Later the same night, the six Mistwalkers are huddled around the fire pit, which houses a small flame not unlike the humble bonfires they've grown accustomed to building when staying at the Legion checkpoints. No doubt they have a lot on their minds now since the shocking new information brought to them about the dangers they could face further north. The existence of smarter undead that act and fight like living men – riding undead horses, adeptly using weapons such as swords and bows – it was an intimidating idea that threw the journeyers for a loop.

They all gaze blankly at the dancing fire, their heads swimming with thoughts of what to do next and if they should continue at all. They had agreed on an extra day of rest at Terrance to deliberate on their approach, but what is there to discuss about an enemy they can't see coming thanks to the existence of the impenetrable colorless fog? With their current limited resources, the only plausible way to proceed is to simply increase caution and try to adapt on the fly to whatever troubles befall them. It's a harsh truth that they must come to terms with before the mission can continue.

“I'm finally startin' to realize the real danger we're in.” Kellar suddenly remarks, his face giving way to an expression of deep hopelessness. He had always been the first to suggest the avoidance of confrontation, but only as a means of guaranteeing survival. Now, with much more threatening enemies in store for them, he isn't sure if running away would be a safe option, either. “When we first came out here, I was real scared of dyin'. Real damn scared. But as we made more progress, I started to feel a bit more confident. After the Levinburg incident, then getting' ambushed by those ashen bodies, then fightin' that big bastard before Rosemont, I thought we'd be just fine. Now I'm not so sure. It feels like things just keep gettin' worse.”

“I know.” Veros responds empathetically, understanding the sense of dread Kellar feels. “It's hard to swallow. There's only six of us, and we don't have many resources at our disposal.”

“Should we turn back?” Zyra asks, bringing her gaze up from the fire to look around at the faces of her comrades.

Veros shakes his head. “As frightened as I am to continue, I think I'm more frightened of running away. I want to help Yhordran more than anything, especially since the crown doesn't seem to want the same. I don't know if we're destined to be the ones to save the land, but if we turn around, then we might as well have not tried at all.”

“Aye.” Royd nods slowly in agreement. “I have friends and family whose lives have been ruined by this plague. It hurts my heart seeing their faces, so glum and hopeless.”

Veros looks around the room at his teammates. “We all have our reasons for being here. I think now's the time to truly decide on whether they're enough for each of you to continue.”

“I already know.” Royd interjects. “Someone's bound to reach Armasstadt and stop this mist, and we won't know if it's us until we try.”

Kellar clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Sounds like something every poor bastard told themselves before dying.”

“Maybe so.” The brawny man continues. “But they were still closer to succeeding than anyone who gave up halfway.”

“But wouldn't you rather fail and be alive than fail and be dead?” The agitated rogue fires back.

“If everyone thought that way, then nothing with risks would ever get done.” Royd responds with equal aggression. “You were a mercenary, weren't you?”

Kellar nods lightly. “Yeah, I was. So?”

“Then you of all people should realize that every time you succeeded at something, you did so because you had the drive to not stop in the middle. A mission can have many failures, but it only needs one success to be finished. This mission in particular just has higher stakes than normal.”

Kellar laughs mixed with a sigh. “You really don't know when to give up.”

“I don't.” Royd proclaims with a smile. “That's why I want to continue.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Me too.” A rarely-heard voice makes itself known. Erik looks up at Royd with commitment in his eyes. “I want to continue, as well. My father said I lack ambition. If I quit now, it would prove him right. It would be admitting that I wasn't invested enough to keep going.”

“That makes three of us willing to continue north.” Veros declares. “Anyone else?”

“Let me sleep on it, will ya?” Kellar complains.

“I won't force out an answer right this instant.” Veros says as he looks at the three who have yet to make a decision – Kellar, Atiicus, and Zyra. “If you need to sleep on it, you can do so. But you'll need to make a choice by this time tomorrow night.” The three quietly nod in response. Veros continues. “Alright. Let's call it a night here and head to bed.”

