The scream echoed through the fog again.
Louder this time.
Closer.
Feroz immediately stood up.
His heart was racing.
"...Haroon."
Haya looked at him.
"Feroz—"
"That's him."
The scream came again.
Desperate.
Painful.
Exactly like Haroon.
Feroz took a step toward the fog.
But before he could move further—
the old man stood in front of him.
"No."
Feroz frowned.
"What do you mean no?"
The old man's voice remained calm.
"Stay where you are."
The scream echoed again.
This time it sounded like someone was struggling.
Feroz's grip tightened around the knife.
"We have to help him."
Salman slowly stood up.
"No."
Feroz looked at him.
"You heard it."
"I did."
"And you're just standing there?"
Salman didn't react.
Instead, he asked a question.
"When was the last time you heard Haroon's voice?"
Feroz froze.
The question felt strange.
Then he answered.
"Before we left the valley."
Salman nodded.
"And how far away is the valley now?"
Silence.
Feroz already knew the answer.
Very far.
Much farther than it should have been.
The scream came again.
Even closer.
Almost nearby.
The old man pointed toward the fog.
"That's why you don't follow it."
The realization slowly hit.
The voice couldn't be real.
It didn't make sense.
But somehow—
he still wanted to believe it.
The scream changed suddenly.
Now it sounded weaker.
More desperate.
"Feroz!"
His blood ran cold.
Because this time—
the voice said his name.
Exactly the way Haroon would.
Haya stepped closer to him.
"Don't listen."
Feroz stared into the fog.
Every instinct wanted him to run toward it.
The strange figure beside him suddenly moved.
One step.
Directly between Feroz and the fog.
Blocking his view.
Everyone noticed.
The old man narrowed his eyes.
"...interesting."
The voice called again.
"Feroz!"
Then silence.
The fog became still.
Completely still.
Several long seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
No more screams.
No more voices.
Nothing.
Finally—
the old man relaxed slightly.
"It's gone."
Feroz slowly sat back down.
His heart was still racing.
"What was that?"
The old man looked toward the darkness.
"The threshold learns."
Nobody liked that answer.
Salman crossed his arms.
"It studies fears."
"It studies memories."
"And eventually..."
He paused.
"It studies hope."
The fire crackled softly.
Feroz looked down.
Because that explained exactly why it used Haroon's voice.
Not fear.
Hope.
The hope that someone had found him.
The hope that he wasn't alone.
Haya sat beside the fire quietly.
"My brother used to hear voices too."
Everyone looked at her.
She rarely talked about him.
"What kind of voices?" Feroz asked.
Haya stared into the flames.
"People he missed."
A pause.
"People he trusted."
The silence afterward felt heavy.
Feroz slowly understood.
The threshold wasn't trying to scare him.
It was trying to pull him.
That was much worse.
Suddenly—
the strange figure turned toward the road ahead.
Alert.
Watching.
Salman immediately noticed.
"What is it?"
The figure didn't answer.
Of course.
It never did.
But the fog ahead began moving.
Not violently.
Not aggressively.
Like something was approaching.
The old man stood slowly.
This time—
he didn't look worried.
He looked surprised.
Very surprised.
A small light appeared in the distance.
Moving through the fog.
Closer.
Closer.
Feroz frowned.
"What is that?"
The old man's expression changed completely.
For the first time since meeting him—
he looked genuinely shocked.
"...that's impossible."
The light came closer.
And slowly—
the outline of a lantern appeared.
Someone was carrying it.
A person.
Walking calmly through the broken space.
The figure approached without hesitation.
Without fear.
Without confusion.
Like they knew exactly where they were going.
Then—
the lantern's light revealed their face.
And the old man's eyes widened.
"No..."
The words escaped him quietly.
Feroz looked at him.
"You know them?"
The old man didn't answer immediately.
He kept staring.
Almost unable to believe what he was seeing.
Then finally—
he whispered:
"...I buried him twenty years ago."