The fog returned the very next morning when daylight just started to creep over the horizon. This time, it was thicker than before, swirling and curling around the trees like ghostly smoke from an unseen fire smoldering deep in the woods. It clung stubbornly to every leaf, every branch, and even to the rough fabric of their clothes and the exposed skin of those brave enough to stand in it. The muffling effect was almost absolute; sounds faded into a dull hum, and the warmth of the sun was blunted, making everything look dull and lifeless — the colors muted, shadows heavy, and the quiet so thick that even the birds, usually so loud at dawn, had fallen silent. The entire landscape seemed to breathe in the stillness, as if waiting for something unseen to emerge from the mist.
Rylan found himself standing at the very edge of a broken, overgrown path, staring into the swirling fog beyond. The trees that lined the trail now appeared as vague shapes, like dark, shifting silhouettes with barely a hint of form left. Their branches seemed to reach into the mist, their outlines blurred and uncertain. He couldn't see the familiar outlines of Hollowmere anymore; the town seemed to have vanished into the thick fog, swallowed up as if the forest had somehow closed itself tightly around them. It was as if the woods were alive and wary, hiding secrets behind their foggy veil, keeping the world at bay. His gaze stayed fixed on the obscured distance, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him with every passing second.
Lina stepped quietly beside him, her presence almost unnoticed at first. She didn't rush or speak, just moved close enough to rest her hand lightly on his arm. Her gentle touch was a small anchor in the quiet chaos, grounding him momentarily as it always did. But today, even her calming presence couldn't push away the heavy knot of worry tightening inside him. The fog seemed to carry a message he couldn't quite grasp, one that made his stomach tighten with a strange sense of dread and anticipation. He had one secret he was holding back—something he hadn't yet dared to tell the others. The strange name burned behind his thoughts like an echo from that fire-lit night, impossible to forget now.
That name was Veyr. A short, sharp word, yet it carried a strange weight, a sense that it belonged to something ancient and powerful. He didn't understand what it meant, or why it had taken such hold of his mind. It simply existed, a title that felt like it was carved into his soul. Something about it felt old—something waiting beneath the surface, something that might be called forth again. It was mysterious and unsettling, almost like a riddle wrapped in shadows. It felt real, yet elusive, like a sliver of history or a hidden prophecy that might one day emerge full force. Whatever Veyr was, it was tied to him now, and he sensed that it carried with it a silent promise — or perhaps a threat — of something ancient and unknowable.
Behind them, near the remains of a cold firepit, Mira sat cross-legged on the damp ground. Her fingers were busy flipping through her sketches, each page showing a jumble of images that she had drawn in the past few days. For some reason, she kept pausing on one particular sketch — a gray, shadowy figure cloaked in a dark hood, standing between two trees, half-dissolved into the mist. She didn't remember drawing it, yet she couldn't look away. The more she studied the image, the more sure she became that this figure was not just a product of her imagination. It felt like a sign, a presence lurking just beyond her perception. She had a strange certainty that she was going to encounter this figure very soon, just as the fog thickened and the silence grew heavier.
Meanwhile, Ash and Varyon stood nearby, softly arguing over whether they should move their camp. Ash — impatient and nervous — wanted to stay close to the trail they had traveled in on, believing it might be their best chance to find a quick escape if they needed to run. "In case we need to bolt," he insisted, scanning the shrouded woods with a wary eye. Varyon, the more cautious of the two, shook his head slowly. He pointed out that they couldn't see the trail anymore. The fog had wrapped around everything so tight that even the simple, familiar path was lost, swallowed by the mist. "Fog doesn't just roll in and erase paths," Ash snapped, frustration evident in his voice. "That's not how the weather works." Varyon's expression stayed calm but firm. He replied quietly, "Neither do shadows with bones. But here we are, in the middle of it." His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, hinting at unseen dangers and mysteries lurking just out of sight.
Rylan was about to speak, to try and break the tension, when Lina suddenly made a sharp movement and turned her head swiftly. Her eyes narrowed, and her whole body tensed as if she had caught something out of place. Her voice came low and urgent. "Someone's coming." Her words cut through the quiet like a blade, stopping everyone in their tracks. Every person present froze, instincts kicking in. The silence grew thick again, but now it was filled with an unspoken awareness.
And then, from deep within the opaque fog, came a slow, deliberate sound — the soft crunch of footsteps. Each step was careful, measured, almost unnatural in its steadiness. They weren't the heavy, chaotic footsteps of something monstrous or wild, but nor were they quite human. There was something off about the way they moved, almost like they were part of the mist itself. The sound was too controlled, too deliberate, as if whoever or whatever was approaching was choosing each step carefully, knowing they were being watched. The pace was slow enough to allow everyone to see them clearly, but steady enough to suggest confidence, as if the maker of those steps knew they had the advantage. The tension in the air tightened further, and eyes darted toward the fog, waiting as uncertainty and suspense built in every breath.
A moment later, the shape finally emerged from the fog. It moved with deliberate ease, as if it had been waiting for the right moment. The figure was draped in layered gray fabric that looked like a mixture of thick cloak and flowing robes, a uniform of shadows that hid all details beneath. Their face was completely concealed behind a mask that resembled a bird's beak, smooth and shiny like porcelain. The mask was pure white, standing out starkly against the dull fabric. Tall, thin, and perfectly still, the figure stepped forward as if the very fog itself parted to let them through. Their every movement was precise, almost inhuman, adding an eerie sense of calm authority. As they drew closer, it seemed the mist parting was no accident—more like the figure commanding the fog to clear just enough for them to be seen. The air grew heavy with anticipation.
