The wall of mist pushing against the barrier created by the Empress exuded a ghastly cold. As they stood at the edge of the barrier, Midhir’s breath turned to fog, and his fingertips began to chill.
Grasping a blade he took from the armoury before they left the Vermillion Keep, he lamented the loss of the sword-spear. He had gotten used to its weight and rather exotic shape. He didn’t trust himself quite as much with this sword.
“Stay together,” Ilya said with a stern voice. Her fingers clenched around the hilt of her sword. She extended her left hand, took a deep breath, then exhaled softly. The gem on the ring she wore began to glow, and the raging river before them stilled near instantly. She glanced at them, her face pale and her lips a thin line.
He found it hard to believe what he saw. Ilya was never afraid – he had never seen her hesitate in the face of danger or avoid something dangerous out of fear alone. But now, it was clear as day to him that she wanted to be anywhere but here.
She didn’t have to be the first to step into the mist. Before she could summon her courage, Midhir stepped forward.
He only felt the warmth of the barrier for in instant before it was replaced with the frigid cold of the mist. The air grew dense and heavy, and an unnerving silence settled. He could barely hear the sound of the Imperial Guard just beyond the barrier, and the regular sounds of the city had just vanished.
Clenching his fingers around his weapon’s hilt, he stepped forward. The mist slowly whirled around him, tendrils of darker colours reaching forth. A moment later, someone stepped beside him. The mist seemed to rear back, and the tendrils retreated into the depths.
Cait forced a smile. “Anything wrong?” She asked, pointing at her own left eye. “Do you feel odd, or just uncomfortable?”
Midhir shook his head. “I’m fine.” He chuckled softly at Cait’s surprised expression before she could hide it. He had expected pain, or to be dragged back into the Old God’s realm, he expected his eye to bleed again, but instead, he felt perfectly normal. “How about you?”
Cait looked away. “I’ll use my sight when we absolutely need it, and only then.” She raised her hand, allowing the thick, almost fluid-like mist to roll through her fingers. “There is too much from the other side here.”
Ilya soon joined them, followed by a rather nervous Arwen. Willow was the last to follow, and though she was clearly afraid, her determined gaze was unwavering. Without wasting any more time, they passed the river using the solidified water bridge Ilya had created.
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They were one of the six teams going into the thirteenth district. Every team had a specific destination, and a goal. Theirs was to head to the centre of the district, since that was where the bright light originated from. The Empress suspected the central focal point of the protective resonance was damaged.
As they stepped onto the other, always shrouded shore, Midhir felt something soft beneath his boots. Crimson blades of crass sprouted from between the slabs making up the pavement. Some slabs were cracked, some were fully shattered, allowing for more, larger plants to grow. Bushes that at first glance looked like roses sprouted at either side of the street.
They couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. Even when walking in the street, the buildings around them were little more than dark silhouettes.
“Shouldn’t we protect ourselves from the mist?” Arwen sheepishly asked. Her hands were clenched around her staff, and her voice wavered for a split second, betraying the brave front she was trying to put up.
“How would you do that?” Ilya asked. Her initial fear was gone. She walked with a brisk pace, and a straight back, her hand comfortably hanging on her side, and her blade sheathed again. “Not even my mother could maintain a proper protective barrier while moving, around five people. Can you?”
Arwen looked down. She couldn’t. No one could. It was especially difficult to try and keep the mist – or anything otherworldly away using resonances.
“Keep your wits about you, and make sure not to wander off. Midhir was right – the mist doesn’t just kill you. If you’re of strong mind, you’ll come out unscathed.” Cait once again forced a smile. “Just follow our princess’ lead.”
Arwen scowled. “Yet Midhir is the one whose been affected the most by the otherworldly.” She retorted, shooting him a glance.
He wasn’t sure whether her glance carried worry or anger. “I’m fine,” he dryly replied. He turned away from her, just in time to see a shadow move not too far ahead of them – a silhouette. “Ilya, ahead.” He hissed.
“Keep up.” She broke into a dash. The ring on her left hand glowed again before leaving a trail of ink-like blue light in the air. Without a word, they ran after her, following the trail she left for them as she chased the silhouette.
They ran through the back streets, straying away from the straight path leading to the centre of the district. They passed through winding alleys, moving further up north with each step they took, until they caught up with Ilya in a large round courtyard decorated with long dried out fountains.
Her shoulders were drooped and her fingers clenched around the hilt of her blade as she stood in front of a large archway made from a single block of chalk-coloured granite. Tall, thick walls stretched on either side of the archway, hiding the building on the other side from unwelcome gazes.
“Where is it?” Cait asked as they caught up with her.
Ilya simply pointed ahead, through the arch.
“Let’s hurry then,” Midhir motioned to step ahead.
Ilya caught his shoulder, forcefully pulling him back. “We won’t chase it any further.” Her words rang in the air like a bell. “We’re returning to our mission. I don’t care what the historian tries to do with the power trapped in the mist – he’ll likely die anyways.” She turned to leave as the mist seemed to clear just a little bit – enough to see the intricate carvings on the archway.
Enough to see the words carved into the chalk-coloured stone.
House Induen