The world did not return all at once.
The stone chamber, the trembling wall of light, the echo of their own breaths—those things bled away slowly, as if scraped from reality. In their place came an absence that was not quite void.
Only mist.
Not the restless, shifting grey of the trial, but something deeper. Older. It lay across the ground like a sleeping sea and hung in the air in languid folds, dimly lit by a light with no visible source. Each inhalation tasted faintly of metal and wet stone, of rivers that had never known sunlight.
Kel's boots sank soundlessly into it.
It was not water.
It was not air.
It was something between.
His long coat brushed the mist as he moved forward one careful step. The fabric, dampened at the hem, clung faintly to his legs. Strands of his dark hair fell over his eyes, clinging to his forehead in thin arcs of dampness. His breathing was steady, but there was a tightness around his eyes, a dull pressure beneath his ribs where the curse churned faintly.
Reina came to stand at his left.
Her white-furred cloak, stained at the edges from their journey, caught the mist differently—it beaded upon it, then slid off in reluctant drops. Her hand adjusted the grip on her spear, the polished wood darkened where her fingers had held it too long. Her eyes moved constantly—scanning, measuring, always searching for threat even in the softness of the fog.
Landon stepped up behind Kel's right shoulder—a solid shape, heavy boots leaving slow impressions in the unseen ground. His coat hung from his broad frame in straight, weighted folds; droplets clung to the torn shoulder seam. He set one hand lightly upon the hilt of his sword, the fingers relaxed, but the muscles beneath his sleeve were taut.
Sera stood slightly ahead, her pale hair haloed by the strange light. The fur and leather of her barbarian cloak seemed to drink in the mist. Her breath came faster than the others', not from exertion but from something like expectation—sharp, brittle, barely leashed beneath her ribs.
They walked.
The mist parted sluggishly, curling backward as if reluctant to make way. Visibility extended only a few dozen paces in any direction. Above, the sky—or ceiling, or whatever passed for "up" in that place—was a uniform veil of muted silver-grey.
Kel frowned faintly.
No echo of their footfalls. No sound except their breaths and the faint, distant susurration of…
Water.
It reached them gradually—the whisper of liquid moving without waves. Not rushing, not roaring. Just there. Waiting.
Sera's steps faltered.
Her eyes widened, light catching across the pale irises like reflections off ice as she turned her head sharply toward the sound. The mist ahead of them thinned just enough to suggest a dark expanse stretching horizontally.
She inhaled once, sharply.
"…The lake," she breathed.
Her hand—small, chilled—tightened at her side.
Reina followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. The air around them shifted subtly, as if every drop of moisture was paying attention.
The ground beneath Kel's boots leveled out.
Then stopped.
He came to a halt.
The mist thinned at their feet first, peeling away in slow, uneasy coils.
Beyond the edge of solid ground lay a still surface.
A lake.
If it could be called that.
Its waters were not blue, nor black. They were the same muted grey as the mist, yet somehow distinctly liquid—too smooth, too perfectly still. There were no ripples, no reflections, only the vague implication of depth.
Kel felt his throat tighten.
The curse inside him stirred like something recognizing a home it wished to reject.
Sera stepped forward, the toes of her boots nearly reaching the unseen shore.
Her cloak flared slightly with the motion, pale inner patterns flashing like bones beneath skin. Her hands trembled—not visibly at first, but enough that Kel, watching, saw the slight quiver in her fingers as she reached forward a fraction, as if to touch the mist just above the water.
Her expression… opened.
A child at the edge of a long-promised miracle, eyes bright with a hope too dangerous to name.
"It…" Her voice caught. She swallowed, throat moving visibly. "…It must be. It must be Scarder Lake."
She took a short, half-stumbling step closer, boots scuffing wet nothing at the shore's edge.
Kel's arm moved before he could think.
His gloved hand wrapped around her wrist.
