Chapter 6: The Fog's Deception

"These nobles sure are careless, huh?" a newcomer said, their tone light but tinged with sarcasm.

Abel, who had just watched Edmund walk away, turned his gaze toward the speaker. Standing before him was a young man, almost a head shorter than Abel. The boy had a slender build, suggesting he was more accustomed to studying and indoor activities than physical labor. His complexion was fair, almost pale, indicating that he spent most of his time inside. His face was long and narrow, giving him a somewhat delicate and aristocratic appearance.

The young man was dressed in a fitted tunic made from fine wool, dyed a deep forest green. Over his tunic, he wore a dark gray doublet, which added a layer of formality to his outfit. The doublet was fastened with small, silver buttons that ran down the front, and it featured a high collar that gave him a composed and dignified look.

Abel nodded to the young man, who began speaking once more. "You have a cautious aura about you; that's a valuable trait for surviving the tower. I can also sense there's more to you than meets the eye. Come to room eighty at sundown. There’s a group of like-minded individuals willing to collaborate on surviving in the tower."

The boy adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, pushing them up slightly, allowing his deep blue eyes to see better.

"That's interesting, but who are you?" Abel asked, wondering why the boy was being so cryptic.

"Ah, right! I'm Ronald. My background and status won't matter where we are going, but I’m someone fully focused on having a successful path toward becoming somebody in the Tower and outside of it. There are others on this ship who are also uninterested in the mundane world and would rather focus on the magical world we’re entering. We meet in room eighty and dabble in the magical arts, trying to grasp anything we can before reaching the tower." Ronald scratched his head, a hint of embarrassment on his face, realizing he had just dumped a lot of information on Abel.

Abel’s mind buzzed with excitement at this interaction. Everything he wanted at this moment had just landed in his lap, as if his wish had been granted. He would gain more information about the tower and learn more about the world of magic. Of course, he remained wary of schemes, knowing the character of some of these nobles.

"I’m Abel. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I believe that this initiative to expand our knowledge in magic is smart, and I would be happy to be a part of it." Abel extended his hand, and Ronald met it with his own, shaking hands with one another. Thanks to his etiquette classes when he was young, Abel could navigate communications with these nobles. Although Ronald said he was indifferent to noble titles, Abel still decided to play it safe.

"Good. I'll see you then. We’re reaching the Foggy Coast soon; you know what that means… Don’t end up lost," Ronald said, half-joking, assuming Abel understood the subject matter he was referring to.

Abel nodded, unsure of what Ronald was speaking about. However, if this veil of mystery allowed others to see him as a knowledgeable figure, he wouldn’t want to ruin it. "Aren't we already lost in this world?" Abel said, looking away, trying his hardest to appear mysterious. He knew he was speaking nonsense, but did Ronald?

"Indeed, our true path is finding ourselves. I’ll see you later." Ronald smiled and turned to walk away.

Abel smiled back and exhaled inwardly, relieved that his bluff had worked. He contemplated Ronald’s words as well as the events that had transpired earlier between the two nobles. He took one last breath and walked toward the stairs, deciding to head back to his room.

…

The Mossy Floater sailed through the sea, parting the waters along its wake. Just ahead, a wall of white fog loomed, towering over the vessel. This wall of fog stretched far and wide, its thickness giving it the appearance of a solid, impenetrable object.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Atop the Mossy Floater, near the guiding light, stood Flint and Essence, gazing forward toward the fog.

"We should activate the guiding light’s stored ability to help us make it through the Foggy Coast. Without it, we’re doomed to be lost within this treacherous fog forever," Flint said.

Essence nodded slowly. "The smart recruits should be safe, especially with the protection of the guiding light. However, some of the fog might seep through and cause mental confusion. Hopefully, it doesn’t lower the number of recruits; we’re already below the quota."

