The fog that was originally silent is now turbulent, spinning like an unlimited ocean. I sat on the iron chair, feeling cold creeping up to the bones, but there was something bigger than just cold - controlled. This fog world responds to every beat of my heart, as if me and this place have been fused.
I closed my eyes for a moment, then arranged intention. This world is not just an empty space for shelter; He can be a stage, where I call the people I need. In a vague memory of the future, I know that there is a way to bring humans to here, even with a great risk: call -unauthorized calls, which will drag the soul into the fog, even without permission.
I raised my hand. The mist around me trembled, then sounded a sound like a long breath exhaled from depth. Words without language slide from my lips, not prayers, not spells, but orders born from void:
"Come."
The fog thickened in front of me. Two faint light points appear - one pale blue, the other is dimly red. Slowly the light took form, forming two human silhouettes.
A woman. His hair was long loose, his face was unclear, his body was faint like a shadow of water.
A man. The height of the sturdy, his steps stiff, his gaze was empty even though his face ran away by the fog.
Both of them stood in the fog, a few steps with each other. But I know, they don't see each other. The world of fog is like that: only me, the owner, who can watch everything completely.
The woman looked confused, turned to the left and right, her hands seemed to look for something to hold. "Where is this…?" His voice was soft, like a whisper that was dragged far.
The man, on the contrary, stood still. His shoulders were tense, as if they were ready to fight enemies he could not see. But his lips did not move, only his eyes tried to penetrate the thick fog.
I watched them from an iron chair, my body was shrouded in a more thick fog than the surroundings. From their point of view, only a big figure is faint, covered with the fog curtain does not penetrate. There is no face, there is no detail, only the shadow of sitting is the center of this world.
And I know, for them, I am not a human - I am the ruler of the world of fog, an unnamed figure that they did here.
The woman swallowed hard, her voice trembled, "Who ... you ...?"
The man finally made a sound, short and firm, "Why am I here?"
I was silent, letting the silence surrounded. Only the sound of a pocket clock that was heard again, this time echoing all of the fog like an invisible bell.
They both could not see each other. They only know that there is something bigger, more strange, watching them from the throne of fog.
And for the first time, I felt how much power I was now holding.
__________
(Sarah Kirana's point of view)
Night is always the most time I like. When the city's noise slowly subsided, when people returned to their respective homes, the world seemed to open a quiet space full of hidden things. I could never explain since when that interest appeared - the feeling of thirst to find out what was behind the curtain of ordinary life.
Since childhood, I like mystical stories that are considered unreasonable by many people. In the school library I looked for old books about mythology, in the flea shop I dismantled the Odd Magazine that discussed occultism, and in the dark forums of the internet I read the testimonials of people who said to have seen "something." All that makes me believe: this world is much broaderInstead of appearing, it's just that most people choose to close their eyes.
Even in my room now, the atmosphere was felt. Bookshelves are full of random records, windows that I always let half open so that the night air enters, as well as aromatherapy candles that I often use even though electricity is available. For me, the lights are too bright, too real. While the candle light ... he trembled, danced, as if opening space for shadows that could bring secrets.
I was never satisfied with just a routine. My peers are busy talking about work, relationships, or future plans. I smiled and nodded, but in my heart I felt all that was flat. There is something lacking-something that can only be filled with mysterious things that go beyond understanding.
Sometimes I sit for a long time in front of the mirror, pay attention to my reflection, hoping something will move behind the glass. Sometimes I write prayers without names in a small notebook, not for God taught, but for someone who has never been called anyone. And strangely, I feel more peaceful with that.
Tonight is no different. Thin rain fell, tapping the window glass with a soft rhythm. I closed the book I just read - a collection of strange stories from the old magazine. My heart was pounding for no reason, as if something was approaching. Either a hunch, whether imagination, I don't know.
I stood up, blowing a candle, then whispered softly, "If there was something ... something real, which could answer my curiosity."
The room becomes dark. Only the sound of rain left. And in that darkness, I felt as if there were eyes staring back - not from outside the window, not from a mirror, but from a deeper space, more strange.
I don't know, that night my prayer will be answered. In a way I never imagined.
---
A few days after the rainy night, my life seemed to walk as usual-offices, the trip home with a tight train, dinner makeshift, then sat back in the room with books that I had opened too often. But somehow, something changed, something that sticks to my mind, making the next nights no longer the same.
I began to wake up often in the middle of the night for no reason. The wall clock always points to almost the same time - a little past two o'clock. Every time I open my eyes, the room feels cooler than it should be. The window was tightly closed, but the wind seemed to still sneak in. Candles that have been extinguished for a long time sometimes found leaving a new melt, even though I swear never to turn it on again.
There are certain nights when I hear a faint sound-not a clear sound, just like a whisper that comes from behind the wall or floor base. There is no word I can catch, only a low murmur, a foreign rhythm that makes my neck hair stand. Strangely, instead of being afraid, I actually felt the urge to listen closer, as if the whisper kept the secrets that I always looked for.
Slowly I started writing notes. Not an academic record or personal journal, but a kind of recording of every small event that feels odd. I recorded when I woke up, the direction of the whisper came, even the dreams that suddenly became more alive. One of them is so clear: I stood in the middle of a thick fog, I couldn't see a one -step distance. But there was a faint, round, throbbing slowly, and I felt something stared from behind the fog. When I approached, I always woke up with a palpitations.
The longer, the clearer that feeling. That I am not just hallucinating. There is something - or someone - approaching. Like responding to the prayer that I said.
