The city of Aurealis was no longer just uneasy—it was panicking. Reports of unexplained respiratory failures poured in from every district. Lysandre moved swiftly, analyzing data on his portable device, connecting patterns between patients and the creeping fog. Every time he stabilized one patient, the fog shifted, learning, adapting.
— It's learning too fast, Elira said, adjusting her runes as she followed him through the streets. Every move we make… it's already counting it.
— Then we must anticipate it, Lysandre replied. Its intelligence is not random—it reacts logically, based on the weaknesses it perceives.
As they reached the northern district, the first casualties became clear. People sprawled on the streets, their chests rising and falling erratically. Some were beyond immediate help; others could still be stabilized with precise intervention.
Lysandre knelt beside a young girl, her eyes wide with fear, and began the delicate process of stabilizing her breathing. His hands moved like a surgeon's, placing runes and administering treatments in perfect sequence. The fog reacted violently, pushing against the runes with bursts of concentrated mist, almost as if it were testing the limits of his skill.
— Every second counts, he muttered. One mistake, and they'll be lost.
Maël fought off tendrils of fog attempting to reach the clinic's temporary medical stations. His sword cut through the mist, dispersing it momentarily, giving Lysandre a window to complete his work.
— Doctor… it's targeting us directly, Maël warned.
— I know, Lysandre said, eyes fixed on the girl's breathing. But if I hesitate now, we lose everything.
Finally, with a precise combination of runes, medical skill, and timing, the girl's breathing stabilized. The fog recoiled again, momentarily held at bay, as if acknowledging the effectiveness of Lysandre's intervention.
— It recognizes us now, Elira whispered. Its intelligence is evolving with every patient we save.
— Then we must evolve faster, Lysandre said grimly. Our knowledge, our skill, every ounce of science and magic we possess… it's the only weapon we have.
The streets of Aurealis remained tense. The Breath was no longer just a threat—it was an intelligent predator, observing, learning, adapting. And Lysandre understood: if they were to survive, they would have to be smarter, faster, and more precise than the entity that had invaded their city.
— This is only the beginning, he murmured, looking over the city. The real battle has yet to come.