Dawn breaks, and the six Mistwalkers slowly awaken from their slumber to prepare for yet another day's journey. Once their small morning meals are completed, they begin to reequip themselves with their armor and weapons and bundle up their bedrolls.

“Royd.” Veros calls out. “Before you put on your chest piece, let me take another look at your wound, just in case.” He walks over to the brawny woodcutter and pulls down the head hole of his cotton shirt to inspect his stitched up injury. “Still looks nice and clean. You should definitely be alright from here on – no sign of infection at all.” He releases Royd's shirt to allow him to strap his leather cuirass on.

“Looks like the only village left on our way to Armasstadt is a village called Ervine, about thirty-five miles north.” Kellar recites the information presented on the map he's reading. He rubs his chin in curiosity while looking at it. “I feel like I've heard of that place before.” He utters to himself before rolling the map back up. “Anyway, since we're stayin' there for the night, we should have about sixteen miles left for tomorrow before reachin' our destination.”

“As long as the sun is still out when we reach Armasstadt, then it's alright.” Veros responds while putting on his own leather chest piece. “Going at our usual pace, we'll probably be there before midday.”

“How big is Armasstadt, anyway?” Royd asks. “I've never been. By what I've heard, its size is comparable to Evatica. Is that true?”

“For the most part, yes.” The veteran answers. “I've been there a few times in my life, and it is quite large, but thankfully the streets are very easy to navigate, as they're laid out on a circular grid. They're not as winding and confusing as certain districts in Evatica. In fact, the main road from the front gate leads straight to Armas Castle.”

“When was the last time you were up there?” Kellar interjects with a question of his own. “Do you know anything about that Advisor Hayne fellow that the monk mentioned?”

“The last time was...” Veros narrows his eyes and pauses to recall the exact amount of time ago his last visit took place. “Thirteen years? It was before I went to Kudura. I didn't really pay attention to political figures during that stay, so I can't say I know anything about him. Armasstadt is quite a large place – almost as populated as Evatica. There's a lot of people back south who are worried sick of the fates their friends and relatives might've suffered at the hands of the mist.”

“Say,” Kellar speaks up again, “what do you think would happen after the mist disappears? So many villages and towns are going to be empty, and with the all the animals gone, what's gonna happen with the landscape around here? Not to mention all of the corpses to identify and bury.”

Veros shakes his head. “I can't even begin to speculate how the crown would approach just a vast clean-up. I assume they'd take control of the land, since technically no one owns it anymore. Legion platoons might be sent to villages to collect and bury – or burn – the dead. Then there's the matter of repopulating those villages, and finding people to take over farms and such, which could take years, especially for Armasstadt. There's too many factors to consider. If the mist were to disappear right this instant – before we even reach Armasstadt – the effects of it will still be felt for decades.”

The rogue heaves a long, exasperated sigh. “Fuckin' hell. I know it's a bit too late to be sayin' this, but it feels like we're in over our heads.”

“Maybe.” The veteran bluntly responds. “But if it's left alone, then decades will eventually become centuries.”

“Right...” Kellar utters as he continues to secure his sheathed sword at his waist.

The Mistwalkers, after arming themselves and donning their armor, exit their one-night shelter through the back door leading to the yard where their horses stay, and begin to resaddle them for the upcoming journey.

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“You know,” Royd speaks up, “it's a bit hard to notice when we don't have the magic barrier to give us some perspective, but the fog has become much, much thicker in the last few days.” He turns his head around, taking note of the significant density of the grey wall surrounding them. Since leaving Rosemont, the last Legion checkpoint, the area of visibility has shrunk a daunting amount, going from approximately a three hundred foot radius, to just about two hundred.

“I've noticed.” Veros responds while tightening the saddle around his horse's body. “The rate at which it grows thicker may even increase as we approach Armasstadt. There's no telling how low our visibility will be by this time tomorrow.”

“I suppose we don't have any way to alleviate such an issue?” Kellar asks.

“Not if we don't have an arcane barrier of our own, no.”

“Hey, Zyra.” The ex-mercenary turns to the mage. “Anything you can do about it?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. You need a resynthesizer, which we don't have.”

“Good Gods.” Kellar groans. “Magic has so many damn rules.” He gripes as he mounts his horse.

Once they've readied their horses, the group mounts and proceeds northward, leaving Surling and making their way to Ervine. As they begin their final day before reaching their anticipated destination, some of them can't help but silently theorize what awaits them at the forsaken valley city of Armasstadt. Is it a ghost town of withered remains – countless unmoving corpses left behind by the initial rampage of the colorless miasma? Or are its citizens all wandering, reanimated undead ready to ambush and attack any foolhardy outsiders? What of the mist's source? Does a mysterious holy relic wait for them? Or one of the dreaded black arcane crystals? Many possibilities swim around their minds, and it's incredibly difficult to pinpoint the preferred outcome.

The quiet riding is a typical tedium they've became very accustomed to, with the heavy silence punctuated with the muffled thumps of the feet of their own horses hitting the dirt underneath them with each step. As always, their keen eyes are peeled and alert to maintain attentiveness to their surroundings – the shrinking boundary of the grey curtain at all sides.

Before long, the first shadowy figure inside the mist appears for the day. Veros and Atticus wordlessly take notice of it without stopping or slowing their pace. The continue their advance, and the clearing mist reveals another undead villager in cotton clothing. The appearance of necrotic commonfolk has become significantly more frequent since passing the Rosemont line, as few Mistwalkers go far enough to eliminate them.

“I'll handle this one.” Veros volunteers and dismounts. As soon as his feet touch the dirt, he draws his sword and grabs his shield.

With no hesitation, the veteran walks a straight, threatening line to the undead, which matches his aggression with its own hostile approach despite being unarmed. The cadaver lunges forward with its arms extended ahead of its body. Veros lifts his shield with the intent to bash it against his foe, but the undead grabs the rim of it and begins to pull with surprising strength. The Mistwalker, with his sword hand still very free, reaches around and stabs the tapered point into the enemy's side, forcing it to loosen its grip. He pulls his shield from the undead's grip, cocks his arm back, and successfully connects a second bash, which knocks the corpse backwards into a stagger. Veros swings his sword in a horizontal arc at almost head level, and lodges the blade more than halfway into the nameless foe's neck. It falls over limply, hitting the ground with a thud.

The veteran slides his blade into his scabbard and turns to walk back to his horse and mounts again. Without a word, he presses forward and continues to lead the group north. However, after only a handful of steps, yet another shadow becomes visible behind the cloudy veil, approaching quickly. It looks significantly smaller, and its feet can be heard dashing across the dirt with a muffled patter. Soon, the figure emerges as a child – an undead boy, heavily decomposed but with enough flesh on its face to still seem vaguely human. It ignores the Mistwalkers and approaches the motionless body of the adult undead Veros had just eliminated, standing with a blank expression and its eyes cast downward toward the unmoving corpse. Veros stares at the reanimated child with clear inner conflict showing on his face.

“What do you want to do?” Atticus asks.

Veros doesn't answer immediately, but continues to stare at the child for a moment before sighing. “Let's just go.” He utters with a clear indication of reluctance, but turns and urges his horse forward all the same, leaving the lonesome undead child behind in the clutches of the endless grey abyss.