The moment I saw the Mist, I felt it’s chill in my bones.

Things were fine at first. I simply floated in a dark void, my whole body pleasantly weightless and painless. I was even looking forward to what I knew might be coming with a certain mix of anticipation and glee. But then, that hated fog began to roll in. My surroundings were stained gray and that unnatural, roiling stuff that had irritated me all my life flowed beneath my feet. It came steadily at first but eventually I floated over a whole sea of Mist and all I could see in any other direction was gray. My only grace was the bright white sun that had appeared overhead, lighting the whole scene.

I began moving over the sea, slowly at first but faster and faster until I could practically hear the wind howling, the Mist churning below me in unnatural waves and patterns. I eventually began to make out figures in these patterns, small cells of people doing battle with hordes of creatures. Paeric and Arthus and Neidyr and many creatures which I could not even recognize. These folk fought their desperate battle below and in front of me, moving along as quickly as I was. The howling of the wind began to sound like the baying of these monstrous hordes, rising in a dense cacophony which turned quickly into a single and indescribable roar, like the rain of thousands of stones, steadily crashing to earth. A horrible rumble. And everything suddenly began to be tinged with a nauseating purplish green. I stared up and realized that my sun was being blotted out.

The white fire was now burning with a horrific purple-green glow and the image of a burning star was superimposed by a tortoise’s shell. New fires appeared, like little stars that circled the shell and they burned with a power that could destroy everything. I hurriedly looked away, but my surroundings and the Mist were colored with the same light that burned brighter and brighter. It also became hotter and hotter, and the roar from before became as palpable as the heat. I knew my death approached. I began to despair.

Suddenly, near and in front me, a pillar of light came to challenge my false sun. It glowed a cool blue, and it washed me with the relief of a mountain spring, muting the heat and the sound. I saw it open directly beneath the human figures, whose plight had only grown more desperate as their numbers dwindled. Only 8 remained, glowing blue in that massive column, but they began to hold their ground.

I desperately tried to force myself closer to them but couldn’t. Slowly, this pleading for myself turned into a pleading for them. The pleading echoed out into a desperate thunder in the world around me that temporarily silenced the ever-present roar. “Go, now! Trust the light and you will live!”. After this, my relief was over. The pain returned all at once, shocking, swift, and absolute.

I woke up with a gasp, sweating and nauseous. The pain was, unfortunately, still very much real, though it was actually radiating from my joints, and especially my back. I groaned and forced myself to sit up, looking over to my left by habit. Nothing but empty sheets. Mark had died a couple of years ago, but that emptiness still makes me sigh, especially on mornings like this one. I could have used my husband’s calm assurances.

The warm Pearlwood bedroom was only illuminated with the few faint rays of the earliest glimmerings of dawn. My body screamed for rest, but I knew that there was no way I was getting back to sleep after that ordeal, so I heaved my legs over to the side of my bed and slipped on my soft leather shoes. Shuffling, I made my way out of my room and into the bathroom. I washed my face with the basin, running my fingers through long strands of gray hair. I stared into my reflection in the water, contemplating the weathered and pale face which only contained slight hints at the feminine beauty which it once held. My only consolation was my vivid purple eyes, which still held enough sparks to start some fires. As if my future needed more of those.

“What are you going to do Anna?”, I mused in my husky morning voice, which sounded much more like a croak than I would like. “What on earth are you going to do?”.

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I knew that my dream held some sort of omen from my future, for the village’s future, even, though I would have a heck of a time convincing anyone about it. Mark trusted me, but he couldn’t help me now. I would need to find a way to influence events in the best possible direction myself, which was made doubly difficult by my age and constitution. Even when I was a spry fawn, I was no fighter. I glared at my reflection, hating my own weakness, before sighing. I will need to wait and watch for my chance.

