Oren took in a slow breath.
Though he knew of Erols, he was far from omniscient, and creating them was another problem in itself.
Over time, his knowledge had become arbitrary and outdated. He was not so certain anymore.
But before he could give it enough thought, Selvarius spoke in an even tone.
"I need one that sees... no, to be exact, one that will enhance my sight and intuition, so I can find what I truly seek."
"Hmm, a catalyst for your intuition?" Oren forced a smile as Selvarius added in a solemn tone.
"Yes." He looked away.
"Tell me all that I want to know. I only want your information. Your years of research, your explorations of Erols."
Oren's expression darkened for a split second. In the end, he grinned and said in a ghastly tone.
"Fine. But it is not like I carry a diary detailing those matters." He tapped his head. "It's all here, so if such an Erol exists within the Unison Range, I will help you obtain it."
Selvar's posture suddenly froze.
"But my information is more valuable than you becoming my hostage. You see, you are worthless in comparison. This knowledge will cost you dearly...
Do you still accept these terms, knowing this?"
"I do." Selvar bowed slightly, just enough so that Oren could no longer see his expression.
He spoke clearly.
"If you really intend to give me what I want, then it does not matter what I must do to obtain it... I need nothing else, and I want nothing more."
Oren let out a quiet, cold chuckle.
"Then it's a deal, Selvarius. Just remember, this is what you asked for."
Despite his careless words, Oren felt a faint, unfamiliar sense of melancholy.
"Selvarius...?"
"That is your name?"
"I'm just not used to hearing it... Selvar is fine."
Oren raised a brow.
"Well, you're getting familiar rather quickly."
Selvar's smile widened for just a moment.
"We are going to be travelling together, aren't we? I would rather not hear my full name every few minutes."
He looked at the trees looming beneath the bleak sky.
After staying silent for a while, he dug his hand into his pocket and drew out a thin golden thread, far longer and denser than its size should have allowed.
"Take this. If we leave now, we should reach the fog by dawn."
Selvar let out a quiet chuckle and began walking. Oren, on the other hand, stared at the rope for a while before taking hold of it.
He looked up at Selvar, but he did not turn toward the third path he had been taking. Selvar had made a fourth, going in between the trees calmly, as though he had done it numerous times.
Oren slowly caught up with him, a thought hovering in his exhausted mind.
'Fulfilling this wager will not be easy.'
Selvar was getting his vast knowledge on Erols, whilst he was getting a hostage and temporal authority over him.
From any point of view, it was a fair trade, but Oren saw it as pointless.
'A waste of time.'
Still, he kept his word, though finding such an Erol would be especially difficult.
They were not equal. Some were weak, little more than curiosities, whilst others held power that could rival entire clans.
Their strength depended on the density of world energy and the nature of the ability they carried, and only the Enlightened could use them.
The fog from the battle had been caused by one, most likely born from the great wall of fog, capable of using its own mist at a price.
'A fog Erol?' Oren's thoughts drifted.
For a moment, it felt as though something had slipped past him, something he had forgotten, one of many things he was unsure of.
But it made him certain that he had used one before.
That despite being mundane, despite having no connection to the world energy, he had once wielded an Erol.
An unheard-of one.
Long ago, he thought he had used the Erol of immortality, if it existed, if such a thing was even possible.
Because immortality was not a gift, but a fate no one should be bound to. If it was not an Erol, then why was he given this ordained path?
Glancing around the forest warily, Oren noticed why he felt so strange.
It was because somewhere along the way, the birds had stopped humming, and the number of small insects had decreased.
The forest itself seemed as though it was fading.
He watched calmly as the vibrant lines of forest trees slowly dulled and thinned, nearing the edge of Erdream Forest.
When the green leaves turned a dull grey, the wind became louder.
And when their footsteps started to echo through the distorted forest, Oren knew they were entering the fog.
Even though he was experiencing it firsthand, it felt unreal, like he was being sucked into something far greater than himself.
Just as he had heard, when one drew close enough, a grey veil could be seen, hovering along the ridge of the fourth mountain.
Between the end of Erdream Forest and the gates of Erdream City, a battle had once taken place.
Long before his time, centuries ago, it had claimed the lives of all who stood to defend their home, and all who sought to take it.
In the end, none remained. Not even the kings.
No one knew where the fog had come from, or how it had appeared. It was simply there, derived from the legend.
Lingering as though to bury the disaster of Erdream beneath something that refused to fade.
A bad omen of death and war.
"Make sure to keep hold of your end. Otherwise… you'll get lost. Remember what happened last time."
Selvar's voice startled Oren as he turned back towards the forest, but the mist was there too, blurring every image together.
The illusory grey fog truly was everywhere already, filling the sky and transforming the world into an empty grey expanse.
