Chapter 03

Crimson Haze

In a distant place, far from worries of dreams or lackluster father figures, Lark watched the sky. The thick red mist, now a familiar sight, swallowed everything around. The stars and moon, once beacons of light, seemed to have vanished entirely beyond the foggy crimson mist. His sunken gaze moved downward, toward the makeshift -camp that surrounded him. Hundreds of survivors much like himself sat around, some were occupied with various tasks, some had their heads in their hands. Each looked like they had been through hell, mud and blood painted their clothes—or rather their rags—their hair and their skin.

The camp was a patchwork of survival, the tattered tents that were scattered around fluttered weakly in the occasional gust of wind. The faint glow of small lanterns barely visible through the thick mist created long, wavering shadows, dancing like restless spirits against the fog. Somewhere nearby, a child coughed—a hollow, dry sound that caused much pain to those who heard it.

If it was only a mere three days ago, the situation would have seemed less hopeless.

Lark’s dark eyes lowered to his hands. Fresh cuts and fleshy wounds lined his palms, barely visible under the thick layer of mud and grime that covered his skin. He grimaced at the sight. The cuts hurt, but the real pain they carried wasn’t physical. The faces of the fallen haunted him—the mother holding her child, their blood curdling screams that still echoed in his ears, or the brave warrior who he had called a friend that stood his ground, just before he got overwhelmed and devoured. Their hollow eyes lingered in his mind, accusing, pleading. It was all his fault.

“If only I was stronger,” Lark muttered under his breath as he clenched his fists. “I could have saved them. I could have-“

“Lark,” a husky voice called out, interrupting him.

Lark shook his head and relaxed his hands then looked up at the interruption. “Rudd,” Lark said with a concerned look. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Rudd moved closer, his large shadow looming over Lark and his boots crunching the gravel under each step. He frowned. “What? Am I not allowed to seek the company of a friend?”

Lark shook his head and let out a small smile. “Never mind.“

I guess some company isn’t the worst, he thought to himself. “How are you my friend?” Lark asked as he reached out for a handshake.

The burly man returned the handshake. Rudd wasn’t a small man, if anything, he was very large. He was in his mid thirties, with a body chiseled and built from years of military work. His large frame contrasted sharply with Lark’s lean frame, and yet, despite his threatening and intimidating appearance, Rudd’s eyes held a calming warmth.

After a moment, Rudd stepped to the side and sat across from Lark on a similar small crate. He raised his large hand as he stroked the edge of his bushy mustache. “Asking how I am in a situation like this,” he chuckled. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m jolly and able to sleep?”

“Yeah, that was a silly question,” Lark answered with a laugh. His expression darkened as he spoke again. “How’s the situation in the camp?”

Rudd sighed as his expression grew dimmer. “We have enough rations to last us through winter…” he paused as he glanced around. “But everyone’s moods are bleak. Most are hopeless, many don’t think we will survive another attack… most think we’ve spent too long in the mist-”

“They’re probably right,” Lark scoffed, cutting Rudd short. Just how could they survive? Most of their capable fighters had died three days ago—it would surely take several miracles to survive until and then through winter, or to even escape the mist.

“Yeah…” Rudd replied, his expression darkening. “That god damned mist and those beasts…” he muttered under his breath, lowering his head.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

This wasn’t the first time Lark had heard someone curse those beasts of the mist—he had of course cursed them more times than he could count. Lark scoffed and glanced down at his chest, where a thin necklace loosely hung from his neck. Attached to the thin rope that he called a necklace was a claw, its black shell absorbing even the faintest light. The obsidian curved talon belonged to one of the first beasts that Lark or the world had seen; and he had killed it—not long after it had butchered countless bystanders.

Hah, Lark sighed in remembrance. It had only been a newborn… we were so lucky… yet so unfortunate… that cursed mist…

Almost nothing was known about the mist. But one thing was clear. It was only a matter of time until it infected everything—it spread slowly, but surely. Visible black veins would spread over the infecteds body, like a rapid plague eating its way throughout the blood channels. Soon, their behaviors would gradually become more violent, then they would weaken tremendously, and once they did, they were better off dead.