The impact of that contact snapped through both of them. Sera froze mid-step, her body pulled up short. Her head snapped around, eyes widening in a mix of shock and irritation—but not yet anger.
Kel's grip was firm.
Not crushing.
But immovable.
"Stop," he said.
His voice was soft, but it carried, threading through the mist heavy with something more than sound.
Sera stared at him.
Her breath came a little quicker now, the rise and fall of her chest visible beneath her cloak. Her eyes searched his face—reading the steadiness in his gaze, the tension at the corners of his mouth, the faint sheen of cold sweat at his temple.
"Let go," she murmured.
He did not.
"We don't know," Kel said quietly, "if that is truly Scarder Lake."
Sera's brows drew together.
She pulled lightly against his grip. Not enough to break it. Enough to test it.
"Do you see any other lakes here?" she demanded, the frustration in her tone edged with desperation. "In this place, in this mist—do you see options? Of course it is Scarder Lake."
Kel did not look away.
He met her gaze, letting her read the thought behind his silence.
Reina watched them both, spear held carefully upright, her body angled toward the lake but her attention fixed on Kel's hand restraining Sera. Landon remained slightly back, but his stance shifted—feet planting more firmly, as if bracing for something unseen.
Kel's fingers tightened just slightly around Sera's wrist.
"Do you think," he asked slowly, "that a lake like this is free for all?"
The question hung there, heavier than the mist.
Sera's eyes flickered.
Kel continued, gaze turning briefly toward the still surface.
"We don't see any guardian near it," he said. His eyes narrowed slightly. "…Or perhaps the guardian is in the lake."
A faint shiver traced his spine as he spoke the words.
The curse inside reacted—not with pain, but with an instinctive tightening. Like an animal flinching at the scent of a predator.
Reina exhaled softly, her breath a pale ghost.
"That would make sense," she said. "A place said to cure any curse… that cannot be the kind of power left unattended."
Landon nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"A river without a dam floods," he rumbled. "This is no quiet pond."
Kel finally released Sera's wrist.
Not abruptly.
Gradually.
His hand drifted away, fingers curling back into his sleeve.
"We should first," he said, "take that guardian's permission to use Scarder Lake's water."
Sera's shoulders rose—then dropped.
Her fingers brushed the skin his glove had warmed.
She looked back at the lake.
Her jaw clenched.
"…You are right," she admitted after a moment, voice quieter. "I… did not think of that."
There was no shame in the words.
Only a sharp edge of self-chiding.
The mist above the lake stirred.
Subtly.
Like something beneath the surface had exhaled.
Kel's gaze sharpened.
"So," he said softly, more to the air than to them, "if there is a guardian…"
He let the implication hang.
As if in answer—
The mist over the lake rose.
Not in thin, lazy wisps, but in a column.
It gathered itself, swirling upward in a slow, deliberate spiral, drawing threads of fog from the surface below. The air trembled faintly, the faint whisper of unseen currents passing over their skin.
Reina's grip on her spear tightened, knuckles paling beneath her gloves.
Landon shifted one foot half a step forward, positioning himself so he could move in any direction without delay, hand firmly on his sword-hilt now, though the blade remained sheathed.
Sera straightened.
Her pale hair rose slightly with the movement of air, cloak rippling softly around her legs. The earlier desperation vanished from her expression, replaced by something fierce and reverent.
Kel did not move.
He only watched.
The column of mist grew taller.
Broader.
It took on a shape.
At first, only vague—a narrowing at what might be a waist, a broadening above where shoulders might be. Then finer details emerged, like chisel-work appearing along marble: the curve of a neck, the cascade of hair made of vapor and starlit fragments, the shadow of eyes too deep to reflect anything small.
A giant figure stood above the lake.
Female in shape, though clearly not bound by flesh. Her form stretched impossibly high, the upper half fading into the grey sky, as if she were carved out of the mist and never fully finished.