…

Inside a dimly lit room within the Mossy Floater sat a girl wearing a yellow and black tunic, her voice barely audible as she spoke to herself. She was the same girl who had a confrontation with Edmund on the deck of the boat. Sitting on her bed, facing the window, she murmured softly, "That bastard really dared to attack me. What would you have done? Don’t tell me you knew the Apostle would intervene."

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. The room was void of any other presence, yet she continued as if engaged in a conversation. If anyone were to witness this scene, they might think Isabella was unwell or even delusional.

"What do you mean you're not mature yet? Your venom should still be enough to take them out!" she hissed, her noble demeanor crumbling as she cursed in frustration.

She was about to say more when she noticed wisps of fog seeping through the bottom of her door. Her eyes narrowed, and she whispered, "It's time, just as mom and dad said. The fog is here. Protect me."

Her tunic shifted slightly, and from within it, a small gray snake emerged, slithering down to the floor beside her. It began to circle Isabella slowly, creating a protective barrier. As it moved in a deliberate pattern, a soft white light enveloped Isabella, forming a shield that repelled the encroaching fog. She closed her eyes, furrowed her brow, and focused inwardly, her thoughts guarded as the fog continued to fill the room, unable to reach her.

…

The world around Abel was bathed in a golden light as he found himself back in his village, the familiar sights and sounds wrapping around him like a warm blanket. He stood in the center of the town square, the cobblestone streets beneath his feet radiating a comforting heat from the midday sun. The villagers bustled about, their faces kind and familiar, each one offering a smile or a nod as they passed. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread from Manda’s bakery filled the air, and Abel could hear the distant clatter of Joe the fisherman’s cart as he prepared for the afternoon market. Everything felt so vivid, so alive, that Abel almost believed he had woken from a terrible dream.

His mother appeared beside him, her brown curls catching the sunlight as she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. She was smiling, her eyes filled with warmth as they often were when they shared moments like these. Abel could feel the comfort of her presence, the way she always made him feel safe. His father stood nearby, laughing heartily with a group of townsfolk, his deep voice resonating through the square. The sound was so real, so reassuring, that Abel couldn’t help but smile. He had longed for this—this peace, this normalcy, the simplicity of a life without fear or loss.

But as he took a step forward, wanting to join his father, the ground beneath him seemed to ripple. The cobblestones shifted underfoot, their solid form wavering like the surface of disturbed water. He frowned, glancing down as a creeping sense of unease began to gnaw at the edges of his consciousness. The warm, golden light of the village began to dim, and the laughter that had filled the air turned hollow, echoing unnaturally in his ears. His mother’s hand, once so comforting, started to feel cold, her grip tightening in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

Abel’s heart pounded as he looked around, the vibrant colors of the village bleeding into a dull, lifeless gray. The familiar faces of the villagers blurred, their smiles stretching into unnatural grins, eyes darkening into empty voids. The comforting sounds of the village distorted, turning into a dissonant hum that filled his head with a rising sense of dread. Panic surged through him as he tried to pull away from his mother’s grasp, but her hand was no longer warm; it was icy, her fingers digging into his shoulder with an iron grip. The cheerful village square was melting away, replaced by a swirling darkness that clawed at the edges of his vision.

"No… this isn’t real," Abel whispered to himself, his voice trembling as the last remnants of the illusion began to unravel. The village, his parents, the sunlight—it was all a cruel trick, a mirage. The warmth that had enveloped him was gone, replaced by the biting chill of the night air. He was no longer in the safety of his village; he was no longer in his home and instead on the deck of the ship. White fog surrounded him, thick and oppressive, making it hard to see more than a meter ahead. The cold wind stung his face, and he could feel the rough wooden planks beneath his feet and hear the haunting call of the waves crashing against the hull, he was very close to the edge of the Mossy Floater.

With a shuddering breath, Abel tore himself free from the clutches of the hallucination, his body trembling as the real world snapped back into focus. His heart raced, his mind reeling from the vividness of the dream that had almost consumed him. He had been so close—so close to losing himself in that comforting illusion, to forget the pain and fear that now defined his existence.