Mira couldn't help but gasp sharply. Her breath caught in her throat as a chill ran down her spine. The figure bore an unmistakable resemblance to her drawing—the same beak-shaped mask, the flowing robe trailing behind like a shadow. Every detail matched perfectly. It was as if her sketch had leapt right off the paper, alive and standing in front of her. Her heart pounded. She looked at the figure with wide eyes, feeling that strange mix of awe and fear she had always associated with her mysterious artwork.
Ash instinctively lifted his knife, instinct taking over before he could think. His eyes flicked between the figure and the others. "You lost, or just dramatic?" he asked, voice rough and cautious, warning them to stay alert. The figure tilted its head slightly, slow and deliberate, as if studying everyone carefully. No word, no sign of threat—just an intense, weighing stare behind the mask that seemed to pierce into their minds. Then, after a brief silence, the figure spoke, and their voice was low, calm, almost musical—steady as if they had spoken a thousand times before. It was strangely comforting, yet dangerous.
"You are later than expected," the figure said softly, voice resonating sharply in the cold air. "But not too late. Not yet." Their words hung in the silence, filled with meaning even without more explanation. It was as if the figure was warning them—warning that time was slipping but not lost. That they still had a chance, if they could understand what was happening.
Rylan took a cautious step forward, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity. "Who are you?" he asked, voice echoing slightly in the stillness. The figure paused, studying him intently, then responded without hesitation. "I am called Solin," they said. "Once, I was a guide—someone who led others through darkness and danger. Now, I serve a different purpose. Now, I am here as a reminder."
Lina's brow furrowed, her voice soft but filled with doubt. "A reminder of what?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at the strange, unearthly figure.
Solin turned partially toward her, their movement smooth and graceful. Their voice carried a hint of solemnity. "Of what you once were. And what you can be again." The words hung in the air as everyone absorbed their meaning. It was like an echo from the past, hinting at lost strengths and forgotten truths buried deep within them.
Mira took a cautious step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know us," she said, eyes searching the figure's face beneath the mask. Her words trembled slightly. She could feel the weight of this moment pressing down. It wasn't just about recognition—it was about rediscovering what they had lost.
Solin nodded once, a slow, deliberate gesture that seemed to carry secret knowledge. "I knew you before your memories were sealed," they said softly. "Before the Veil was drawn—before this barrier was put in place to hide the past from you. You are the five called back—those the forest still holds onto in its memories. The five who still linger in the shadows of your mind, waiting to be remembered."
Ash looked around at everyone, confusion written across his face. "Alright," he said, voice edged with frustration. "Am I the only one who doesn't get any of this? What are you talking about?"
Varyon muttered from the side, voice low but intrigued. "No, you're not the only one lost here. Keep going. I want to see how deep this rabbit hole really goes." His tone was half-challenge, half-curiosity, clearly eager for answers.
Solin pivoted gracefully, walking toward the crumbled archway where Rylan had first uncovered the ancient book. Their voice carried across the cold air. "The seal that holds the darkness has begun to weaken," they declared. "One of you has already awakened. The others will follow, one after the other."
Rylan pressed forward, anxiety creeping into his tone. "You mean our powers? Like things we can do? Are you saying we're waking up?"
Solin's reply was calm but firm. "Not powers. Truths. Shadows that once walked in light—things hidden deep inside you. The forest remembers you. The flame within remembers you. Even the Veil itself—this wall that separates what is from what was—remembers you." Their words struck a chord, making everyone shift uncomfortably.
"The Veil," Mira repeated softly, confusion flickering across her face. "You said that before. What is it exactly?"
Without moving their head, Solin's voice changed, tinged with a strange calmness. "It's the barrier between what is real and what you forget. Between what you see and what you hide from yourself. The Veil was cast to protect you. To keep the worst from waking. But the things behind the Veil... they haven't forgotten. And now, they're waking up."
The fog thickened and swirled again, curling around them like a living thing, pressing closer with each passing second. It carried whispers of dread and anticipation. Everyone felt it—the sense that something dark and ancient was inching toward waking beyond their sight.
Ash clenched his fists, teeth gritting. "Then maybe we should leave before they wake up completely," he said, voice sharp with warning. "Before it's too late."
Solin's voice was gentle but firm, dismissing the notion. "You cannot leave now. Not until the Ninth chooses." Their words echoed in the cold air, heavy with meaning.
Everyone turned sharply toward Rylan, eyes filled with unspoken questions. Rylan froze under the weight of those glances. His heart pounded harder.
Solin nodded slowly, almost with finality. "He is Veyr," they said simply, voice carrying a grave tone.
That word fell between them like a heavy stone thrown into still water. The realization settled deep inside Rylan, flowing through him like a tide of inevitability. It branded itself on his thoughts, making everything else seem secondary. He swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and fate settling over him.
"What happens if I choose wrong?" his voice cracked slightly, unsure. The question hung in the air, heavy and dangerous, yet urgent.
Solin didn't answer. Instead, they turned away silently, walking back toward the mist as if the weight of the moment was theirs to carry alone. Their figure disappeared into the fog, leaving the others standing there, caught in silence.
"Wait!" Rylan shouted, voice urgent. "That's it? That's all you're giving us? No advice, no clues?"
Solin paused at the edge of the fog, then turned slightly. Their voice was soft but meaningful. "The forest whispers in echoes. Follow the clues, and you will find the truth." Without another word, they vanished into the mist, swallowed whole by the swirling gray, leaving only mystery behind.