That night, I decided to do something more. I extinguished all the lights of the room, lit a candle, and sat on the floor in an kneeling position. In front of me, I put an empty notebook, as if ready to be a forum for messages that might come. I have no official prayers, there is no ritual I learned from ancient books. All I do is close my eyes, take a deep breath, and whisper softly:
"I know you're out there ... If you really hear me, show the way."
Silent. Only the sound of seconds that feels louder than usual.
But when I opened my eyes, the candle trembled, the wisdom was running low and then enlarged again, as if blown to the invisible breath. And that's when I saw it: thin fog, just appearing in the corner of the room, slowly creeping up, covering the wall, closing the mirror, and eventually filling the entire room.
I was silent, my body was stiff, but strangely my heart was pounding not because of fear, but because of something that I had long wanted to finally come true. The world that I only read and looked for in the shadow, now is right in front of my eyes.
I know, this small step is just the beginning of something much bigger - and once I entered, maybe there is no way back.
The fog that was originally only thin slowly thickened, creeped from the floor, covering the furniture, to make the walls seemed to disappear from sight. I can feel moist piercing the skin, cold but not ordinary cold - more like a foreign taste, as touched by something that does not come from this world.
The candle that had been burning dim suddenly extinguished, as if swallowed by the fog. Totally dark. But in the darkness, there is a faint light that throbs slowly, far ahead, like a giant heart that is calm. Unconsciously I stood up, stepping, even though there should be no way in my narrow room. My steps are echoing, in contrast to the wooden floor of my house. Heavier. Deeper. Like I'm walking on wet ground.
I looked back. There are no more beds, tables, or windows. Everything has disappeared. Only the fog without the end that covers the view.
The feeling was strange - between panic and fascinated. Some of me want to run backward, return to the place I know, but other parts feel a subtle pull, as if something in the depth of the fog calls me patiently. I held a notebook that I unconsciously brought, like the last grip that could connect me to reality.
Then, the voice came. Not a faint whisper like I often hear before, but a clear voice, echoing in my ear, even though I know that no mouth says it.
"You come…"
I stopped. My chest up and down, my breath hunted. "Who?" I asked reflexively, even though my voice sounded small, as if swallowed by fog.
No answer. Only the sound of seconds of pocket clock from nowhere, slowly, rhythmic, marking the time that seems to be different here.
I kept stepping, trying to penetrate the thick fog. Increasingly, I began to see a faint shadow. There is a human figure.
I stopped. My breath choked. So ... not just me?
Suddenly the fog in front of me was bumpy, spinning like a whirlpool, and from it a large shadow appeared. The height towering, its form is unclear, only the thick fog that clots, but feels pressing the chest with the aura of its existence. The figure did not speak, not moving, just stood between the two of us, covering this world with a heavy presence.
Then I realized - I was not alone being called. There are other people, other people, who somehow are also dragged into this room.
But why? And for what?
I hugged the notes in my hand. For the first time I felt that I was no longer an observer who was looking for a trace of mystery. Now, I myself am a part of that mystery.
---
The thick fog throbbed as if he had his own life, around the three figures who were now standing still. I looked at them from the darkness, letting the fixed distance separate, while my mind worked fast. The two humans - one man, one woman - clearly not an illusion. They stood real, their bodies radiated a vague warmth that contrast with the cold of the fog world. However, strangely, their gaze was empty, never intersecting each other, as if they were in a different dimension that was forced to meet at one point.
I raised my hand. The fogs around me stretched, obeying the will I didn't even sing. The white layers are thinning, then solidifying, turning into something far more concrete. From the vortex of the fog, slowly a long wooden table appeared dark, simple but elegant. The surface is smooth like oil polished, and on it, vague carvings are imperfect circles as if they are printed from an unpoken secret.
After the table was formed, I moved my fingers again. The fog on the floor is gathered, up, then solidifies into high chairs with curved backs. There are three chairs, parallel to the table, as if waiting for the owner to sit and discuss things that should not be heard by the outside world.
The atmosphere changed. The world of fog that was previously only an empty space now feels like an ancient meeting room. Quiet, but sacred. Silent, but pressing.
I let myself sit first, feeling the fog chair supporting my body. The chair was cold, but stable, like a foreign throne that I did not completely have but somehow acknowledged my existence.
I turned back to the two figures. They are still standing, not moving, like waiting for something. I raised my right hand, and the table reflected gently clinking, as if calling them to approach.
The man reacted first. The steps are heavy, steady, even though his face is not completely visible to the fog. He walked towards the chair, then sat stiffly, his attitude was like someone who was accustomed to keeping his distance. While the woman, different. His movements were hesitant, but his eyes were burning by curiosity that he could not hide. He stepped slowly, every step as if weighing whether this place was real or just an illusion. Finally, he also sat down, his hand squeezed the thin skirt he was wearing, nervous but didn't run away.
Now the three of us sit around the fog table.
Long silence enveloped. There is no sound other than a pocket clock that out of nowhere echoing, rhythmic, marking the running of a different time from the outside world.
I leaned my back, staring at the two of them from behind the fog that covered part of my face. They can't see me clearly - and that's what I want. I was a figure who called them, but also a figure that should not be recognized too early.
"Welcome," I said slowly, my voice echoed throughout the room, not from the mouth but from the fog itself. "You have stepped into an unknown place. The place where all possible born, and all secrets are buried."
I stopped for a moment, letting my words sink into their hearts. I could see - even if the man's eyes were full of vigilance, and the woman's gaze was more inclined to the feeling of admiration mixed with afraid.
Then I added, slower, heavier:
"Starting tonight ... Your destiny is no longer your own."
The fog trembled softly, as if emphasizing my words, while the pocket clock was louder, more urgent.