Her "clothing" was indistinguishable from the fog—trailing, flowing, layers upon layers of amorphous veils that shifted like slow currents underwater. Around where her throat would be, a faint shimmer suggested necklaces formed of droplets frozen mid-fall.
Her face was obscured.
Not hidden.
Simply… too much. Features hinted at, never fully drawn, as though the world could not quite decide how to define a being like her.
When she laughed—
The sound rippled through the air, through their bones, through the very surface of the lake.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Ancient.
Amused.
"To think," she said, voice echoing as if spoken near and far simultaneously, "someone comes here with a curse so loud it rattles the mountain's teeth… and still restrains himself from the water simply because he does not see a guardian guarding it."
Her amusement curled at the edges of her words like smoke.
Reina fought the urge to lower her gaze.
Her body instinctively wanted to bow. So did Landon's, though he resisted through stubborn grounding of his boots, his posture locked, jaw clenched.
Sera did not bow.
Her chin lifted a fraction.
She stared up, eyes wide and bright.
Kel remained very still.
The mist-lady's head tilted, as if studying him more closely.
"I have watched cursed ones crawl," she continued, her voice drifting like a song sung by someone who had no need for sound. "Crawl, drag themselves, hurl themselves into the lake without question. To tremble this near and not throw yourself in…"
Her laughter came again, softer.
"I see this for the first time."
The air hummed.
"I am entertained, traveler."
Her presence pressed down, but not as an attack.
As existence.
"May I know your name," she asked, "and the names of those foolish or brave enough to walk beside you into my breath?"
Kel's coat fluttered faintly around him as a breeze, summoned by her words alone, brushed past. His hair shifted across his forehead, casting a small shadow over his eyes.
Inside him, the curse roiled.
It recognized this being.
Not personally.
Conceptually.
Something in him screamed to submit.
To step forward.
To jump.
He inhaled.
The breath shook.
Only slightly.
He steadied it.
When he spoke, his voice carried clearly. It was not loud.
But it did not waver.
"My name is Kel," he said.
No title.
No house.
Just name.
The mist around the giant's head shivered slightly, as if she were smiling.
Kel turned his head slightly, gesturing with his hand, the small, controlled movement careful not to appear desperate nor arrogant.
"This is Reina," he said, looking to his left.
Reina met the guardian's unseen gaze, shoulders straight, spear at her side. Her expression was controlled—but the set of her jaw spoke of defiance wrapped around respect.
Kel's hand moved a little.
"This is Landon," he continued.
Landon dipped his chin just once—an acknowledgment neither submissive nor insolent. His fingers did not leave his sword-hilt, but his stance eased a fraction.
Kel's gaze shifted to Sera.
"And this is Sera," he finished. "Chief of the northern tribe that carries your stories like knives in their lungs."
Sera's breath hitched.
For a brief heartbeat, their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them.
The mist-lady's form flickered.
Her veils shifted.
"The child of frost and chains," she murmured, voice softer now. "I know her people's scent. They offered much to me once."
Cold traced down Sera's spine at that.
Kel watched the guardian's towering silhouette, trying not to sway under the weight of her presence. His fingers, hidden in his sleeves, dug into his own palms.
"You may call us foolish," he said quietly, "for coming here."
He lifted his chin.
"But we have come with our eyes open."
For a heartbeat—
The lake went utterly, profoundly still.
The giant's laughter did not come this time.
Only silence.
Then, slowly—
The mist around her face thickened.
"Kel," she repeated, tasting the syllable. "Reina. Landon. Sera."
Their names drifted like stones dropped into deep water, ripples invisible.
"Very well," she said.
The lake's surface quivered.
"You have not thrown yourselves in without asking."
She leaned forward slightly, massive and unreal, her veils trailing into the water without disturbing it.
"So ask," she whispered. "If you dare."
"And let us see," the Lady of the Drowned Moon intoned, voice curling through mist and marrow alike,
"whether Scarder Lake will answer you with mercy—
…or with truth."
The mist around them tightened.
Kel drew breath.