Traverse The Fog

Despite the many shops and restaurants lining Avalorn's twisted and mossy streets, life mainly pulsed around its sunken and square open market plazas carved into the earth. And what a sight they were. During the day, residents and merchants would access the market by descending the worn stone slate stairs onto the flooring, where they would then open their crude and worn wooden stalls to hawk their wares. Whether it is mouthwatering baked goods smelling of sweet spices or hand-crafted or sewn goods, anything except the magical can be found.

Even now, a small story played beside one of the many stalls that peddled goods.

"Please, grand lord," a blonde-haired young boy said, voice trembling as he extended an upturned, calloused hand. "Spare some cherries?"

A well-suited older man with graying short hair turned his attention from the display of jewels to the boy. His gaze darted around the dozens of passersby who walked by before ultimately lingering on the young boy before him. His brows furrowed at the sight, taking in the dirty patchwork of linens that clung to the boy's frame.

"Get out of my sight, rat." The man sneered, raising his hand into a readying smack. "I'll give you something to remember."

"No, please!" The boy widened his blue eyes in fear before darting between the narrow gap between the stalls and disappearing from sight.

"That's what I thought," the man harrumphed, soon returning his attention to the stall before him, a smug sense of satisfaction coursing his veins.

Meanwhile, the boy darted between people and stalls. He did not stop until he reached one of the ascending stone steps that marked the exit. There, he waited. A moment later, a young brown-haired girl wearing a dirty pair of overalls stepped out from the crowd. The girl smiled, nodding as she patted the slight, square indentation on her dirty pocket. The two quickly ran up the stairs, smiling and giggling as they disappeared into a mossy alleyway to enjoy their ill-gotten goods.

Click

Cyrus watched this scene unfold above, leaning against the stone and mossy balustrades that lined the market. What would have happened if he were in the man's shoes? Would he, too, have been robbed after handing some paper charybs from his Wayfarer stipend? Would he have given money at all?

"Where do you think they're going?" Cyrus asked, lowering his camera and glancing at the white canary perched on the railing beside him.

The bird had been pecking at a fruit Cyrus had plucked from one of the many trees within Avalorn. At his call, it paused, tilting its head to fix him with its beady eyes before resuming its meal, seemingly unbothered by the question.

"What was I expecting?" Cyrus muttered, no longer paying attention to the little bird.

He then returned to watching the chaos below, enjoying the scenery. Would there be more small stories? Would it be from those twin sisters who argued at those stone steps? Cyrus had already seen several moments akin to what had just happened and wished for more. Still, he only wanted to watch. He only ever wanted to watch.

However, Cyrus' interest abruptly vanished when he heard the sound of bells coming from the north. And with it came a call unlike any he had experienced before. In his chest, there was a change. It felt like strings tugging against his heart and, more importantly, his fire runes, urging him to follow the call.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking around.

It seemed as if nothing was wrong, as many went on with their lives without hearing the bell. But, as Cyrus looked down, he spotted a few who reacted as well.

He focused on a woman who pressed a hand on the silver necklace that held a small fire crystal as a gemstone. The woman and the others stood still, murmuring words he couldn't hear from this distance. But their actions, stances, and expressions told him more than enough.

"They're... praying?" Cyrus asked, brows rising.

He silently watched as these people quickly sifted through the crowd and exited the market, heading toward the bells. Yet Cyrus stood still.

Are they going to worship? Cyrus knit his brows. Should I follow?

Such a question met with a resounding hell no! After all, why would he willingly step into the house of some unfathomable being?

As Cyrus thought this, a vivid fantasy flashed in his mind—a gigantic flaming hand, the size of a building, tearing from the misty haze above and onto Avalorn, specifically towards him. It would then grab onto the poor Cyrus, forcibly extracting all of his worth through some magical means until nothing was left. And once it was done, it would incinerate him into ashes and scatter them to the wind.

It was a rather gruesome thought. But one thing Cyrus would assume would happen until he'd learned more about these beings. So Cyrus stayed there, sun-kissed fingers drumming on the balustrades for minutes on end until the bells and calling stopped.

The event was over. However, Cyrus was left with lingering questions. Mainly, what were the gods according to this world? And why was he called?