But it wasn't empty. It was filled with things he could not see, hear, or touch. With no sight, he was in danger. He would have been if it were not for Selvar.
Unseen by Oren, Selvar smiled wistfully, a sense of nostalgia filling his voice.
"Hold on tight."
Oren gripped the string tightly as a cold breeze swept past him, and before he knew it, he could no longer remember how long they had been walking for.
Everything was just so similar, so grey. Only grey.
It was cold.
The glacial embrace of the fog was murderous and cruel.
The biting cold pressed against Oren, glaciers jutting from the ground and forcing them into yet another path, as Selvar coordinated the ever-changing terrain of the mist with utmost vigilance.
Thin ice cracked and crunched beneath Oren's feet. The gradually dropping temperature made it feel as though they had been trapped in a moment that refused to end.
He could not see Selvar, but he could feel the frost enshrouding the thread between them.
They continued walking in a daunting silence.
For some reason, Selvar stayed as quiet as he could.
Oren inhaled deeply, then shivered, suppressing the urge to make a noise.
Suddenly, a frigid gust tore past them, a wave of freezing air pouring over their bodies.
It instantly froze Oren in place, yet Selvar continued without hindrance.
Oren exhaled slowly, his breath billowing into pale mist.
'This… is not right.'
He felt a slight tug from the thread.
Gripping it tightly, Oren found momentary warmth in the connection.
Then, in the next instant, he heard a grunt, and the incredibly sturdy thread pulled him back on track.
Without a word, he allowed himself to be towed through the hazardous zone of the fog for a while.
To their luck, the world warmed slightly after, as though shedding a shell of frost.
Even then, that solace was temporary. He still felt faint shivers through the thread, along with the sound of gritting teeth.
He waited a moment, then spoke in a hollow tone, his voice distorted, barely able to form itself.
"Once we get to Erdream, we need a place to stay. Only then can we find the Erol."
Selvar tapped the string, signalling his agreement.
Fortunately for them, the cold was easing up. But before he could relax, Oren heard the muffled sound of ice crushing.
Then, a subtle absence of movement.
There was no longer a pull from the end of the string.
His eyes widened, then calmed as he heard a response. Selvar shouted urgently.
"Turn right. There's an iceberg collapsing…"
"An iceberg?!"
Oren pulled the string, then shifted through the snow and moved left. After a while, he felt the golden thread react as Selvar redirected them onto a safer path.
He had known that the fog Erol derived from Everdream's fog, but this… an eerily cold smile played on his lips.
Whilst the fog Erol had blurred his vision, he could still sense things and see the vague shapes of objects.
Oren waited for a moment, then asked in a dark tone.
"What do you see?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. This part of the mist..." He exhaled slowly. "is one of the denser areas."
"Is there any other path?"
Selvar sighed.
"Finding another way is pointless. Across the wall of fog, there are many places like this, still..."
A reminiscent tone filled his voice.
"This place is the one where most fail to escape. We are close to the heart of the veil, where the kings died, and where the deceased were apparently laid to rest. Yet somehow we've passed it without any storms."
Uneasy, he looked into the distance with a somewhat uncomfortable expression, then relaxed when the fog began to thin.
Quietly, the thought of how the fog was born into existence plagued his mind.
"Is it an—"
"It is not an Erol. It is not a natural occurrence either… I don't know what caused it. The fog itself is a myth, like the old stories told about things that should not exist."
He tugged on the rope.
"Myths are not meant to be real."
He glanced back at Oren and smiled.
"All I know is that this is the burial ground for those who died, and those who wander too far into the mist."
Oren let out a deep breath.
A perfect burial ground where, due to the freezing temperature, their bodies would be preserved, as would anything they carried.
'Wait a moment...' Oren's luminous golden eyes glistened as he noticed the atmosphere change around them.
And for a split second, the world felt unfinished, as the fog around them had been torn apart and poorly stitched back together.
Distorting and shifting, like a gap between nothing and something, slowly revealing the outside world.
Weathered, paved stones dulled by dark red stains stretched forward, frost scattered across them unevenly, ending only a few dozen steps beyond the wall itself.
And when they finally walked past the last patch of ice, they stopped.
Oren and Selvar stood upon the broad, flat stretch of the mountainside. He turned behind him, where the fog was absolute.
Ahead, Erdream's border loomed in the boundless darkness, thousands of fluorescent lights keeping it from becoming a black monument of ebony stone.
And to his left, jagged rocks rose, higher and higher, cutting into the sky, forming the mountain's distant peak.
He could not see where they began or ended.
It was simply too enormous.
But at last they had finally escaped the fog.
'Good riddance.' Oren thought calmly, facing downhill to the right.
From where he stood, he could see the other mountains, but something felt wrong.
Only three mountains were visible, not including the one he was on. Only four peaks made up the range of Unison.
'I could have sworn there had been five.'