If it existed at all.
Oren could not scour the entire mountain range. Even the countless villages and cities had failed to do so.
The land stretched too wide, too indifferent, an expanse that swallowed all of his efforts without acknowledgment.
There was an old saying, one he had heard as a child, back in the first mountain.
"One man can build a house. A dozen can carve a road. A hundred can raise a village."
It was meant to show the limits of one, that one person could only achieve so much.
And yet, to him, it felt wrong.
Given enough time, one man could still carve that road. A dozen, if patient, could shape a village. And a hundred, if they endured long enough, could raise something far greater.
Stepping beyond their ordained path.
Time was the only difference. It was also what trapped them... Given enough of it, anything was possible.
On the contrary, humans lack time. Thus, their strength, knowledge, and abilities remain incomplete.
He looked at the trees looming beneath the bleak sky.
And yet, despite his near immeasurable lifespan, he felt as incomplete as a child who had only lived for a few years.
Every time Oren stepped beyond the mountain's embrace, or even between Unison, searching for the erol of mortality, something within him resisted.
Whether he would gradually die of old age, or stay immortal was unclear, but if the Erol of mortality was truly real.
Then somewhere upon this mountain, his final destination awaited.
After staying silent for a while, Oren turned toward the third path he had been taking to reach the wall of fog before the battle and spoke.
"Well, now that we have finally made an agreement, let's go. If we leave now, we will make it to the fog by dawn."
With a small nod, Selvar's grey eyes lightened for a moment.
"Take this."
He reached into his pocket and drew out a thin golden thread, far longer and denser than its size should have allowed.
"Once we enter the fog, keep hold of your end. Otherwise… you'll get lost."
"Haha." Selvar let out a quiet chuckle. "Though with your eyesight, perhaps that was inevitable."
Oren gave him a disdained look and took hold of the thread. Its cold touch soothed him instantly.
He glanced at the archer. An idea slowly came to him, one the man might not find as amusing when they reached Everdream.
Selvar stepped forward, taking the lead, glancing back at Oren temporarily. They walked in a calm silence.
He held the bow in one hand, like it belonged there, using it to sweep aside the overgrown branches and bushes of the forest. Selvar worked alone.
Every now and then, he glanced at Oren, wondering if he would contribute his help. The forest was dense with flowers, grass, roots, and branches.
It was not hard to move through, but it would feel much more comfortable without such interuptions.
Selvar's fingers moved steadily, before the stillness seemed to irritate the noble man.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"Are you intending to help, or will you just watch me do this manual labour alone?"
A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips.
"…Interesting. Perhaps you think I'll betray you whilst your back is turned."
His hands did not stop moving.
"Or no… maybe you're hoping a wild beast appears, so I can entertain it while you run."
Oren did not reply.
He stood there, calm, like a leaf drifting through the air.
Not that Selvar's presence allowed for much grace. He observed the Enlightened closely, studying his strength.
Though questions crowded his mind, the task itself was simple. The man was not skilled because he was Enlightened, but because of his own ability, strength, and control.
Still, he questioned how the archer had become Enlightened.
Enlightenment itself was a wonder after all.
Somehow, even Oren did not know the sequences and trials one had to complete to reach Enlightenment.
Or maybe he was just incapable of knowing. All he knew was that after eating the Erol of immortality, or becoming immortal, it was impossible.
He did not know why, or what told him this, maybe it was just some deeper, primal understanding all were born with.
Oren mused, watching as selvar swiftly made a path.
Selvar was getting his vast knowledge on erol's, whilst Oren was getting a hostage and a request selvar must obey.
From any point of view it was a fair trade, but Oren saw it as pointless?
'A waste of time.'
He wondered if this person, Selvar, the proclaimed Enlightened Archer of the Fog, would one day turn on him.
Whether that be in battle or in Everdream, perhaps even beyond those ventures, maybe in the fog were he was most vunreble.
That was what happened to all of them. The worst kind of curse.
The puppets of the mountains. That was what he called them.
