Traverse The Fog

Cyrus awoke to a painful throbbing in his head.

"Ugh, What happened?" He asked, rubbing his aching nose.

Slowly, he sat up. Confused and tired, he looked around only to find himself locked up in a prison cell overgrown with thick vines that dug into the cold, gray stone. The only source of light came from a single light bulb hanging in the center. And at the end of the room lay a black metal door, thick with rivets and bolts.

He slowly got up to test its lock, and of course, there was no way out.

"What now?" Cyrus muttered.

Indeed. Reviewing what happened last night, he considered these men not evil but standoffish, or they would have simply killed him. With such a conclusion, Cyrus relaxed. Maybe there was a way to get out of this situation unharmed.

For now, he sat on the bed and waited. But as time passed, his mind soon wandered, finally drifting onto the thick vines lining the walls.

"How are these still alive?" he muttered, slowly nearing one. Did plants not require sunlight in this world? At least they brought color to this dreary—Wait, no. Don't distract yourself.

There would no doubt be an interrogation soon, and he had to prepare for it. Crashing onto the bed again, Cyrus predicted the greatest issue: communication.

Not how I wanted to have my first talk with extraterrestrials. Cyrus' gaze remained fixed on the fluorescent lightbulb. But I guess beggars can't be choosers.

A sudden slam jolted him back to reality. His gaze shifted to the door; he could hear multiple thunks from scraping metal on the other side. Then, it opened. A pale, brown-haired man wearing a thick leather vest placed on top of a chain mail set stood on the other side, not entering just yet. His vigilant gaze remained on Cyrus, searching for any signs of danger.

"Kyroptis," he eventually gruffed, straightening his back with a head held high.

"…Ah?"

"Kyroptis."

Just play friendly, Cyrus; you'll get out of this.

"Kyroptis!" The guard bellowed, resting one hand on a pair of black metal cuffs and a sword with the other.

"Alright, alright." Slowly, carefully, Cyrus raised his hands in surrender while rising from the bed. "Let's not do anything I'll regret."

Placated, the guard huffed in approval and stepped inside. There was a moment of tension between the two, but Cyrus slowly turned around and offered his wrists.

See? I'm complying. Cyrus shivered at the cold clasp of metal.

Once he turned around, his gaze settled on the symbol emblazoned on the prisoner guard's chest. A mighty oak was stylized in verdant knotwork-style art. But before Cyrus could further dwell on the emblem, the guard abruptly shoved him out of the cell.

Grouching, He held back a tsk. Please, don't touch me. Ever.

Out they went. Beyond the metal door lay a long, curving, and endless corridor of stone. Its walls teemed with vines and overgrowth—it appeared a more stylized choice than neglect.

"Istohp!" The guard glowered before shoving Cyrus forward.

Hey! Touching! Rolling his eyes, Cyrus moved to the man's wishes and headed forward. All the while, he took note of more of the oak tree crests strewn along the way. Was it their emblem?

Better a tree than a skull, he thought.

Maybe his chances of surviving were higher than Cyrus thought. At least, that was what he hoped. But should this be the summons before execution, then he would not know how to cry.

Soon, the end appeared in the form of another metal door. After another round of bolts unlocking, Cyrus was shoved inside and locked within.

"Great," he muttered, attempting to dust his back with cuffed hands.

A lone Cyrus found himself inside a room reminiscent of those interrogation rooms he'd seen in old movies, minus the vines snaking over the metal table and chairs. It even had a flickering light for added effect.

Sighing, Cyrus sat down and clasped his hands. Now, it was time for the waiting game again. But the free time made him wonder: How were they going to accomplish anything without the ability to communicate?

A sudden click dashed his thoughts. Turning his gaze, Cyrus witnessed two guardsmen walk inside.

But the third man behind them took all his attention. Standing tall, he walked like someone who carried himself with an authority born from the line of duty.

The man was middle-aged, with weathered, clean-shaven, chiseled features. He had black slicked-back hair and wore a dark green coat with black pants, reminiscent of an officer's uniform. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man sat down, hands clasped together, and matched his dark brown eyes with Cyrus' steel-blue—one stoic while the other curious.

"Hhanukr ahti," the man said in a calm, measured voice.

He silently pressed on top of the white lilie embroidered on his coat's chest, to which the guardsmen responded by moving behind Cyrus.

In response, Cyrus raised his hands, palms facing outward, showing his empty hands with a practiced smile.

"Apologies, but I don't understand." He pressed a hand to his chest. "My name is Cyrus."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Hhanukr," the man repeated.

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Realizing the issue, the officer made quick gestures to the guards. Just as quickly, Cyrus felt two pairs of hands on his back, sending his face onto the cold, metal table.

"Hey, what the hell?!" He growled, struggling against their weight. "Let go!"

Meanwhile, the officer reached into his overcoat's pocket and pulled out a glass orb.

But Cyrus was not ready for what happened next.

A viridian radiance broke from the officer's forehead, followed by a green sigil. With a flick of his wrist, it flittered and phased into the glass orb. Under Cyrus' frightened gaze, the sigil spun faster and faster as the man drew it closer and closer to him.

Cyrus tried to struggle with all his might. But it was too late.

With a blinding radiance, the sigil shot forward into his head, melding into his skin. In the next moment, Cyrus began to convulse while being held down. His mind pulsed with more and more influx of language data imprinted into his memories.

Only when Cyrus stopped moving did the Officer speak.

"Hhanukr ahti?" He asked repeatedly. "Hhanukr ahti? Hhanukr. Hhan—me. Hh—ame—State your name, outsider."

Once he noticed the slumped Cyrus stiffened by his words, he ordered the guards to release him. Meanwhile, Cyrus remained on the table. His mouth opened and closed silently in short intervals until he began speaking in a language he had never heard.

