As they walked deeper into the swirling mist, Renkai's voice softened, weaving through the hush of the forest.
"Those watchers," he began, eyes scanning the shifting shadows, "are old souls, lost in this fogged realm."
Lira glanced sideways, curiosity flickering with unease.
"They once had bodies like yours and mine, but they wandered too far, lost their way in this endless grey. Slowly, their flesh faded away, leaving only essence… lingering, searching."
The watchers, faint and wavering, moved like whispers between the trees, neither fully here nor gone.
"Usually, they mean no harm," Renkai continued, "but they have a power, subtle, insidious. They can draw travelers in circles, weaving illusions until the living become like them. Trapped in a limbo, forever wandering, forgotten."
Lira's steps faltered, and instinctively, she moved closer to Renkai's side. The cold mist felt heavier here, the silence more profound.
