Radeon was immune to the soul mist. He stood in the ghastly cloud and watched bodies sway and fall like cut grass.
He knew some were still in danger, not from him, but from what came after the mountain's fog.
He moved among them with fast, hard steps and read their faces the way he read qi.
Those who had not offended him. Those who carried no malice toward him. Those were the ones he pulled.
He grabbed wrists and collars and dragged them out one by one, hauling them beyond the fog line until their eyes cleared and their lungs remembered how to breathe.
The living clung to him in panic. Relatives screamed names. Sect members shouted orders. Masters and elders frowned from the outside, helpless at the edge of what they could not enter.
Radeon read the threads with Myridion Seersight. Lines of intent. Lines of fear. Lines of bond.
He caught those threads and threw them toward their rightful directions, steering people by their ties.
