The fog rolled in too fast to be natural.
One moment, Alex Moreno was stepping out of the hospital's back entrance, the night shift's weight dragging on his bones. The next, the parking lot dissolved beneath a choking white mist, swallowing the pavement, the cars, the lamp posts—everything.
He reached for the wall, missed, and stumbled forward into nothing.
The concrete was gone.
The city heat was gone.
The world was gone.
And when the fog thinned, Alex stood on a narrow dirt road beneath a storm-bruised sky, surrounded on both sides by a forest of dead, skeletal trees. Three other people stood near him, equally stunned, shivering in the cold they did not dress for.
Tara Singh spoke first, her breath stuttering. "This… this isn't possible. We were just outside the trauma wing. The fog was just—"
"Normal fog doesn't teleport people," Jordan Reyes said, rubbing his glasses on his sleeve, though the moisture returned the moment he put them back on. "Also, where's the street? Where's anything?"
Liam Hart swallowed hard, pushing his messy hair back. He looked paler than the rest, eyes shifting nervously to the forest. "I—I don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm pretty sure those trees are dead. All of them."
Alex steadied himself, instincts kicking in. His training told him to assess for danger, find shelter, identify resources. But nothing here made sense. The air tasted metallic. The wind sounded wrong—too soft, like it was afraid to be heard.
There was a long, uneven road ahead.
Behind them, nothing but fog thick enough to hide a mountain.
"Everyone okay?" Alex asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"No," Tara said bluntly. "I am very much not okay."
Jordan raised a trembling hand. "Same. Very not okay."
Liam gestured around helplessly. "We're in a nightmare. Have to be. Or a hallucination. Or dead."
"Not dead," Alex said. "We're breathing. We're freezing. This is real."
The word "real" felt too heavy.
A distant, echoing howl cut through the silence.
Not a wolf. Not anything Alex had heard before. A deep, unnatural sound that stretched too long, like something imitating a wolf without understanding how lungs worked.
Jordan's voice shook. "Okay, I'm ready to wake up now."
"Keep moving," Alex said, forcing calm into his tone. "Standing still isn't safety."
They moved.
Not confidently, not bravely—just because fear pushed them forward.
After several minutes, the outline of a massive wrought-iron gate materialized through the fog. It was attached to two towering pillars carved with crumbling figures: robed guardians whose faces had eroded away, leaving blank stone where eyes and mouths should be.
"This looks…" Tara hesitated. "Religious? Funerary? I don't know, something meant to scare people."
"It's working," Jordan muttered.
As they approached, the gates groaned apart on their own, the metal scraping the ground with a shriek that sounded disturbingly like pain.
Liam stepped back. "No, nope, no way. Gates don't open themselves."
"Maybe there's a mechanism," Tara offered weakly.
Alex scanned the area. "No ropes. No chains. Nothing mechanical."
The gate waited—open, expectant.
"Do we go in?" Jordan asked.
The fog behind them thickened, swallowing the road.
Alex's stomach dropped. "We don't have a choice."
They stepped through.
The moment they did, the gates slammed shut with a thunderous crash that made Tara jump and Jordan shout.
"Nope," Jordan said, backing away. "Absolutely nope. That felt personal."
"It was wind," Liam said unconvincingly.
"There is no wind," Tara whispered.
Alex glanced at the road ahead. It wound deeper into the forest, which had grown denser, darker. The mist clung low to the ground like living smoke.
A few minutes later, Tara froze, her hand gripping Alex's arm.
"Someone's on the road."
A body lay crumpled in the mud.
Alex rushed forward, instincts kicking in. Up close, the corpse was that of a middle-aged man with graying hair and clothes once fine but now torn and stained with dark, dried blood.
Tara knelt beside Alex, covering her mouth. "He's… dead. Very dead."
Jordan looked away. Liam gagged.
Alex scanned for signs of what killed him. The wounds were savage—large tears, not clean cuts. Something with claws or fangs.
He didn't say that aloud.
Instead, he checked the man's coat. Something heavy weighed the inside pocket.
"You're not thinking of searching him?" Jordan asked, horrified.
"We might need supplies," Alex said. "No one's using it anymore."
He pulled out a folded piece of parchment sealed with wax. The symbol pressed into the wax resembled a twisted sun—its rays bent inward, as if devouring themselves.
"Should we open it?" Tara asked.
"We need answers," Alex said.
He broke the seal.
The message inside was written in elegant, looping script:
If this letter finds you wandering the roads of Aervost, know that you have been drawn into the Mistbound Realm unintentionally. My warnings will not save you, but they may delay your doom.
Jordan swallowed. "Well, that's a great start."
Alex continued.
The master of this land—Lord Varik Drakov—claims dominion over all who enter. He believes the mists bring him new 'guests' to play his games. But do not be deceived. You were not chosen. You were taken.
Tara whispered, "Drakov? Who is that?"
Liam's voice trembled. "Whoever he is, I don't want to meet him."
Alex read the last part.
If you seek safety, follow the Lantern Road to the village of Direford. Its people may help you—if fear has not hollowed them out already. But beware the Shrouded Beasts that hunt the forests. They smell unfamiliar blood easily.
Jordan backed away. "Shrouded what?!"
Alex folded the letter. "We move. Now."
"But we don't know where Direford is," Liam said.
"It's a village," Tara said. "Villages have people. People have answers. Or food. Or shelter. All of which we need."
"And if this Lord Drakov finds us," Jordan muttered, "we're dead."
Alex met their eyes one by one. "Then we stay ahead of him. Stay off the forest edges. Don't split up. Talk if you hear anything."
They continued down the path.
The trees thickened. The mist rose higher, nipping at their knees. A raven perched on a crooked branch watched them silently, its feathers ruffled, its eyes too intelligent.
"Is that thing staring at us?" Jordan whispered.
"It's a bird," Tara said, though she didn't sound sure.
The raven croaked once—deep and throaty—before flying ahead down the road. As if guiding them.
Or warning them.
They followed anyway.
Four modern strangers in a world pulled from nightmares.
Walking toward a village with a name no map on Earth had ever known.
The fog closed behind them, sealing the road as though swallowing their footprints.
And somewhere unseen, something laughed softly—amused, delighted—
Waiting for them to reach Direford.