A library. I should find a library. Wait. Does Avalorn have libraries? He then looked down at one of the many customers and sighed at the thought of speaking to one of them. "Best get to it."

Yet, he didn't expect to back press on someone. The human touch nearly made him cringe.

"Apologies—" However, Cyrus paused as he turned around.

Before him stood a man his own age. He stood tall and proud in his black, fine-tailored suit. Most notable were the silver-threaded snakes styled in knot work art sewn down his lapel and pant legs. And even more symbols of snakes appeared in the form of silver, spiraling torcs hanging around the man's neck and wrists. His face was angular and handsome, and unlike Cyrus, who appeared disheveled and unkempt, this man was prim and proper, with his short, slicked-back hair and circular-rimmed glasses.

Behind those glasses were a pair of eyes as dark as night. Yet, despite the so-called 'sophistication,' the man aired off Cyrus could clearly see the disdain in those eyes. The man was angry. Terribly so, as his hawk nose struggled against the snarl he held back. How dare this wretch touch him?

Cyrus remained stunned as the man lifted his white-gloved hand that radiated a gray hue. "You insolent—"

However, his gaze froze as a snow-white canary perched on Cyrus' shoulder. His tone changed after a complete one-eighty reversal, and the man abruptly lowered his head in deference.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"It's... my apologies, Sir Wayfarer." he said, voice straining to break out of a cage of rage.

Cyrus silently blinked. What's this? Was the Wayfarers' status a free get-out-of-trouble card? Best play the role for now to avoid trouble.

"It's no trouble," Cyrus said, waving his hand to play the magnanimous man. "Rather, could you tell me the direction of the closest library?"

The young man pursed his lips, his eyes casting a disdainful glance that seemed to say, Do you even read? But in the end, he slackened his broad shoulders and pointed westward.

"Head past Olach and into Corrcho district," he said, voice slowly calming. "Between Trive and Wilken's Street."

"Thank you for the help," Cyrus quickly said, bowing his head. "I'll be leaving now."

His gaze darted at the canary before taking his leave.

"Holy shit," Cyrus whispered to the canary. "I think you just saved my life."

Behind Cyrus remained the man. He remained statuesque, watching as Cyrus slinked into the passing crowds, his gaze darkening as time passed. Yet, in the end, the man shook his head with a sigh and headed toward the center of Avalorn.

***

After leaving the marketplace, Cyrus headed toward the Olach district. There, the buildings shed the green overgrowth that had grown over most of the structures in Avalorn. Instead, once he entered the district, he was flanked by factories upon factories that spewed unending black smoke from their metal chimneys, leaving a rather sour taste in the air.

Meanwhile, People passing by him, mainly factory workers in stooped and ragged clothing, exuded a subdued demeanor, sporting stoic or exhausted expressions as they navigated their daily routines. And even the songs of birds had long disappeared. How depressing.

While on the path, Cyrus would notice occasional groups casting assessing glances in his direction. Thankfully, they would offer a wide berth once they saw the white canary on his shoulders.

"Looks like you're lucky," Cyrus muttered, glancing at his feathered companion.

Still, he picked up his pace and avoided eye contact, even going so far as to avoid taking pictures. Only once did Avalorn's trademark overgrowth appear on the streets again before Cyrus breathed in relief. On the other hand, unlike Olach, with its somber and suffocating atmosphere, Corrach was a symbol of commerce and culinary delights.

"Should we get some food?" Cyrus glanced at the canary flying above him. "I am getting sick of the vegetarian meals..."

Maybe later. As for now, the large, brick-laden library appeared before Cyrus with some name he hadn't cared enough to learn.

"Are you coming with or flying off?" he asked the canary perched on his shoulder.

Maybe the canary took a liking to him. In any case, it remained with him.

Inside, the library was well-maintained, with rows and rows of books neatly arranged on shelves and cases, illuminated by lanterns and natural light filtering through windows. Walking among the rows, Well-dressed individuals were scattered around the place, engrossed in reading on small wooden tables with small brass lampposts bearing soft lights.

Now, where to start? There.

