Traverse The Fog

A disoriented Cyrus jolted awake before looking around listlessly, only to be greeted by unfamiliar cave walls. Why was he here? Wasn't he climbing a hill—Cyrus' gaze widened as the memories flooded back.

"Did it work?" He scrambled to his feet and scanned the area. "Did it really work?"

The cave was dark, small, and empty, yielding nothing more than the cold stone around Cyrus and his camping pack. Just a few meters away was the exit. Covered in thick fog, it beckoned for him, lighting the cave in a dull and pale light.

But Cyrus hasn't rushed through just yet. No, he had to make an inventory. Forcefully swallowing down his simmering excitement, he knelt and opened his pack. And surprisingly, everything remained intact.

"Water filtration straws seem okay," he mumbled, sifting through his gear. "Flare gun, too."

Now, he was ready. Satisfied, he pulled out his camera and hugged the wall before slowly walking toward the exit.

"Okay," he whispered, hugging the wall's edge. "A new beginning."

What waited beyond was another world, ready for discovery and exploration. All he needed was one last psyche up. Taking one last breath, Cyrus stepped out—no, ran out. Fingers shading his gaze, it took a moment for him to adjust to the light. There it was. The new world awaited. And everything was…

Disappointing.

It looks just like the forest I left!

Where were the floating islands, the crystalline forests, and the mystical beasts? But from what Cyrus could see, there was nothing worth mentioning. No iridescent waters were falling from above, nor were there enchanting trees with glowing etchings.

Everything was the same except for the thick fog, which draped everything in sight like cobwebs. But this was not enough to convince Cyrus. Thoughts plaguing his mind, Cyrus brandished the camera in his pack and sifted through its data.

"They're still here," he said, scrolling through images.

The swirling fog, the warping cave entrance, and the golden tunnel appeared, all proof that he hadn't gone insane.

But there has to be more than all this, Cyrus thought, shaking away the disappointment in his heart. There has to be.

He then looked around. There was nothing unusual—typical green trees, fresh and breathable air, a dirt path—his heart stopped at the sight before him.

There it was. Before Cyrus lay a body, almost hidden by the large patch of grass and flowers surrounding him.

Fuck.

Of course, he scrambled back into the cave and took cover. Heart wildly beating, Cyrus contemplated if he had chosen wrong. But just as quickly, he quashed the thought. There was no point in having regrets, not after everything.

In the end, Cyrus strengthened his courage and stepped outside. Slowly, cautiously, he moved before the cadaver. Only when he stood before it did he grasp the full picture.

He gasped. A human male? The sight forced him a few steps back.

Indeed. It was another human facing down in the dirt. But why was it a human? Surely, he expected humanoid beings, maybe even something similar. But another human? Just in front of the cave where he had woken up?

Taking a deep breath, Cyrus knelt down and inspected the backside. The corpse had short jet-black hair and seemed to be wearing a black leather trench coat—rather stylish, too, despite his unbidden thoughts. After a once-over, Cyrus quickly noted the fine threading and brass embroidering on the man's wrist cuffs and thick leather-padded shoulders. They depicted an image of thunderclouds emitting lightning bolts. But that was all.

Leather padding, Cyrus thought. Is it for defense?

Only one way to find out. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to turn the body over. The sight was gruesome enough that it forced Cyrus to move back a few steps.

A pallid man who appeared in his late forties lay before him. His aquiline nose seemed crooked and flattened as if struck with something hard. But that wasn't the issue. Cracks were covering his face as if fractured ceramic, while those brown eyes... They were thick and cloudy—and directly locked on him.

By dread instinct, Cyrus looked away from the sight. In any case, the man was dead, but he needed more information. So, he kept searching.

There were more lightning clouds on the lapels, brass buttons, a well-tailored vest depicting even more clouds, stylish leather dress shoes—everything depicted a dirtless man who was plucked from a city and thrown right here.

If he's part of an organization, are there others around? Cyrus wondered as he watched over his surroundings.

Of course, there was nothing there save for the fog. Shaking his head, Cyrus returned his attention to the cadaver, specifically its pockets. And without any hesitation or decorum, he rifled through them. The man was dead, possibly with survival equipment. While Cyrus was alive, he needed every chance to survive. At least, that was his logic.

A moment later, his fingers latched on and pulled out a silvery medallion depicting an arm bearing a torch. And that was it. Nothing on its smooth surface revealed a language or any other clues. Further searching revealed a brass compass. But the sight of it was strange. It lacked the four cardinal directions, and its arrow spun around headlessly. And on checking his own, it too spun in circles.

Cyrus tsked. Not much here.

Indeed. Whoever this man was, he carried very lightly. So, with nothing else found, Cyrus examined the corpse's face once more. Had it been—no, it couldn't be.

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Slowly, he angled the corpse into the cave. There. Cyrus could barely see it, but it was there—skid marks.

Someone dragged this body here, or maybe something threw it out of the cave. Slowly, Cyrus stood up, gazing before the looming cave and his surroundings. "Now what?"

…

Three days. It had been three days since Cyrus had woken up in this world and temporarily resided in the cave. However, it was not his first choice. In fact, he had intended to leave on the first day, but a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks.

What if I'm suffering a psychotic break?

