CHAPTER EIGHT

The Man in the Fog

Long sleeps are always so strange. I have so many dreams, dreams of that forest with the sun high in the sky, until those tentacles envelop everything and the fog rushes in.

I dream about becoming a part of District 98, about having a place to call my own, somewhere I can sleep at night behind real walls.

And above all, I dream about Elina, Jharim, and Meris.

Strangely, this time I also dream of Tarin, Hana, Cedric, and even Lessa. I sense the same connection, a feeling of kinship. Only now do I realize that after this past year, I am starting to see them as friends too, even Tarin, who always watches me with that uncanny sort of suspicion.

I cannot help wondering how long this long sleep will last.

Will they be worried about me?

They will, I am sure of it.

How foolish I was, thinking those beasts would not attack me just because the fog did not specifically send them after me. They are creatures driven by hunger, and if there is one thing I know, it is that hunger can make you do desperate things. I cannot really blame them for that. They were only doing what comes naturally, searching for food.

As I awaken from this dream-laden state, I notice the fog surrounding me still. My first instinct is to check my arm and my neck, relieved to find both are intact. Every wound I suffered has vanished, just as always happens after my long sleeps.

“I wonder how long it has been this time,” I mutter to myself.

“Just a few days,” comes a reply. For a moment, I think the fog itself is talking, but when I turn, I see a man in a green cloak, about as tall as Jharim. He has an adult’s build and a voice that sounds raspy, worn by time.

Another person here in the fog?

The fog is somewhat more translucent than it was when I entered, so I can see beyond him. We appear to be in a slight depression in the terrain, a small hill not too far away, while the man sits on the ground, gazing toward tall buildings off in the distant fog.

I can just make out their silhouettes. Behind us lies the abandoned trading region where the long sleep overtook me. This man, unlike those beasts, does not appear hostile. Even better, he might have answers I need. The thought reignites my curiosity about my experiment. I reach for my book, finding it next to me with the rest of my belongings, thankfully all intact. I notice dry blood on my bag, probably mine.

Opening the book, I jot down my notes:

Experiment: Checking the behavior of monsters in the fog toward people who are not hunted by the fog.

Test 1: Made myself known to three huge dog beasts.

Result: They were very hostile and sent me into a long sleep.

Conclusion: Even though the fog does not directly send them after me, I still need to hide or fight my way past them.

“What are you writing?” the man asks without looking into my direction.

I walk toward him and show him my book.

We sit there for a few minutes as he reads not only my latest entry but also my earlier experiments and notes about Elina’s classes. He hands the book back soon after, and I tuck it safely into my bag again, mindful of the crusted blood.

“I see. You thought those beasts wouldn’t attack you because this ‘Fog’ doesn’t hunt you,” he says. “But what is this fog of yours?”

“What? How can you not know?” I blurt out. “Everyone in the districts knows about it. Well, you should too, you’re in the fog right now.”

“I am guessing by ‘fog’ you mean this?” the man answers, gesturing with his hand. The fog, as if alive, swirls and shifts in response.

“You are manipulating the fog? How? Can you teach me?” The words leave my mouth in a rush, and I immediately start scribbling a few notes about what I just saw. It looked so natural the way the fog followed his movements.

“So I am correct that this ‘Fog’ you speak of is actually this substance around us. But it’s not a fog at all,” he explains, waving one hand as the cloudy haze eddies around it. “It is merely condensed mana, nothing else. It does not hunt people, nor does it send beasts to kill anyone.”

Condensed mana? Is that not the force that empowers magic? Elina taught me that the ancient people of Araksiun used mana in their spells, channeling it through special constructs and wards. Though most knowledge was lost long ago, everyone knows humans cannot directly control mana. We are not “blessed” by it, not even the ancient folk. The most advanced among our ancestors never found a way around that. We only learned to craft devices that utilize mana, like the Dawnbreak Bow and the Obelisks. But here he is, manipulating mana as if it obeys his every whim, and claiming that this “fog” is condensed mana. It defies everything I have learned.

I catch myself daydreaming, staring off into space. The man watches the horizon without urging me to continue or rushing me to respond, unlike most people who grow impatient when I drift off in thought.

“Sorry about that,” I say. “It happens often, but I don’t mean to be rude.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

He merely shrugs. “No worries. I can see in your eyes that you needed the time.”

“Yes, it’s just that... you’ve made me a bit confused,” I say. “I was told we can’t manipulate mana. At least, that’s what I’ve heard all my life.”

“Oh, I see.” The man in the green cloak nods thoughtfully. “Well, if by ‘we’ you mean humans, then yes, you are not born with a core, and no creature can simply force the creation of one. So humans cannot manipulate mana in the way I just did.” He smiles. “But I, on the other hand, am not a human like you. I learned long ago that many creatures, such as yourself, might be uneasy or even terrified if they see my true form, so I usually adopt a shape that fits the conversation. In your case, I appear as another human.”

“Wait, so you’re... you’re a beast of the fog too?” I sputter. “Are you going to attack me?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I remember I’ve been in a long sleep for at least several days, according to him. Running now wouldn’t make any difference anyway.

