CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Bad Omen Returns

In District 98, no one is allowed to make fire without strict permission. Wood is far too limited, usually scavenged from old buildings or retrieved by Chainrunners in the nearby areas. There are other possible fuel sources, but they are also restricted, difficult to replenish and saved for cooking only.

Unless, of course, you have a profession like Jharim’s. He needs fire as a blacksmith. But for me, the only way to cook any meat in this abandoned shop was to use the broken wooden furniture. And since I was technically outside the district, I supposed I was not violating any laws. At least, not officially.

I decided to set the fire indoors, leaving both the door and window wide open so the smoke could escape into the swirling fog. This might have drawn the attention of nearby beasts, but Kara insisted that, in my current condition, eating raw meat was far too risky. She pointed out that cooking small portions would not take long if I stayed close to the flames, ten minutes at most. It sounded so quick, but every second carried some lingering dread.

I took a few rib bones that were not completely shattered, sharpened them a little, and used them as makeshift skewers. Wrapping cloth around two chunks of roughly two hundred grams each, I prepared one for that night and one for the next morning. Igniting the fire with the scraps of wood and a few stones took some work, and I worried about scorching the second floor—made of old timber—if the flames got too high. Even so, I figured I would leave a permanent black mark on the stone floor.

Luckily, just as Kara had predicted, it only took about ten minutes for the meat to cook. The smell wafting through the shop felt almost divine, and the first bite made me think I had stumbled straight into paradise.

That night, I lay on a surprisingly cozy mattress with a full belly, safely enclosed by walls. This was what a home should be.

I never expected my first real home to be inside the fog. Yet it felt like heaven, even compared to the cold streets of District 98. Dangers lurked outside, but at least there were walls, less biting cold, and, most importantly, food. I fell asleep in a bliss so deep that I nearly forgot I might not wake up if a beast stumbled upon me.

Burning those weeds, as Kara suggested, likely masked both my scent and that of the cooked meat. Though my mind was not entirely at ease, sleep overtook me anyway, and I drifted into soft oblivion.

Morning arrived, and I was genuinely surprised to find myself alive. By then, I knew what to do next. After eating the portion I had set aside for breakfast, I burned a fresh bundle of foliage to hide any lingering smells, gathered my belongings, and started walking toward the ward once again.

That day, however, I intended to put my reckless plan into motion. Part of the strategy involved letting people see me emerge from the fog—just as I had done on the day of my first arrival, so I made my way to the main road leading to District 98. It passed by one of the district entrances, a small station where city guards were posted. This particular entrance lay closest to the residential area.

Before long, I noticed the guards stiffen. From where they stood, I was just a vague silhouette in the haze. Meanwhile, I had grown somewhat accustomed to the thick mana swirling around, so I could see them more clearly than they could see me. My every step propelled me closer to an uneasy confrontation. Part of me wanted to slip into the district unseen, but I knew that would defeat the purpose of my plan.

I had considered simply telling the city guard or even the Chainrunners that District 95 was about to be destroyed, but the first question they would ask was how I knew. If I tried to mention Markus, that would betray our deal. He had made it very clear that he would know if I spoke of him.

Even if I were to ignore my agreement and lay out the truth, I would sound like a lunatic, claiming a beast of the fog had saved me, talked to me, and shared knowledge of impending doom. People would assume I was either delirious or a cunning liar.

Yet they did believe I was some kind of omen—on the day I had walked out of the fog, multiple districts had fallen. If I repeated the act now, perhaps they would lend more weight to my words.

Still, that alone would not convince them. I needed a story credible enough to make people consider abandoning the district before winter ended, packing their belongings and leaving the ward’s protection. It felt like an impossible sell, but I had to try.

I moved slowly, ensuring the guards at the small station observed me. It was a modest building with narrow glass windows, meant to keep watch for creatures prowling the fog. I saw three guards on duty. When they noticed my closeness, they stood in unison, ready for combat. From their vantage, any movement in the fog might be a beast testing the ward’s strength.

