Traverse The Fog

"Where am I?"

After a momentary darkness, Cyrus found himself in another forest. He instinctively attempted to move his gaze, only to be reminded that he could not.

Before him stood a vast forest dominated by colossal sequoias. Their red bark, weathered and twisted over the ages, sprang upwards into the skies as if cradling the very heavens. Because of their sheer size, they cast immense shadows, so deep and dark that one could effortlessly vanish within them—shadows that were slowly growing in size as the pale, static light dimmed for the evening. And as ever, the fog remained present. Draping over everything within sight, it appeared more of an unstoppable infestation that would eventually consume everything.

The silence was deafening.

"That heavy, draped feeling is back," Cyrus muttered, closing his eyes and feeling Blake's body.

While Cyrus couldn't see Blake's appearance clearly, his senses provided a few clues. Blake's hair was pulled taut into a ponytail, a detail that annoyed Cyrus to no end. There was also the naked feeling on his jaws and upper lip.

Then, his vision shifted. Blake had taken in his surroundings briefly before confidently delving deeper into the forest. And it felt surreal, akin to watching a movie unfold with Blake's eyes as the camera.

Does the recording start mid-hunt? Cyrus wondered.

This first-person experience limited Cyrus' attempt to gather clues. But from what he could gather, Blake's inattentive actions made it appear as if he were simply taking a leisurely stroll.

Forward they went. With silent footsteps, Blake kept moving through the shadows, nearly becoming one with them. That was until the Wayfarer decided to break from the shadows and stride before a tiny, open area.

Then, he whistled a command. The silence was shattered, followed by the soft singing of bird chirpings. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. Blake soon extended a pale hand into the air.

"Scáth." Blake's voice, as cool and soft-spoken as flowing water, reached Cyrus' 'ears.' "Come out!"

A small, gray canary with a blue beak broke from the canopy and perched itself on his finger. It looked into Blake's gaze with its beady eyes before happily chirping to its master.

Meanwhile, Cyrus felt 'his' lips curl upward into a smile. "Okay, okay. Fine. That's pretty cute. Still, what's with the birds?"

Was there more to them than therapeutic companionship? His question was left unanswered.

"Good, Scáth. Go, lead the way." Blake petted Scáth's head. "Can't have the others waiting, now can we?"

Scáth cooed and took flight from his finger, gliding through the trees with his master in silent pursuit, who only occasionally paused to tune his attention to his surroundings.

Time passed. Silence remained their companion among the trees until the monotony shattered by the sound of rushing water. Such brought a change in pace, and Blake responded with sudden, swift steps. He effortlessly navigated the rough terrain at a pace Cyrus could only dream of until stopping underneath the shadows of a large tree. Beyond lay a river that sliced through the forest.

On the opposite bank stood three Wayfarers who held lanterns radiating a ghostly flame. The sight of them compelled Blake to channel his mana toward his eyes. And to Cyrus' shock, his vision actually zoomed in on the three, where he could discern a younger-looking Dílis, probably sixteen, standing next to an older pair of Wayfarers on the job.

The two strangers immediately locked onto Blake. The older woman, no more than twenty-two, was the first to react and drew upon her scabbard, revealing a straight sword of pure ivory.

Cyrus arched his brows in surprise. She reminds me of the Leals.

She stood tall and poised like her father—Officer Orionis? Regardless, her fair and soft features gave her an almost ethereal beauty despite the stoic and calm disposition radiating from her defensive stance. And yet, what Cyrus found most breathtaking were her purple eyes. Full of spark and color, they starkly contrasted her pale skin and long black hair cascading down her back like ink spilled on parchment.

"Come out." She ordered, her voice soft yet commanding. And it somehow reached Blake's hearing despite the distance and rushing waters.

Beside her, the tall and lanky man grimaced. "Come on. I mean, it's Morgan. Who else would be out here?"

The man looked more inclined to sleep his day away than travel the unknown. With an angular face, his short yet curly, brown hair looked like a bird's nest. That was a rather apt description, as three canaries, purple, brown, and green, played on top of his head, tugging at his locks.

"Morgan!" Without waiting, the man yelled, lazily waving an arm. "Quit trying to look mysterious and come out!"

More birds... Cyrus watched Blake step out from the shadows, feeling a teasing smile tugging on his lips.

"Someone has to be the cool one, Atlas," Blake said, confidently striding to the river. "And if not you, why not me?"

As he stepped onto the waters, Cyrus felt a sudden surge of mana onto the soles of his feet, to which Blake began stepping onto the water—no, not wading through the river and soaking himself in the cold liquid, but walking on top of its surface as if solid ground.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Fancy trick," Cyrus muttered. "An aquamancer?"

His attempt to examine Blake's runes was in vain. It seemed as if an invisible barrier to access.

Meanwhile, Atlas responded with a playful scoff. "Oh, look at me." He straightened his heavily crinkled Wayfarer's outfit, which looked as though it had been hastily thrown on after being slept on. "I have water powers. I'm cool."

Atlas appeared to say more, but a single glance from the swordwoman beside brought him into silent submission. Sheathing her blade, the woman slowly removed her gaze from Atlas onto Blake and began speaking. No words came, but Blake stopped nonetheless. What followed was a muted conversation Cyrus was left out of. Did Blake whitewash this part of the memory?

After a minute, the woman nodded.

"That's correct, Blake," the woman said, her voice losing its command but keeping its formal sternness. "Welcome."

And with that, Blake joined the group.