Such a thought frightened him to no end. So, he waited despite the danger, even using his flare gun and making calls on his phone. By now, Cyrus was confident that no one was coming to rescue him.

In the meantime, he explored his surroundings in a limited scope and discovered that Wuriupranili's Peak had disappeared, replaced by a much smaller hill.

In conclusion, Cyrus had uncovered some disturbing truths.

First, there was utter silence within this forest, lacking the usual signs of life down to the bugs. Was he to starve then?

Second, it never grew dark, which, admittedly, Cyrus did not know if he should consider a bad situation. This abnormal, pale-white colored light did not come from the sun, given the endless haze high in the skies, but it removed the idea of nocturnal dangers from the equation.

Finally, there was the fog. What Cyrus thought had been a sentient being was now lifeless. It floated aimlessly in the air, clinging to everything in sight like an invisible yet heavy curtain. And it even clung to him. The weight was not enough to slow him down, yet it still drew attention. Was that a good thing? He didn't know, but dread dwelled within his heart nonetheless.

But there was more. Despite everything, there was a positive: Cyrus had never felt more alive in these past few days than ever in his life.

Slowly, he clutched his fist. There was a constant feeling of rejuvenation coursing through his body as if he had been lost in a desert for decades and only now had his body been sated. Still, Cyrus remained with only five days of food—the rest remaining in his long-forgotten car. And unless he wished to starve, Cyrus couldn't linger here any longer.

So, he prepared to go. Yet, as his fingers traced the edges of his camera, Cyrus frowned at its battery life. Of course, such things were not a problem. One search through his pack revealed a universal hand crank charger alongside a multitool placed into his pocket.

Now, he was ready. Slowly, Cyrus shifted his attention toward the cave, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

Click

Then, he was off. Deep into the fog, he went.

…

Maybe I should've given that guy a proper burial.

Cyrus moved through the brush, maintaining a steady direction while listening for any sudden noises. But it had been utterly quiet and uneventful. However, Cyrus tried not to let the negatives weigh him down. With the enthusiasm of a tourist, he brandished his camera and documented his journey.

Who knows, maybe this rather... interesting start will become a fond memory? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Maybe I should play music on my phone," Cyrus muttered.

Such a thing was common on his trail hikes or when moving through Oakland. It was a way to tide him against the gray that once gloomed over his life. But that life was gone now. Instead, he began sifting through his saved images to pass the time.

That was until he paused at her. With big blue eyes, long blond hair, and freckles on the bridge of her button nose. Who else could it be other than Elizabeth? The sight of her soft smile stirred unbidden memories he refused to think of.

I've moved on.

There and then, he decided to erase the past from himself. With quick button presses, Cyrus highlighted every image that connected his life before the trip to Wuriupranili's peak.

"I've moved on." He whispered.

And yet, his finger remained ever just above the delete option. One minute. Two. The time to move on never came. Sighing, Cyrus gave up and pressed another option.

To hide them.

Maybe in some far-off future, he will try again. But for now, they will simply remain away from his sight.

"I'll make new memories," he muttered, leaving it at that.

Time passed. Cyrus' patience paid off as the forest's trees grew sparser until a break appeared in sight. Excited, Cyrus broke into a jog and passed between two trees, akin to racing through a finish line.

And there it was, just sitting in a small, open plain in this silent, encroaching forest. The far sight of five small houses nestled around a tree beside a pond brought him to a pause. He found himself looking over it from a downward slope.

Good news—A sign of life. But would someone like Cyrus just rush in? Of course... not.

Slowly, quietly, he went back into the shade of the trees and sifted through his pack. Then, out came the binoculars—an explorer's brother.

Once ready, he surveyed the area before him. The fog made it difficult, but what Cyrus could make of it brought him to a frown. They appeared to be small, cruck houses, medieval-like ones in the movies. Except, these were old and dilapidated, as if ready to crumble at any moment. As if that weren't enough, there were no signs of life. No adults working the field or children running about—just a feeling of emptiness and desolation, one that wished to sink deep into Cyrus' chest.

They could just be sleeping. Cyrus waived the crushing feeling off and looked at the positive.

Click

Once he had stored his equipment, Cyrus planned his next steps. His gaze traced along the treeline. Slowly, he then weaved through the trees and remained out of sight while taking a detour.

Once closer to the hamlet, Cyrus instead headed in the opposite direction and went deeper into the forest. Meanwhile, he flicked out his multitool's blade and knicked thin but notable arrows leading both toward the hamlet and in the direction he chose.

After a few minutes, he found an old, gnarled tree that stood unique from the others.

"Good enough," he muttered and took off his pack.

Slowly, he hid it between some of the roots. He planned to drop the added weight should he have to run, should something happen, and, if need be, come back later for his camera.

"Okay." Deeply breathing, Cyrus psyched himself up. "Now I'm ready."

…

Cyrus hid behind a tree at the forest's edge to survey the hamlet again.

Nothing but silence.

At this point, Cyrus assumed, maybe even hoped, that this place was abandoned. Then there might be something of use. But if that weren't the case, he would at least attempt friendly communication, even with the language barrier.

One minute. Five.

Come on. Breathing deeply, Cyrus broke from the treeline and began his silent approach toward the open entryway. This place has to be abandoned.

At least, that was the thought until he heard the weeping.