Truth be told, these men and women were braver than most, posting themselves here every single day. They saw beasts charge the ward regularly, never knowing if the barrier might fail. Everyone had been more on edge since the day I arrived; they bore that burden as well.

I could only wonder how they would react if they knew a monster was planning to annihilate their home. If not for my deal with Markus, he would be the one stepping out of the haze right now and the sight of him would likely be far more terrifying.

As I reached a spot barely ten meters from the ward, I saw all three guards with weapons drawn. Their eyes were hard, scanning me from head to toe. They looked ready to kill me on the spot if I showed any sign of a threat. I realized then that they might have already confronted danger that very morning, especially given how restless the fog was of late.

Many fog creatures could not physically harm a well-maintained ward, but some took sadistic glee in tormenting the guards with bluff attacks, testing their resolve. A guard who thrust a spear or sword through the boundary could be disarmed or worse, dragged out by whatever lurked beyond. Countless defenders had been lost to such cunning tactics, often causing more losses when their comrades rushed in after them. Such clever creatures knew well how to exploit human fear and they knew that a man could be killed without being touched.

This tactic was so common that many city guards fall victim to it every year. Despite being taught never to attack through the ward unless it is weakening, fear can overwhelm training. Over the years, countless guards have been pulled outside while their comrades, in desperation, sometimes follow them into the fog, only to be lost in the claws of cunning beasts. Not all monsters are mindless. Some know exactly how to exploit human bravery or panic.

All three of these guards appeared to be veterans, likely having witnessed such horrors firsthand. Their shoulders were tense and their expressions grim, as though they had no illusions about what might happen if they showed weakness. One false move and I suspected they would make an example out of me in an instant.

Just then, I noticed an embroidered name on one of the guard uniforms, reminding me of Tarin’s. With my heart pounding, I silently called out to Kara.

“Kara, you can see what I see, right? Can you read their names from here?”

[Kara]

[Affirmative. All physical senses are shared. However, user vision has limitations. Still, I can process the image to identify the writing. Please wait.]

[Processing image…]

[Concluded.]

[The spearman in front, closest to the ward, is Roran Drennan, approximately thirty years old. The second spearman beside him is Kael Lorren, around twenty-four. The woman behind them with the bow—she has just nocked an arrow aimed at you—is Mareth Erynn, likely around twenty-six.]

“What? She’s already preparing to shoot me?” I thought, my pulse accelerating.

[Kara]

[Affirmative.]

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I had nearly forgotten that arrows could pass through the ward if they were fired from within. Nothing in the barrier would stop a projectile aimed at me. And there I stood, wide open. If I kept lingering, Mareth might loosed her arrow before I could say a single word.

Besides that, this was the primary road, one of the most common routes for monsters testing the ward daily. Waiting here, even for a few moments, felt like stepping into a trap. Any nearby creature might see me as easy prey.

And so, despite the tension, I steeled myself and prepared to speak, hoping I could convince them to listen before fear or duty compelled them to strike me down.

“Mareth, d–don’t shoot me!” I called out, my voice echoing faintly in the heavy fog.

She responded by drawing her bowstring even tighter, the arrow aimed squarely at my face. From my vantage, I saw the sharpened tip quivering in midair, a pointed threat that made my heart skip.

That... was not the reaction I had hoped for. Saying her name had likely set off every alarm in her mind, what kind of creature skulking in the mists knows a guard’s name? It did not help that my voice carried strangely through the swirling haze, echoing between distant, half-ruined towers that had once been part of Araksiun’s grand design.

I should have planned my approach more carefully.

With unsteady hands, I lifted my arms to show I held no weapon. Then, forcing each step to be slow and deliberate, I moved forward. “Look, it’s me, Omen,” I called, trying my best to sound calm. “I’m unarmed... I promise.”