Cyrus strode to an older man behind a counter with his back turned. The librarian, clad in a black overcoat, slacks, and a white shirt, looked disinterested as he sloppily stacked old books onto a rolling cart. However, he paused as if noticing Cyrus' arrival.

"Ayy, No, we don't have 'How to Pick Up Fair Maidens,'" the librarian said, speaking in a low and weary tone. "It's been borrowed for at least three weeks now. So, get off with ye.'"

Without further words, he resumed his work as if that was enough for Cyrus.

Wait. What? Cyrus coughed, hoping to catch his attention. "Uh, I'm not looking for that. But I was hoping for books on the divine."

The librarian froze at Cyrus' words, silently muttering, "Gods?" before slowly turning around to face him. In his late forties, the librarian sported graying, slicked-back hair. His bright blue eyes, though clear, bore the weariness of time as they studied Cyrus.

It appeared Cyrus was to be brushed off. Yet... wait. Perched on Cyrus' shoulder...

"'Ay, you're a Wayfarer?" he asked, a spark of interest in his eyes and thin lips tugging into a smile. "Takes me back."

Cyrus shrugged. "Maybe it's just my pet?"

The librarian chuckled and snapped his thin, twig-like fingers three times before extending his hand like a perch. As if by routine, the canary fluttered onto it without a sound as if it were a natural response.

"All Wayfarer canaries are trained from small chicks, young man." The librarian smiled lightly as he rubbed the canary's head, which elicited soft chirps. "Ahh, I was a Wayfarer once but retired half a decade ago. " His voice turned wistful, and his gaze tiredly looked upon the mountain of books around him. "Now, I spend my days moving books around. What a grand end for me."

Another Wayfarer? Cyrus wondered if he could get some tips from the man. "Clear skies," he formally said, placing a hand on his heart. "Wade Cyrus. Initiate."

"Initiate?" The librarian mumbled, scratching his cheekbone with his free hand. "Hah, 'bout time those lazy guys got some new blood in their club." He then sighed, casually waving. "The name's O'Kane Naoise, and cut the crap with the formal stuff. I'm too old for that."

Cyrus froze.

"O'Kane?" He repeated, voice uncertain. "You know Deirdre?"

O'Kane abruptly laughed loudly, scaring the canary off his finger. "You've met my wife, eh? My lovely flower should retire and just move books with me." O'Kane smiled, gaze slightly drifting off. "Ay, but she's a wildflower that doesn't want to be all cooped up."

"Of course, I've only met her once. But she was a great help with my initiation," Cyrus said, lying through the skin of his teeth.

O'Kane nodded in agreement while lost in thought, occasionally muttering words like 'beautiful flower' and 'lovely."

"So, you're looking for books about gods, eh?" he asked, scanning Cyrus from head to toe. "But you don't look like a pious man."

Now, how would he know that?

"Well, you're right," Cyrus said, watching the canary land on the counter. "Think of it as a mage's curiosity."

O'Kane nodded, a knowing glint shimmering in his gaze. "Many mages wish to know how gods came into being and even want to follow in their footsteps." He then smirked, closing his fist as if clasping some incredible treasures. "The allure of power and immortality is too much for some."

"I would call it a healthy curiosity."

O'Kane shrugged. "Fair enough." He then pointed to the far back of the library. "If you head to the end, you'll find several subjects, mainly history and mage theories."

Cyrus hummed. Seemed rather easy.

"Wouldn't the gods be mad at the fact that mages are making books on them?" he asked, looking towards the directed section. "Isn't it... you know, blasphemy?

"No shit?" O'Kane scoffed, tapping the counter with a thin finger. "Please. World's gone to shit, and they can't fix it themselves." —His bright blue eyes lit up with a slight gray hue— "So who's going to stop mages when they can't do nothin'?" He derisively chuckled. "Not them."

Huh. That alleviated some of Cyrus' concerns. Still, he needed more information.

"Thanks for the help." Cyrus smiled in thanks.

"Think nothing of it." O'Kane waved his hand haphazardly. "Come on by if you have any questions. Always willing to help baby chicks."

Cyrus nodded again before saying his goodbyes. Now, on to learn more about these so-called 'Gods.'