The fog thickened as Elizabeth crossed into the Southern Sector. It was heavier here, clinging to the skin like damp cloth, dulling sound and swallowing distance. The bells behind her faded at last, their echoes stretched thin.
The southern sector was especially thick with mist due to the river and sea routes that connected to it, with small tributaries scattered across the outskirts. From its shore stretched a seemingly endless sea. Ships had ventured out to explore its waters, but none ever returned. Yet from time to time, new crews were still recruited to board a ship and set sail.
As she passed through the thick fog, she eventually encountered the people of the southern sector, here the mutations were far more bizarre and severe, with some morphing into grotesque, monstrous forms.
The houses were all in various states of disrepair, with yellow fungus seeping through and covering entire structures. People wandered in and stayed without anyone to stop them, as if there were no landlords at all. This truly felt like a lawless land.
The streets were wide but abandoned, stone worn smooth by time rather than people walking. Buildings leaned inward as if conspiring, their windows shuttered or broken, their walls stained by years of neglect. Somewhere within the fog, something lurked, but nothing approached openly.
But what stood out to her most was the absence of any banners. Gordon of the North displayed plenty of them, and his guards often roamed the city, marching to showcase his power. But in the South, there was no such display. If not for the information she had, she might never have known the region was even ruled by anyone.
Elizabeth slowed her pace, though her hand remained close to her coat. Every breath felt heavy.
The air seemed to give her a sore throat; it was thicker and much more polluted with yellow fungus spores.
'This place had no sense of order, so how did Opelia manage to rule it?' She muttered under her breath.
She quickly realized that the people here were very different. Those she encountered kept their heads lowered, their eyes vacant and unfocused. Some muttered under their breath, while others laughed soundlessly at nothing in particular.
No one lingered in the open for long.
There were no patrols to avoid, only spiteful, self-serving neighbors who watched from the edges of their doors.
In a quiet corner where the fog hung thickest, she took refuge in a run-down lodging house. There was no one around at the time, and she needed somewhere to stay. From what she'd learned, the southern sector was split into two halves, separated by the wide Mira River, with a single bridge connecting them. She was on the right side of the river, the outskirts. If she wanted to find Fea, it would have to be beyond the river.
But there was a problem, the bridges in the Mist City are all cursed by the witches and crossing it didn't guarantee she'd end up on the other side, she could just as easily be thrown out of the city altogether, if fate decided so.
The next viable way to cross the river was by boat or by swimming. Swimming, however, was out of the question; the cold would kill a person long before they reached the opposite bank. She would have to build a raft or find someone willing to take her across.
The river itself was largely calm, its surface slow and unthreatening, and not dangerous even for an amateur, at least at a glance.
She was tired now and in need of rest, so she stepped into the room. Inside, it was bare, a simple cot, a cracked mirror, and walls thin enough to let murmurs drift in from elsewhere in the building.
She sat quietly on the cot, eyes on the doorway, ears alert.
'There has to be a ferry. If I search along the riverbank long enough, I will find it. I also need to learn more about the river itself…'
She wanted to rest, if only for a short while. The relentless pursuit by the bell creature had nearly drained her, and the long journey from the northern sector had taken what little strength remained. Yet rest was a luxury she could not afford. After only a few moments, she forced herself to stand and left the room.
'At least I can think clearly now,' she told herself.
She moved through the streets with measured steps. Along the way, she saw people clutching one another, gulping down each other's blood in desperate hopes of replicating the effects of a drug passed from man to man. She averted her gaze from the macabre sight and broke into a sprint, crossing the street without hesitation.
Her hand hovered near the sword at her waist. She was ready to strike down any abomination that dared attempt the same with her.
The streets slowly gave way to open ground as she neared the river. The buildings grew shorter, more broken, their walls slick with damp. The air felt heavier here, colder, and the mist hung low enough to sting her lungs.
She could almost smell the river as she swallowed, the damp air soothing her sore throat. But she didn't wait to feel the relief; she kept moving forward.
When she reached the bank, her boots sank into wet soil. Reeds and mud lined the water's edge, trampled flat in places where people still came and went. Not often, and never for long, but enough to leave marks.
She walked along the bank, eyes moving constantly. Broken docks jutted out into the water, their planks bowed and blackened. Old ropes lay half-buried in the mud, frayed but not entirely rotten. She nudged one with her foot.
'Someone had used it recently.'
She stopped at a narrow pier that leaned toward the river, its posts scarred where lines had been tied and pulled free.
'This had been a ferry point. Maybe it still is.'
She leaned forward and looked at the water. It moved slowly, almost lazily, but the cold coming off it was sharp enough to bite.
'Swimming across would be a death sentence.'