We didn't say much. Maybe because nothing felt quite right to say. The fog, it spoke loud enough for both of us, thick and cold, sliding over everything like it was the real boss of this place.
Each step I took? Felt heavier than the last. The stones cracked and crumbled underfoot—but the fog stole those sounds, like it didn't want the city to know we were here.
My hand rested on the scythe, that solid weight in my grasp that was—somehow—a weird kind of comfort. Like the one thing I still had that wasn't slipping away.
Liora? She was beside me, breathing out tiny clouds in the cold air. Her eyes never left the gray blanket ahead. Muscles locked tight, like she was bracing for a punch she knew was coming but wasn't sure when.
I wanted—God, I wanted—to say anything. Something. But the words got tangled in my throat like old knots.
So I just tightened my grip, focused on the path that kept disappearing beneath us, swallowed by the fog's hungry arms.Step by slow step, we moved deeper. And it felt like the fog was alive. It breathed slow and deep, pulling secrets from the ground like some twisted lung, wrapping its cold fingers around us.
I found myself watching Liora more than I watched where we were going. Her hands clenched, then relaxed, like she was trying to hold on to herself. Her jaw locked tight just before she swallowed a shiver. Those pale eyes looked sharper here, like knives cutting through the endless gray.
She wasn't just following me. She was scared, too.
Then—snap! A sharp crack, close enough to make my blood freeze. My heart hit my ribs so hard I thought it might jump right out.
Liora dropped to a knee like a shadow herself, eyes scanning the emptiness that didn't let itself be seen. She pulled out a knife—too small to matter much, but she had it.
We waited.
And the fog didn't stay empty—not for long.A shape slipped from the gray—a ghost or a trick or some ugly half-formed man wrapped in mist. Limbs hanging loose, eyes two pinpricks of fire, edges jagged and wrong—like someone tried to cut a man from smoke but missed the shapes.
Without hesitation, I swung the scythe—a wide swing that should've torn it apart.It didn't.
The thing hissed like smoke on a fire, my blade slipping right through. Claws snapped so close to my arm I could feel air tear.
Then it was gone—folded back into the fog like it never was.We stood frozen, breaths tangled and ragged.
"It's like it's just fog," Liora whispered, voice all soft and uncertain.
"Maybe that's exactly what it is," I said, voice rough and raw, catching on itself.
Then—underneath us, beneath all this silence—a slow, steady beat. A heartbeat underneath stones and broken city.
Liora leaned close, voice barely a breath.
"We're inside its world now."
A flicker hit me—a shard of memory from some place far ahead or behind. Something buried deep, pages folded over a story I've lived too many times.
I swallowed that weight, hid the tremble in my hands.
"We gotta keep moving," I said, trying to sound sure.
The fog thinned just a little. And then a courtyard took shape—a cracked stone floor tangled up in dead vines. This place felt full of ghosts holding their breath too long.Liora dropped down, fingers tracing the broken fountain's carvings, smooth as old bones.
"This place…" she breathed, almost afraid to finish, "feels alive. Like it remembers."
I nodded, feeling the cold hum beneath my boots—the tower's blood still pulsing quietly under all this rot.
We didn't say anything after that. No use, when silence holds a thousand things we can't speak.
Side by side, we looked out past the courtyard, into the shadows stretching away and away.
This climb? It isn't just floors or monsters.
It's holding onto whatever scraps of ourselves survive the dark.
And… I was scared. More than I'd let myself feel.
Because whatever waits beyond here? This is only the start.
The fog thickened again, wrapping cold and wet around my skin.
Every sound was swallowed, like we were stuck underwater, the city left behind in a lost dream.
I heard voices—whispers, maybe, old and broken—but whenever I tried to look, there was just gray.
Liora's breath hitched sometimes. Her hands trembled, small but there. I felt it too—the kind of fear that's a weight pressing deep, making nights long and steps slow.I tried telling myself we'd make it.We had to.
My hand drifted to the scythe. It hummed soft, alive in a quiet way that felt too big for this place. Patient. Waiting.
The fog shifted. Shadows moved.
Long shapes lurked just beyond sight.
Then—snap. Like glass breaking between worlds.
"Careful," Liora whispered, tense.
We slowed. Every sense screaming.
Shapes came from the mist—twisted shapes, tangling dark forms bent wrong.
Limbs like smoke caught in wind, eyes glowing cold fire.
Liora didn't flinch. Knives out, fingers steady.
They moved in, slow but sure, circling us.
I swung. Scythe cut through the thick gray air.
One shape wavered. Flickered like a candle guttering out.
But more came.
This fight was different. The fog pushed back—seeping through armor, dissolving flesh and bone, cutting lines between what was real and not.
Breaths came fast. Fear, adrenaline.
Something hard beneath it all.
Power coiled under my skin, a spring wound too tight.
Ready to snap.
But I held it back.
Not here. Not now.
Liora was fierce, blades flashing, fighting tooth and nail to keep us alive. Her eyes met mine once, asking the question without speaking it.
I shook my head. Not yet.
We danced with shadows in the courtyard's dying light.
The last shape folded back into mist—vanishing like a bad dream.
We stood there, breathless, trembling.
"No," Liora said. Voice tight. "That wasn't the worst."
I nodded. Bones aching. Heart still pounding.
Fog thinned ahead. Warm, golden light spilled from shadows.
We stepped toward it—slow and unsteady.
The climb was just starting.
To be continued....