In the spirit of that, I tied my hair before forcing my aching body back to my bedroom and into my clothes. The moment I ambled out my front door I saw It. That massive wall of Mist, several miles away and churning with its hypnotic, steady movement. I took some extra time out of my morning to fix it with an extra hard glare, before turning my attention to my village.

Bryn had been built atop a massive Mesa, it’s homes and facilities clustered towards the southern edge of the flat rock platform. This Mesa was surrounded by a veritable ocean of churning and undulating Mist. This vast ocean was, bizarrely enough, light gray and extremely thick, to the point that it was a translucent that bordered on opaque. Only shadowy figures of the animals that lived within it could be occasionally spotted, and only if they came close. It circled the Mesa, with the top of the Mist being some 100 ft higher than the edge of the platform, creating a wall that prevented visibility beyond our sanctum.

Our village rarely saw a proper sunrise because of the blasted stuff, but we got just enough gray light to start our day off early. The Purifiers were making their rounds to make sure that everyone’s water supply was topped off. Diligent Worker boys followed behind them, carrying massive jugs of purified water. One of them, a man, passed by my house and, with a wave of his hand, he sent the water where it needed to go, flowing through the air in smooth streams from the jug and into my home’s reserves. I nodded to him, and he smiled before moving on. The boy who carried the jug strained right after him, the massive container nearly twice his size. I sighed and began to stroll south.

I desperately needed these morning walks, despite the thorough protestations of my knees. I needed to stay in shape and clear my head and I pondered how I would be able to solve a problem I barely understood in the first place. By all rights, these cursed dreams barely even counted as proper warnings. But I had years of experience trying to puzzle through them and a plan was beginning to take fuzzy shape already.

I wandered toward the center of town, where our two most important buildings resided, our meeting hall and our gymnasium. The hall was a massive longhouse, complete with sloping roofs and 30-foot walls, with large wooden doors that faced towards the south. Beneath it were tunnels to a set of bunkers that the village could go to in case of emergency. Behind it was an even larger gymnasium, a huge and foreboding square stone building that could probably have fit 100 houses on just its first floor. Its doors faced north to a clearing where several roads from around the village converged. I wandered toward it in my reverie, taking the time to buy some fruit from one of the vendors that always seemed nearby, before sitting down on one of the stone benches and staring at those doors.

Masons rushed in and out through them and all around the building, making last minute repairs and checks. I saw a boy of no more than fourteen moving repairing a crack near the entrance. He stretched out his hands, and made smaller rocks dissolve into that crack, integrating them into the building and healing the damage. The Masons started to trickle away, doubtless to other tasks, as Fighters came from the houses around the gymnasium and all over the village. Their faces were hard and focused as they poured into the building for morning practice. The doors were blessedly wide to accommodate the steady stream of humanity and I searched the tide for a familiar face.

Then, there he was. A tall young man with dark black hair and pale skin, just across from her, in the clearing in front of the gym. He had broad shoulders and a solemn looking face, with a strong chin and a furrowed brow that would tell most people to stay away. His only unique feature would be his bright silver eyes, which glinted with an intelligence and curiosity that were unusual for a Fighter. They reflected the early morning light and stared ahead but slightly into space, indicating a mind that was occupied with something else. I knew that face from anywhere.

He was Adrian’s boy, but he reminded me of more than that. He reminded me of one of the cloud figures from my dream. One of the remaining 8 that were encompassed by the blue column. It was more of a vague association than a clear resemblance. I had been a little too distracted to examine the figures closely. But it was there, to be certain.

He didn’t seem to notice me as he crossed the open space and entered the gym, for which I was glad. It wouldn’t do to startle the boy and there wasn’t much of anything to say, even if he believed me. Even so, I could feel my satisfaction rising. I had a lead. I knew who to watch. Now I would just have to wait. The thought pricked my bubble of elation as quickly as it came. You would think that age would engender patience, but I had no such luck. I took a frustrated bite of my fruit but could only taste a few hints of my own fear.