The group extinguishes the small flame in the fire pit and goes to their respective rooms. In the eastern bedroom, where Atticus and Zyra are, the two lie restlessly in their cots, rattling their brains with thoughts of the future, their mortality, Yhordran, and the mist. For the knight, a lot of Royd's words held true and sparked an internal reexamination of his quest for meaning, in a good way. Something about the brawny woodcutter's lecture somewhat eased the knight's mind about the circumstances of his past that motivated him to abandon his home in the first place. The pyromancer, however, isn't as self-assured.

“Are you still awake?” Zyra's softens her voice to a near whisper.

“I am.” Atticus replies, nearly at his normal speaking volume.

Zyra, now knowing that her companion is still conscious, sits up in her cot. “I only wanted to become a Mistwalker so I could improve my casting, and I've more or less already accomplished that. I feel like I would overstay my welcome if I continued north with the others.”

“Is that the only reason?” He turns his head while still lying down to face the mage.

“What do you mean?”

“That may be the initial reason you came into the mist, but you haven't gained any new ones since then?”

“Well...” Zyra ponders. “I do want to save Yhordran, of course. I also want to discover the source of the mist. And I'd... I'd also feel horrible if I left and none of you came back. I'd spend the rest of my life wondering if I could've prevented it.”

“I'd say those are all reasons enough to continue.” The knight states bluntly.

Zyra turns in her bed, bringing her legs off and allowing her feet onto the floor. “How about you? Have your reasons stayed the same?”

“I'm not so sure anymore.” Atticus offers a short, vague response. “Part of me wants to find a new purpose in life, to accomplish something great as a means of washing away my past failures, but...” Still lying down, he stares at the ceiling, thoughtfully reconsidering his motivations. “I'm starting to realize that it won't happen so long as I choose to carry this guilt regardless of what I do.”

“Don't you want to let that guilt go?” Zyra, still unsure of where his guilt comes from, tries to converse with him about it. “Why have you carried it for so long?”

His voice becomes softer as he becomes more caught up in his self-reflection. “I feel like I'm trying to work for forgiveness from someone who can't offer it. Not because they wouldn't want to, but because I can't speak to them. So I'm left here, constantly wondering when it'll be enough.”

“Are you... punishing yourself?” The puzzled mage doesn't know how to unwrap his purposely vague musings, but attempts to extrapolate a more concise thought.

“I guess I am.” He nods slightly. “I try to justify it in different ways, but I suppose the cold, hard truth is that I'm angry at myself and want someone to judge me.”

“I'm still not sure of the context for your troubles, but throwing your life away for some divine judgement you can't possibly receive isn't a good way to live.” Zyra, her expression still somewhat twisted in confusion, decides to ask another personal question. “Would the people who love you want you to do this to yourself?”

“No...” The knight solemnly responds. “They wouldn't.” He finally sits up and turns his body to face Zyra. “I've been thinking of Royd's words, about how even if you try and fail, you were still closer to succeeding than you would be if you hadn't tried at all. Do you agree with him?”

“I think so.” She nods. “How can you accomplish a goal if you don't even make an attempt at it? Success rarely falls on your lap.”

“But what if you had only one opportunity for success and fail; no second chances? What then?”

Zyra leans her head back slightly, recalling a memory. “This reminds me of something one of my teachers taught us when we first started our first year at university. He said that the further a person falls, the higher they can rise afterward. Basically, he was teaching us that everyone fails, and if you have time to find excuses to keep yourself down, then you have time to find reasons to stand again.”

“I see...” Atticus nods to himself, contemplating the words of this teacher. It's true that instead of finding reasons to pick himself up and continue living normally, he opted to find reasons to stay down. Perhaps it's easier to wallow in self-pity than it is to make a conscious effort to find happiness again.

The pyromancer leans her body forward curiously. “What are you thinking about now?”

“I'm thinking about the fact that I have a lot to think about.” The knight responds with a self-deprecating half-smile.