mentions. But that was for another time, for the morning had arrived.

Stiff yet still energized, Cyrus stood up and stretched while peering past the window and onto Avalorn. Soon, he will dive deep into its story and watch its play. His eye sparkled at the thought.

***

The coach's wheels clattered against the cobblestone road. Inside, Cyrus and Lady Dílis sat opposite each other, with the former stifling a laugh.

"I thought I told the staff to bring you a new set of clothes," Lady Dílis said, pinching her brows.

"It's alright." Cyrus shrugged, looking down at his outfit.

A black T-shirt and blue jeans from his pack. While he was okay with this, Cyrus felt a barrier of separation between him and this world. Meanwhile, Lilie wore a similar outfit to the day before. Was it from one of the groups he read about? The Wayfarers.

But that didn't matter, for Avalorn soon stood before him.

"Incredible." he muttered, taking a picture.

And what a grand sight it was. No matter how it looked from afar, it did not prepare him for the vibrant aura emanating from those grassy cobblestone streets. It was as if nature was trying to take over civilization, filling the gray stone with green vines or colorful flowers that snaked between cracks and climbed onto old stone and brick buildings and metal lampposts.

And Cyrus was mesmerized once the coach drove into its narrow streets. He witnessed men and women, both young and old, all with smiles on their faces as they went about their daily lives. And it was strange, for in his world, the sign of overgrowth meant the lack of care or the departure of man. Yet Avalorn proved otherwise.

Click

Avalorn... was a piece of what Cyrus was looking for.

Forward, they drove through the old labyrinth that was Avalorn's unorganized, crowded streets until they suddenly slowed and stopped before what Cyrus assumed was a restaurant. Finn's Pub was the name of the place. However, Cyrus found it ironic that the store's owner was not a Finnigan but an older woman named Moira.

"Lilie, where have you been, young lady?" She asked, tone motherly. "I hope trouble hasn't reached you."

"I'm sorry, Miss Moira, but I've recently returned from patrol." Lady Dílis smiled. "But I'll visit more often now that I'm back."

She then introduced Cyrus as one of her friends who lived in the Horrick districts, wherever that was. He acted respectfully, but in the back of his mind, he wondered.

Why the lie? Couldn't she have called me a foreigner?

The two then sat beside a window, appreciating the outside scenery while eating their meal—bread, eggs, and biscuits.

"Your city is magnificent," Cyrus remarked, reluctantly removing his gaze and focusing on his tour guide. "Your father has done a remarkable job."

Of course, Cyrus knew when it was time to butter them up.

Miss Dílis's face flashed with pride, and her voice was tinged with obvious glee. "You should have seen it before my father's arrival twenty years ago. I'd heard stories that would make you shake your head."

Oh? Was Lord Dílis from another city-state?

But maybe that was a question for another time when she trusted him more.

"It looks like they are happy about the change," he said, watching small children climb a tree for its colorful fruits. "Was it that bad?"

"Yes, when Father moved in, he had to go through… obstacles," she snorted.

Another little interesting tidbit, but he preferred more information about Lord Dílis himself.

"If he arrived in Avalorn and became The Dúndraíocht, what was he before?"

She proudly smiled, pressing the torch symbol on her chest. "He was a Wayfarer, rediscovering lost lands and finding new homes."

Oh? Cyrus' gaze subtly flashed. "Please, tell me more about them."