Chapter 52: Through the Mist Again
The wind was cool against Waker's skin as his eyes slowly opened, the scent of damp earth drifting in with the breeze. Grass swayed in slow rhythm all around him, bending like green waves beneath the bright sky.
A cliff. He was standing on a grassy cliff.
Below, the land unfurled into a breathtaking sight. A glittering river wound like a silver serpent, embracing a city unlike any he had seen before. Towers shimmered in the daylight, but what caught his eye most were the countless fountains and streams spilling crystal water into carved basins. Some leapt in graceful arcs, others spiraled down in gentle cascades, their spray catching sunlight into tiny rainbows. The entire city seemed to built upon the river itself, with bridges crisscrossing water-laced streets.
Fontarin City.
He'd heard the name in description, when Bayer of the Guild of Action had assigned him this mission—a city that lives and breathes water.
Ravi was nowhere in sight. But Waker still clutched Ravi's silver sword … and, to his surprise, he also found the twin sickles from the Dark Devourer's host. He hesitated before sliding them to his waist.
"Great," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "First I lose the ex–Great Claws, now Ravi. At least I'm out of that cursed underground nightmare."
He turned around and saw a pale mist curled over the cliff edge, stretching ahead into the only path leading toward the city—straight into a forest drowning in fog.
"Perfect. A misty forest. Just what I didn't need." He sighed and started walking. "From now on, mist—especially crimson—underground pits, and people who charm deadly creatures are officially on my most hated list."
The fog swallowed him in a dozen steps. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, their trunks fading into shifting gray. Every direction looked the same. The air was damp, muffling his footsteps, and an eerie quiet settled over him—no birdsong, no rustle of leaves—yet it felt almost soothing after the oppressive underground. His essence replenished faster here, each breath drawing in something clean.
His injuries were gone thanks to the golden essence, but his clothes were still stained in dark red. Anyone seeing him now might think he'd just murdered someone.
He kept walking. Minutes turned into hours. Every direction looked the same. Eventually, he had to admit it—he was lost.
That was when he heard voices.
Relief sparked in him as he thought that he could get out of this misty forest. He followed the sound, moving from tree to tree until the scene came into view: a makeshift camp with crude cages lashed together from thick wood and rope. Three men in ragged armor loitered around a wagon, chains and whips hung from the men's belts. Wooden cages sat beside it. Inside one of the three cages, huddled in the corner, was a girl.
"Slave traders," Waker muttered, jaw tightening. He'd heard of them before many times in the guild—they kidnapped children and sold them in the Convert Empire of Armain at high prices.
The girl in the cage looked about his age. Her long, silky black hair was tied in a simple ponytail. Deep, onyx eyes watched her captors with eerie calmness, as though fear was a distant memory. Her wrists bruised from tight bindings.
"She'll fetch a fine price," one man sneered. "Pretty little thing."
Waker vanished into the mist.
The first trader didn't see the punch coming—Waker's fist cracked his jaw and dropped him instantly. The second tried to raise the whip, but a knee drove into his gut, stealing his breath. The third swung the chain wildly; Waker caught his arm, twisting until the bone popped, then slammed him to the ground. In moments, all three were unconscious.
He tied them up and locked them into an empty cage before breaking the lock of the girl's cage. With a swift cut from Ravi's sword, the ropes binding her wrists fell away.
She didn't move right away—only stared at him with that same unreadable gaze. Waker found himself oddly unsettled.
"It's safe now," he said quietly, though it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than her.
He instructed the girl to wait as he left to scavenged the camp, finding a small pack of dried fruit and a few bottles of water. Half the fruit disappeared into his mouth before he turned back to her with changed clothes. "We can go now?"
He was wearing a dark blue almost black cloak over simple light blue clothes.
The girl stepped out, brushing past him without a word and also started scavenging the camp. She also wore the same hood and clothes as Waker. Only once they'd left the camp behind did she speak. Waker didn't disturb her as well
"I … don't remember anything."
He glanced at her. "Anything?"
She shook her head. "Not my name. Not where I'm from. Nothing." Then, after a pause, her gaze fell on the silver weapon. "But … I think I've seen that sword before."
Waker looked at Ravi's silver blade. "It belongs to my friend … Ravi."
She kept staring at it, her expression unreadable—but something in her eyes flickered, just for a moment.
And in that fleeting look, Waker felt it too—something about her reminded him of Ravi, though he couldn't say what or why.