While Maelin and her friends discovered fire within stone halls and laughter in stolen nights, the Fog Forest grew darker with each passing day. The mists clung to the ground like a living thing, hiding tracks, swallowing voices. Only the rustle of unseen creatures betrayed how alive the woods were.
Renkai pulled his cloak tighter, eyes narrowed against the damp air. His steps were heavy but purposeful. Beside him, Thalanir moved with a strange calm, his gait measured, almost graceful, though his gaze never softened.
At first, their time together was marked by silence. They were both strong in their own way—Thalanir with his patient wisdom and quiet presence, Renkai with his storming heart and unyielding will. But weeks in the fog had changed that. Silence had turned into remarks. Remarks into arguments. And arguments into a sharp, constant rivalry.
