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It seemed that Sam could still sense my unease about Tom and asked me to watch them work during a training session to assuage my fears. Unfortunately, it did not.

This was also the day that Sam wanted to explain to his men the danger of the Graylands to them, and so I did.

I told them the danger of something we scholars of the Graywalkers call the “Graying”. A supernatural phenomenon that occurs only in the Graylands. For whatever reason, color slowly starts to drain whatever clothing you're wearing and eventually even yourself, until you and everything you're wearing become some shades of gray.

I was laughed at by that detested Tom! Said, “What’s the big deal about clothing turning gray”. Such a fool he is! I had to explain further.

I asked Tom what he thinks happens after a person, and I meant a person, and not the clothing they’re wearing, turned gray. He gazed upon me with his mouth agape, a vacuous expression draped across his face like a mask of profound idiocy. Clearly, there is no answer to grasp in that empty head of his.

My overwhelming knowledge and intelligence are lost on such a simple-minded fool.

Continuing to explain, I told him that once the graying spreads to your flesh, it starts to bleed into your mind. “Your thoughts also become gray,” as another scholar put it. Once that happens, people usually develop an extremely severe case of dissociation, a mental disorder that can stay with you for the rest of your life if you are not careful.

The expression that twisted across Tom's face after I had finished my explanation was a sight that filled me with satisfaction. His eyes, which had moments before blazed with a confident, almost contemptuous fire, now widened with a mix of disbelief and dawning danger.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

It was at that moment that I found myself besieged by a barrage of frantic inquiries from Sam's men—once brimming with bravado, but now clearly gripped by an encroaching dread. Their faces, once indifferent or even mocking, had transformed into masks of apprehension. “Would an airtight suit protect us?” one of them stammered, his face pale and twisted with concern. They were all beginning to grasp the true depth of the danger I had been warning about.

I told them an airtight suit wouldn't help. The graying cares not for the air we breathe. It is no poison of the lungs, no miasma that a helmet might filter away. It is a phenomenon that is based on proximity to the Graylands. Once we enter the Graylands the graying will immediately start affecting us.

I could see the fear on the faces of Sam's men deepen as I explained this to them.

Oh, how satisfying it is to watch the arrogant veneer of those once-proud military men crumble before a force they could neither conquer nor comprehend. Their faces, once set in rigid confidence, twisted into horror as they finally grasped the dreadful reality before them—a threat against which their weapons, their strategies, and their very strength were as impotent as children waving sticks against the storm.

Alas, I had my fill of satisfaction from terrifying them at the moment and shifted to placate their fears.

I explained to them that the graying is a very slow process. It also affects the object you carry first, leaving your flesh the last thing to start turning gray. So, if we're quick, we can get into the Graylands and out with only a few pieces of ruined clothing—rather than suffer any of the potential mental debilitation.

This appeared to soothe the nerves of most of Sam’s men, their rigid postures loosening and their eyes no longer darting with frantic uncertainty. Yet, there were still a few among them whose gazes betrayed a lingering dread, eyes that remained clouded with doubt and mistrust.

To those wavering souls, I offered further reassurance. "Prepare yourselves as I instruct, and we shall get through this unharmed," I spoke with a confidence I did not entirely possess, for I knew all too well that there are likely dangers to the Graylands that even I am unaware of.

It is hard for such a great mind as I to know exactly what others are thinking, but I like to think that these men of war finally understand the dangers we face now and might finally begin to respect me.