The mist began as a thin veil, barely a change in the air, but with each step it thickened, enveloping them in a gray blanket that distorted shapes and dulled colors. The wind, which had once been constant, disappeared completely. Silence was absolute, save for the crunch of boots on dry earth.
Vaemor Xhaelarys raised a hand, forcing the group to stop. His breathing was too loud in the stillness.
"This is no ordinary mist," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Aerys Qhaedros took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. The light from his torch seemed to shrink, swallowed by the air itself.
"It feels... as if it's alive."
Maekor Dravion, ever the pragmatist, drew his Valyrian steel sword.
"Alive or not, if it tries to touch us, we cut it down."
Zaryon Velquarys crouched down, examining the ground. His fingers found something buried in the gravel: a broken chain, darkened by time, attached to what looked like a shackle.
"This was inhabited... or guarded. And not as long ago as it seems."
They didn't have a chance to discuss it. The mist began to move, not with the wind, but with a pulse, as if breathing. Shadows formed within it, too large to be human, but with an eerily familiar outline.
Rhaedor Vorys was the first to draw his bow.
"Whatever's there, it's already seen us."
A low growl echoed from the mist. Then another, closer. The silhouettes became clearer: savage creatures, hunched-backed and long-limbed, with eyes glowing like burning coals. They weren't simple beasts: there was calculation in the way they moved, circling the group unhurriedly, like predators who knew their prey.
Kaelyth Thalmyx spun slowly around, her spear ready.
"They're pushing us in. They want us to advance."
"Or not to retreat," Daenyr Vhaely added, her tone icy.
The tension was a thread about to snap. Vaemor stepped forward, his sword ready, and the mist seemed to react, parting just enough to reveal a narrow path. The fifth tower was invisible, but everyone sensed that this path led directly to it—or to something protecting it.
"We have no choice," Vaemor said, looking from one to the other. "If we stay, they hunt us here. If we advance, at least we choose how to die."
The creatures stayed at the edges, as if the mist itself prevented them from attacking immediately. Their eyes remained glowing, fixed, patient. The group moved into the path, the mist closing behind them like a door.
As they advanced, carved figures emerged from the mist: Valyrian statues, broken and covered in black moss, their expressions distorted between pain and fury. Some seemed to warn them; others, to smile at them.
At one point, Maekor stopped. One of the statues was not carved from stone… but petrified. A man, or what remained of him, trapped in a gesture of eternal terror.
"This is a warning," he said, his tone brooking no reply.
The mist stirred. A deep roar, as if from a thousand throats, echoed from all around at once. And then, from ahead, a shadow larger than all the others emerged: a guardian of the mists, a creature covered in obsidian-black scales, with liquid-red eyes and claws that could split a tower.
The path to the fifth tower was guarded… and there was no turning back.