It began in the revered village of Riverdan, resting by the riverside at the roots of the first mountain. A stream once ran through it, threading between the first and second peaks like a vein of blood.
One of the few entry points into Unison, his supposed birthplace.
It had long since fallen quiet, empty and docile.
It had not been like that when he was born.
No. His birth had been the beginning of its end.
He had lived there long enough to grow, to belong somewhere. He had forged countless bonds, built a modest life, known something that almost resembled peace.
And then they tried to kill him.
The first time, it took half a century.
Strangely… that might have been the best of it.
Back then, it had taken time for them to turn. When they did, it was a child.
A small hand, gripping a blade far too large for it. Held with the misplaced certainty of a warrior, it drove into his chest without hesitation.
That was when he learned he would not die.
After that, it spread throughout unison.
When he fled to another village, it took twenty years. Then less.
Betrayed. Condemned. Sacrificed.
Again and again, village after village, the time continued to shorten.
But they never succeeded. They never did. They couldn't.
And now, one could not help but think it would only take a few days for this nobleman to turn as well.
Still, he kept his word.
Glancing around the forest warily, Oren noticed why he felt so strange.
It was because the birds had stopped, and the number of small insects had decreased. The forest itself seemed as though it was fading.
'What a strange sight.'
Staring at Selvar's bow with an unreadable expression, Oren posed a question.
If I make it to Everdream in one piece, I should try to gather the Savillians to form groups and search for the Erol of Mortality.
At the same time, it would be far easier to just fight the people who hate the Immortal Demon and drag them into the fog.
Selvar would be obliged to obey a single command and be his hostage, so if needed, he could also help with this.
Selvar turned around with interest, feeling Oren's heavy gaze. His pale blonde hair fluttered in the wind.
When he eventually spoke, his voice was full of childish doubt.
"I know you're immortal and all…"
Selvar looked up at the sky, then into the distance.
"Are you okay...? Mentally i mean. I dont really mind, you are already fascinating enough, but surely that has to hurt."
Selvar shrugged lightly.
'Also, don't you think leaving an arrow in your neck just because you can is a bit excessive?"
Oren turned back and smiled softly.
"This? Oh, it is nothing dont worry."
He chuckled, actually it has healed, removing now will only cause more pain then necessary.
Selvar sighed, then turned around continuing onward.
Oren glanced down at his neck then shuddered.
'Disgusting.'
The arrow's injury was grotesque, pushing flesh outward, swelling like an unpopped pimple, making his neck look almost comedic amid the horror.
Looking away with a puzzled expression, Oren focused on the surroundings.
He watched as the vibrant lines of forest trees dulled and thinned, nearing the edge of the Everdream Forest.
When the green leaves and the verdant flowers turned a dull grey, the wind became louder.
And when their footsteps started to echo through the distorted forest light, Oren knew they were entering the fog.
Even though he was experiencing it first hand, it felt unreal, like he was being sucked into something far greater than himself.
His hairs stood on end as goosebumps rose and dropped in a chain reaction.
Apparently, when one drew close enough, a grey veil could be seen, hovering along the ridge of the fourth mountain.
Between the end of Everdream Forest and the gates of Everdream City, a battle had once taken place. Long before his time, centuries past, it had claimed the lives of all who stood to defend their home, and all who sought to take it.
In the end, none remained. Not even the kings. No one knew where the fog had come from, or how it had appeared. It was simply there.
Lingering as though to bury the disaster of Everdream beneath something that refused to fade.
A bad omen, a harbinger of death and war.
It was a seamless transition, and yet it weighed down on Oren tremendously.
Because now there was fog everywhere.
The grey mist clung to the distilled bark of the trees, making them look formless and indistinct.
Fog filled the blue sky, making the red radiance of the sun fade. Yet Oren could rarely see faint red sun rays shimmering through what seemed to be an absolute grey.
He turned back towards the forest, but the mist was there too, blurring every image together.
The illusory grey fog truly was everywhere.
Unseen by Oren, Selvar smiled wistfully, a sense of nostalgia filling his voice.
"We have finally made it to the Fog of Everdream."