“Do not come any closer, monster!” Roran shouted, his voice booming across the quiet gloom. “If you don’t want to be shot, go back into the fog!”

He gripped his spear tightly, the tip trembling—not from weakness, I realized, but from a taut mix of adrenaline and fear. I could see beads of sweat dotting his forehead, despite the chill that hung in District 98’s winter air. Monsters almost never spoke, and certainly not by name. It had rattled them in a way I should have expected.

As I walked closer, meter by meter, the fog thinned around me, and my small figure gradually came into sharper focus. I watched their alarm shift into puzzled confusion. After all, I was only nine years old—a skinny, short boy wearing blood-stained rags. My coat long gone. According to Kara, I was also underdeveloped for my age, which meant I looked even more fragile than most kids my size.

“Wait, don’t shoot,” Roran said, lowering his spear just a fraction. “It’s... it’s a kid,” he murmured, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

Next to him, Kael and Mareth hesitated but kept their weapons poised. Mareth’s knuckles were white around her bow’s grip, her arrow still nocked and angled in my direction. Her eyes flicked between me and the swirling fog behind me, as though expecting something bigger, something monstrous, to emerge at any second. Kael edged subtly sideways, likely to flank me if I turned hostile, but from his uncertain gaze, I doubted he truly believed I was a threat.

They all looked uneasy about the fact that I lingered on the wrong side of the ward’s boundary. The ward itself shimmered faintly.

But I did not dare cross the boundary too suddenly. If I startled them, I might end up with a spear through my chest or an arrow in my skull. Meanwhile, standing outside made me all too aware of Kara’s gentle warnings flickering in my mind, telling me that beasts were stirring at the edge of hearing.

Indeed, the air behind me felt heavier. I caught faint growls in the distance, echoing among the rubble of broken buildings. During Araksiun’s golden age, those structures had likely housed laboratories, shops, or perhaps luxury apartments supported by advanced engineering. Now they lay half-sunken and cracked, with vines and creeping mold claiming every available surface. The thick Fog pressed in, muting sounds but amplifying the dread. There were definitely creatures out there, drawn by the smell of living prey or by the guards’ agitated voices.

“Roran, what do we do?” Kael asked, voice tense. He glanced over at Roran, hoping for quick leadership. Mareth, too, looked his way, though her gaze darted back to me every few seconds.

Roran’s jaw flexed. There was no established protocol for a child strolling around in the Fog. He had to decide whether to let me in or force me to turn away, knowing I might be some monstrous trick in human form.

I felt the moment slipping by, heartbeat thudding in my ears.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, voice hitching a little, “there are beasts coming up behind me. I—I can hear them getting closer. They’ll attack soon. Please let me enter the district.”

Roran hesitated, teeth gritted. For a moment, I imagined he saw me as a Trojan horse, the child who distracts you just before the monsters strike. My chest tightened. I was about to speak again when—

“Yes, you can come in! Hurry!” Mareth blurted. She clutched her bow, glancing over my shoulder at the murky shapes in the distance. Perhaps she saw the faint silhouette of something large moving behind a toppled statue.

I did not wait for Roran’s permission after that. Fear driving me, I took a few quick steps and crossed the ward’s boundary. Immediately, a clammy chill slid across my skin. Compared to the Fog, with its thick mana that almost felt warm against my lungs, District 98’s air was biting. I shivered, stumbling forward slightly.

“Wait, what if this is a trap?” Roran said, raising his spear again, his eyes darting to the boundary behind me. For a split second, I pictured a horde of snapping beasts charging through.

“What trap?” Mareth countered, dropping her bow a hair’s breadth. “He walked into the ward on his own. We didn’t break protocol, none of us stepped outside.”

“She’s right,” Kael put in, exhaling in relief as he lowered his weapon. “If there are beasts in the Fog, we’re still safe. The ward’s intact.”