The woman swiveled her focus onto the daggers on Blake's hips. "Are you prepared to hunt the strigoi?" Her flickered between him and Dílis. "Lilie is counting on you."

"Strigoi?" Cyrus asked with a frown. "Don't they precursor vampires? They exist? Wait..." Another thought appeared. "Do vampires exist?!"

There was a time when a young Cyrus spent his time reading myths and legends of his homeworld with folktales, cryptids, and even horror stories in his repertoire. Yet, the idea of strigois and vampires didn't excite him. It scared him. For if he were correct, it would imply a world of implications.

"Maybe it's just my brain finding words to match," he theorized—hoped for.

Regrettably, that hope was swiftly scrapped by the woman's subsequent words. "It's been feeding on blood within a twenty-kilometer radius, so finding it was of no issue. Both Atlas and I found it after a few days of searching."

Cyrus clicked his 'tongue' in annoyance. Why did he have to be right? Meanwhile, Atlas half-heartedly nodded.

"Anari forced me to run around in this damn forest," he said languidly, unbothered by the tugs and pulls from the canaries. "You two kids owe me."

At that moment, he froze as the young Dílis and Anari glared at him into silence.

Blake coughed. "Yes, Leader Leal, I'll show the proper procedure and steps for Wayfarer Dílis." His gaze shifted to Dílis, smiling. " Don't worry, you'll become a Wayfarer yet."

A sweet smile blossomed across Dílis' face. "Thanks, Morgan."

Meanwhile, Cyrus arched his brows at their dynamics. Who knows how they have evolved over the years? To him, they seemed like a close-knit group, and it would be troublesome to integrate himself within. As Cyrus was lost in his thoughts, Blake scanned over the trio.

All their stances spoke something of themselves. Anari carried herself as an officer and a soldier, while Atlas was her exact opposite. On the other hand, Dílis was as green as a newborn baby, yet small traces of her Wayfarer's confidence in her later years hid within the depths of those dark green eyes.

There was a lull. Anari remained stoic until a small smile crept up her face. She watched over Dílis like an older, caring sister, petting her head.

"This isn't Morgan's first hunt with a strigoi," she said softly. "Keep an eye on his movements and tricks, and you'll learn a trick or two." She pulled her hand away. "You'll become a great Wayfarer, like your father."

Before Dílis could respond, Atlas rubbed his perpetually sleepy dark-brown eyes, exaggeratedly yawning. "It's a lot of work and danger for nothing, Little Sis." He then replaced Anari as the official head of the pat distributor. "Someone as pretty as you should find a cushy job within the wall. Like a guardsman." He sighed. "I could have been one. Damn it, why didn't I take the job?"

"Wait, what?" Cyrus was confused. Was this guy actually a Wayfarer? Surely not.

Meanwhile, Dílis lightly flushed from the compliment while disregarding everything else. Anari, on the other hand... If looks could kill, Atlas would have been sliced into pieces there and then. The minute-long death stare she gave him compelled Atlas to break into a cold sweat, with the canaries flying off his head in fear of impending doom.

In the midst of the awkward silence, Blake stood still as a statue, offering Cyrus the opportunity to compare Atlas' and Dílis' features.

"No similarities... different eyes and ears," he muttered. "And he looks nothing like Lord Dílis either."

Nor had Cyrus seen Atlas around the manor. A family friend, maybe? Hopefully, he won't cause trouble in the future. Regardless, Cyrus was getting bored with this uninteresting conversation, wishing to fast-forward to the hunt.

Meanwhile, Anari slowly removed her torturous glare from the near-coma-induced Atlas before addressing Blake. "Morgan, you'll be on your own for this hunt, but we'll be close behind should the need for help arise." After hearing a quiet 'Yes, ma'am' from the young Wayfarer, Anari addressed Dílis. "I'm sure your father has taught you these lessons, but to reiterate, a Wayfayer must fully use everything within their means to secure their life and victory."

"Yes, Teamleader," Dílis softly said. "Should we begin?"

Anari nodded. "Let's begin."

Finally. Cyrus 'sat back' and listened intently.

"First," Anari began, voice commanding. "The creature is eight klicks northside." Retrieving a folded map from her coat pocket, she traced it alongside the river. "So long as you follow the river, you will find it soon enough."

Blake nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Second," Anari adressed Dílis. "You should remember that strigoi are notorious for being difficult to kill. One must thoroughly destroy the body, or it will eventually return."

"Which is easier said than done," Atlas interjected, stretching his arms. "Which reminds me. Lil' Sis, bring some explosives from now on. You don't have that 'oomph' we do."

Anari nodded. "He's right. Where strength is ineffectual, tools would help." She paused. "There's no reason to be stupidly prideful like those idiots at the academy. You're here to hunt, not show off."

"Yes, Ma'am," Dílis whispered.

"Good. A Wayfarer must prepare for the hunt." —Her tone lowered to a whisper— "Then, one last thing." Anari surveyed everyone. "Should the unexpected arise, we all group up and work together. No splitting up."

After a command, Anari and the others slunk into the shadows, leaving Blake alone—well, not entirely alone, for Scáth chirped above, encircling him before perching on his shoulder.

"Come on, Scáth," Blake said, petting his head. "Let's impress Lilie."

The canary chirped happily before taking off, and the two began trekking alongside the river. There were no signs of anxiety or trepidation behind Blake's calm demeanor, still as a pond.

And perhaps because it felt like a scene from a movie, despite being real, Cyrus felt compelled to say something cheesy as he watched. Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself.

"Let the hunt begin."