Lark sighed then glanced around the camp. Around them, the quiet of the camp continued—soft murmurs of conversation, the crackling of small fires, and the occasional cough or groan of someone in pain. Like Rudd had said, everyone’s moods were bleak—the recent attack had been a large setback in their journey to the safe zone all the way in the eastern kingdom, Rifeton. There was at least a thousand kilometers between the camp and their destination, and it wasn’t a straight, direct course. They needed to get there, fast. Rifeton was their last hope—a place where the mist hadn’t yet reached, where survival still seemed possible. At least, that was what they believed.

Lark placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes when a sudden chill ran down his spine. An eerie silence hung in the air. The mist seemed to thicken, pressing against their skin like a living thing. Then, from beyond the thick, crimson mist came a noise. It was a familiar one, a deafening yet raspy roar from the beasts that had taken everything from him. The roar seemed to shake the air itself as the lights flickered and the shadows danced. Goosebumps rose on his skin as sticky sweat dripped from his body.

Lark hurriedly sat up and his eyes met those of Rudd’s, who much like his own, looked scared. “They’re getting close,” Lark confirmed.

Rudd nodded with a serious expression and quickly stood up, his large build towering on Ludd. “We need to move. Now, before it’s too late.”

“Sound the sirens. We don’t fall today,” Lark said, his voice steady despite the storm raging within. He pushed himself to his feet, his toned muscles straining, every movement fighting against his exhaustion.

He wasn’t sure if it was foolish to be confident in a situation like this but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t die here. Not today.

As he began to step forward, an image flashed in his mind. Blurry, and unfamiliar, he couldn’t make out any details… but it made him feel something. Was it excitement? Anxiety? Hope? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. The situation at hand was all that mattered, who cared if he was having nightmares or visions.

***

Away from the daunting red mist, the familiar soft hum of distant hover trains echoed across the station platform, blending with the faint murmur of voices and footfalls of the crowds. Finn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his small brown suitcase parked by his side. His hot breath formed wispy clouds in the cool morning air, and he tucked his hands away in his pockets.

Finn craned his neck upwards, scanning the holographic departure board above. His train wasn’t due for another ten minutes, but his heart thumped as if it were to arrive any second. He was early—of course he was. Waiting had always been something he was used to, he was patient by nature, but today was different. Today was special.

The platform bustled with life. Families hugged goodbye, friends laughed in groups as they shared jokes and last-minute advice, and solitary travelers stood in reflective silence. Finn found himself somewhere in between, lost in the quiet hum of anticipation.

Finn’s gaze darted around, taking in everything around him. Sweat began to form on his forehead, this scene felt so… familiar. A strong sense of Déjà vu crept through him. For a fleeting second a vision flashed through his mind—it was blurry, like everything was covered in a hazy red mist, but he could make out ruins. A faint hoarse voice rang in his ears, calling out to him.

His stomach twisted and he stumbled, and soon everything went back to normal. The visions were gone and the voice had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Finn shook his head repeatedly, trying to dispel the thought of what he had just seen. It was so confusing, so alien, yet so familiar at the same time.

The train whistle blew in the distance, snapping Finn back to reality. The platform brushed with renewed energy as Finn instinctively looked toward the oncoming hover vehicle. It’s here… he thought to himself.

He exhaled, grounding himself in the present. Whatever that was, it had to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was taking the step forward. He needed to focus on his dreams. No delusions or visions could stop him.

The hover train neared closer, its silver shell glistening in the faint morning sunlight. Finn straightened up, clutching the handle of his suitcase a little tighter. The hover train's engine hummed louder, the sleek silver craft seeming to glide through the air toward the platform. The train finally began to slow, the soft hiss of its mana-powered brakes accompanying its smooth stop.

The crowd around him shifted, people beginning to gather their belongings and then boarding the hover vehicle. Finn hesitated for just a moment before he stepped forward, his heart quickening with excitement. He joined the line to board, a mix of quiet anticipation and the hum of muffled conversations filling the air. He could feel the heat of the engines as he passed by, his thoughts buzzing with the possibilities ahead. What would life be like once he reached his destination? What kind of person would he become there? His dreams felt within reach, and that made the knot in his stomach seem more like excitement than anxiety.

As he neared the door, he stole another glance at the departure board above. The time was listed—his train, the one to take him away, was departing now. The moment was finally here. He stepped into the train car, finding an empty seat by the window. He placed his suitcase in the overhead compartment and sank into the plush seat, glancing out at the bustling station one last time.

He was leaving home for the first time in his life, yet he wasn’t sad, or anxious. He was excited. This was his future, this was his dream.