Roran’s shoulders lost some of their rigidity, and he let out a long breath. “Yes. Good call, Mareth. I’m sorry—I’m just... on edge.” He hesitated, letting his spear rest by his side. Then he looked directly at me with a troubled gaze. “The last time a child was seen walking in the Fog, you all know what happened...”

A grim hush fell over them. That single remark made Kael and Mareth frown in unison. My stomach twisted at the memory of my last arrival, stepping out of the Fog as districts crumbled elsewhere. I had been deemed an omen of disaster for that and not without cause.

“Yes,” I said quietly, stepping onto the broken pavement that formed the main street. My breath clouded in the frigid air. “That was... unfortunate. And just like last time, I bring bad news.” My voice trembled, and I knew they could hear the sorrow behind it. Part of me regretted using old tragedies to push them into action, but the danger looming over District 95 was all too real.

Roran’s expression softened. He took a cautious step forward, his boots scraping on the cracked ground. Even within the ward, District 98’s roads were in disrepair, strewn with debris from half-demolished buildings. Ancient lampposts, once powered by Araksiun’s advanced energy systems, now sat rusted and hollow, few were actually functional.

“Kid...” he began, voice deep with concern. “What were you doing out there in the Fog? Don’t you have parents who’d stop you from—” He paused, glancing at my ragged clothes. “How did you even survive? All that blood... is someone else with you, or...?”

His words spilled out in a rush, scarcely giving me time to answer. Meanwhile, Mareth stepped close, eyes flicking over the dark, dried stains that covered my shirt. The arrow in her hand wobbled, as though she only half-remembered she was still armed.

“This blood,” Mareth murmured, touching a slash in my sleeve with careful fingertips. “It lines up with these tears in the fabric. Looks like your blood, but you aren’t wounded now.”

I swallowed hard, wondering if I should have tried to change clothes. But rummaging for spare garments in the Fog was not exactly easy, and stepping out here half-naked in midwinter would have seemed even more suspicious.

Kael leaned in, giving a quick nod of confirmation. “No visible wounds. Either you healed quick or something else is going on.”

Roran kept staring, the corners of his eyes tense, like he did not want to trust me but felt it was impossible to ignore that I was, in fact, just a child. Albeit a suspicious one.

“Yes,” I said, finally finding my voice. “It’s my own blood. The beasts in the Fog can be... fierce, as you know. I barely escaped some of them.” My breath hitched with a memory of slavering jaws and raking claws. “I—I have bad news for the district, though. Please, take me to whoever is in charge. It’s urgent.”

I tried to sound braver than I felt. Part of me hoped I had matured after facing the Fog’s horrors, but my hands still shook slightly. The adrenaline that had carried me this far was wearing off, and a deep exhaustion hovered at the edges of my mind. I only steadied myself by thinking of District 95. It was about to face the worst calamity imaginable.

At that moment, a few curious onlookers from District 98 drifted closer along the cracked street. Whispers passed among them, and a wave of murmurs rose.

“Roran,” Kael said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the small gathering. “This is way above our pay grade. We should let the Captain handle it.”

Roran frowned, then nodded. “Yes, we should. The Captain can decide what to do.” He turned back to me, some mixture of sympathy and unease clouding his features. “Let’s go, kid. You said you bring news, yeah?”

Mareth studied me a moment longer. Finally, she slipped her arrow back into the quiver at her hip, though her expression remained guarded. “You said your name is Omen, right? The same Omen we’ve heard about? The Bad Omen?” A faint waver in her voice suggested half-belief, half-superstition. “That kid would be around your age by now...”

“My name is just Omen,” I corrected softly. “But yes, I guess I’m the one people call the Bad Omen. And this time, I bring another warning from the Fog.”

“Then let’s move,” Roran said. He gestured for me to walk ahead, though he and the others kept a careful distance. The small crowd parted as we advanced, some folks muttering curses under their breath or crossing themselves in whatever rituals they believed offered protection. To them, I was that boy who came from the Fog, weaving misfortune in my wake.