"C-Cyrus Wade." His eyes remained glazed. "My name is Cyrus Wade."

Magic. Why had he not considered it? Despite everything that had happened in recent days, Cyrus had, for some reason, first considered himself insane before anything else. In hindsight, it was obvious, and he felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier, but if he could flimsily defend himself, the supernatural did not equate to magic.

Still, a feeble sigh escaped his lips.

"I see," the officer responded. Then, fist over heart, he flatly greeted him. "I am Leal Orionis. I oversee the combat operations and strategic decisions for the Fifth Wall Guard Company." His eyes shone with a subtle green radiance, searching Cyrus' gaze for falsehoods. "Pray, tell. What has brought you to Avalorn?"

Avalorn. Was it a city? Military base?

A bitter smile played on Cyrus' lips as he sat up. "Would you believe me if I told you I came from a cave?"

Magic. With that part of the equation, any plot of his was surely blown up in smoke. Just what was that? Was the officer casting some lie-detection spell? If not, could they extract memories just as easily as implant them? And those green glowing eyes, just like that damned saber-tooth.

A chuckle came from behind him, one quickly silenced by the officer's sharp glance. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Orionis returned his gaze to Cyrus and quietly gestured for him to continue.

"I was—" He paused. "—exploring until I happened upon a chance in a cave, and once I stepped inside, I fell unconscious." Then, Cyrus took a deep breath. "After that, I woke up near here."

That was all he was willing to reveal. It wasn't like admitting his 'otherworldy' status wasn't 'stake-burning' information, let alone the other supernatural tales. What Cyrus needed was more knowledge of this world.

Meanwhile, Orionis remained expressionless. With mechanical movements, he reached into his pocket and revealed the all-too-familiar silver torch medallion and brass compass.

"Then, where did you acquire these?"

At that moment, Cyrus felt all eyes bore into him, searching, scanning for the slightest hint of a lie.

"I—" Nerves tight, Cyrus tightly clenched his jaw. "—I discovered it on a corpse soon after I woke up."

Another moment of heavy-weight silence. One that was broken by a growl from behind. "...Fogged corpse stealer."

Orionis then raised a hand, and the silence resumed. The two remained silent as his sharp gaze scanned over Cyrus. "Where's the body?"

Resigned and defeated, Cyrus gripped the edges of the table. "It's about a two-day walk from here," he said weakly. His gaze then widened, and his hands clutched the table's smooth surface. "I didn't kill him!"

Even more silence.

"I believe you, Wade," Orionis responded, tone even. "It would have been a miracle if you had."

He then silently stood up, hands behind his back. With a silent, unintelligible gesture towards the guards, he strode toward the exit. Before Cyrus could realize what was happening, he felt the guardsmen's hands on his shoulders again.

"Am I going back to the cell?" he asked, holding back the nauseating feeling of physical contact.

"Yes, but for only a couple of days, Wade." Orionis calmly stated, stopping at the door and fixing his immaculate oak tree embroidered cuffs.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Under article eight, section four of Avalorn's Guardsman Field Manual," he began, hand grasping at the handle. "If there has been a reported corpse within or around Avalorn, The Guard must investigate the scene of the crime. This includes compliance with the witness in assisting us in locating the aforementioned offense."

Cyrus shivered. Back there? Out in the fog? Desperate and fearful, he slammed his fists on the table. "No, wait, stop! The fog... it's alive—and—and there was a monster!"

Orionis paused, his tone low and intense. "Explain."

After breathing deeply, Cyrus recounted everything that transpired, including the fog, perpetual light zone, and The Weeper—everything except the orange sigil, his capture, and 'death.'

Meanwhile, Orionis remained silent. His face never expressed any sign of emotion other than the deepening lines on his forehead from his raised brows. Once Cyrus finished, Orionis remained as such while processing information.

"It's a miracle that you survived, " the officer eventually said, gaze locking with Cyrus. "Provided your story is true." He sat back down and gestured with an open palm. "One last matter. We have recovered your equipment and discovered items we have never seen. Tell us what they do, specifically the one with the lens."

Did they grab my stuff? A genuine smile crossed Cyrus' face. This could help.

But there was a problem. Sifting through his new memories, Cyrus wrinkled his brows as the word for 'camera' did not exist in this world. So, he had to improvise.

"That is my… automated image sketcher."

Then, Cyrus described ZoomZephyr's functions while hinting that he had taken photos. So it came as no one's surprise when Orionis ordered one of the guards to retrieve it. A few minutes later, the familiar black box was on the table.

Under the strict watch of the guards, Cyrus showcased his equipment and explained the bare minimum of the button's functions. Of course, he hadn't revealed the password that unlocked the device, so he had to do it himself. Once done, he handed it over to Orionis, who began searching through its non-hidden album.

"Interesting device." Orionis noted the hamlet before pausing at the golden tunnel and thick, swirling fog. "This could help your case—" He abruptly paused at a specific image.

There it was. Slowly, Orionis' gaze widened at the magnificent orange floating construct of immense magical power. It stood floating in the skies, wiping out the world of the fog and revealing the blue skies and forests in never-before-seen beauty. The sight of it took his breath away as he remained transfixed on its majesty. Only did he reacted at the behest of one of the guardsmen's weak coughs.

For the first time during the interrogation, Orionis' voice betrayed excitement as he pointed at the orange construct with a slight, trembling hand. "Where did you find this? Does it still function? Can you lead us to it? Was there truly no fog surrounding this magitek device?"

Cyrus was taken aback. He looked blankly at the 'device' before examining Orionis' visage for falsehoods. In the end, all he could do was express his incredulity.

"That's the sun."