To my surprise, he simply breaks into laughter. “Hahaha! It’s been quite a while since anyone was bold enough to say something like that to me,” he says, smiling even more broadly. “No, I am not a beast of the ‘Fog,’ and again, what you call fog is actually condensed mana, nothing more. Besides, I believe I’m more than a mindless beast, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you certainly are,” I say, still wary. “But it’s odd. You just admitted you’re not human, but I’ve been attacked by beasts. I am still a bit uneasy”

“You have indeed been attacked,” he replies. “Even with your unique condition, I wouldn’t advise letting yourself get eaten. Though I suspect you might recover eventually, maybe it would take years if you were fully devoured.” He gestures toward a few creatures sprawled on the ground nearby.

Until now, I hadn’t noticed them. They are the same three that mauled me before my long sleep, lying there dead, yet with no visible wounds on their bodies.

“You... you saved me?” I murmur, astonished. “Why? I have no artifact or anything to repay you.”

“I killed the so-called ‘beasts of the fog’ you speak of, yes, but I did not exactly save you,” he says calmly. “I was only here by coincidence and acted after noticing someone have his neck torn apart and yet not die. Your kind is usually far less resilient. Well, I guess you did die... but I’ve never seen one of your race return from death itself.”

Dying?

I only went into a long sleep.

“I was just stuck in a long sleep,” I insist. “I wasn’t actually dead. But thank you for dispatching those beasts. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a long sleep for years, like you said.”

“Long sleep?” He scratches his chin. “That’s a new concept to me. No, I’m pretty sure you died. These long sleeps of yours, do they happen often?”

“Only when the cold is too severe,” I reply, “or the hunger becomes overwhelming, or if someone beats me senseless, like these beasts did.”

“I see...” The man studies me with a faint crease in his brow. “Well, it is a unique ability, but again, I’d advise against repeating situations that force you into these extended states. One risks losing their mind entirely in such limbo.”

“It’s not as though I want that,” I say, exasperated. “There’s not much I can do to prevent it, though. And I know I owe you for killing those beasts, but could you also explain what you mean by condensed mana? Maybe answer some questions about my experiments? You seem to know a lot.”

He shrugs, appearing unconvinced by my “debt” to him. “Yes, actually, there is something we might do about your long sleeps... but not now.” He lets out a slow breath. “As for condensed mana, there’s little that would help you to know. I read your notes and experiments on the ‘fog.’ But I can tell you why you’re safe when entering this place, while others of your kind are attacked.”

“You can?” My pulse quickens. “That would be amazing. If I can figure out how to help others step outside the ward like I do, then the Chainrunners wouldn’t have to keep running and fighting constantly.”

He gives a small, ironic chuckle. “I said I’d tell you the reason, not that it would help you. It’s actually quite straightforward.”

He then begins explaining the properties of mana and how humans originated in an environment with very low mana concentrations. Now, our planet has become so saturated with mana that it surpasses even many ‘greater worlds.’

He claims to be a being from one of those greater worlds, drawn here by the immense supply of mana. That can be both a blessing and a curse, he says, because countless other creatures attracted to such worlds are not as friendly as he is.

Furthermore, he says, the reason humans are attacked is corruption. Since we possess no internal core and cannot create one, once we leave the ward and face large amounts of mana, we begin to be corrupted by it, altering us in unimaginable ways. Any being with a core can sense corruption taking hold, and they unite, sometimes even enemies or mindless beasts, to destroy the corrupted one before it becomes too risky.

Much of the terror caused by mana is rooted in that corruption. It can spread to other beings, and though most die from it, the rare survivors evolve into terrifying threats that break everything around them.

Hence, whenever a human leaves the ward, they invite this corruption; creatures within the fog sense it like a beacon and attack, compelled to eradicate it as swiftly as possible. The “fog,” or condensed mana, does not control them directly. It is simply that the corruption reveals itself to everything out there.

In my case, however, it is not that I’m unaffected by corruption, I am as human as anyone. Yet apparently, I “cannot be more corrupt” than I already am.

Corruption has covered me completely but has also stabilized. Because I am not actively getting worse, other creatures cannot sense me as a threat. They don’t detect any ongoing corruption, so they feel no urge to hunt me. I do not stand out from the other fog-dwelling beings.

“Wait,” I interrupt, trying to wrap my mind around it, “I know I spent some time in the fog, but they didn’t attack me immediately. The first time I left, they didn’t jump on me the moment I stepped beyond the ward.”

He nods, as if expecting the question. “I’ll be completely honest with you, I’m very old. Far older than you could guess. And in all that time, I’ve never seen corruption stabilize in a living being. I assume it’s connected to your peculiar condition, some ability to adapt, or perhaps the corruption fused with the condition itself, becoming part of your existence. I can’t be certain, but from my experience hunting many corrupted beasts, I have no doubt you are corrupted.”

That realization triggers a new concern in me. What about the Chainrunners? Even though they only dash in and out of the fog, they confront corruption every time and may not even realize it. Could we have been cultivating corrupted beings among us all this time, right inside District 98?

“This information... it’s more than I ever imagined,” I admit. “But tell me, what about the people of my district, those who go beyond the ward and then come back? Are they dangerous to us?” Even as I ask, I’m scribbling down everything he said into my book. Elina would be ecstatic to read these notes, though she’d probably scold me for taking such reckless risks.

He notices how intent I am on documenting his words. I can almost feel him weighing how much more to reveal.

“If they stay too long in this so-called Fog, yes, they could become dangerous. But since they return relatively quickly, the ward negates any progressive corruption inside them. That’s what makes your towering obelisks fascinating.” He pauses, a distant look in his eyes. “I haven’t seen anything quite like them in all my travels. That’s actually why I’m here.”

He exhales slowly.

“I am planning to take that Obelisk of yours...”