Ayko ruffled his own hair, his frown deepening. How could that Songstress expect him to take so much bad news all at once? First, Chestplate supposedly burns down Maywood, and now he’s lost Haze? Two rights were enough for the Songstress to gain his trust, but it was still unfair. Little Miss Eerie Eyes could have at least come with him; maybe then he’d have been spared the trouble of tracking Haze down.

“Your affairs are not my affairs,” that Songstress had told him and Haze before she got up and left.

As true as that might have been, Ayko was almost sure that was just an excuse for her to go and sit on her ass elsewhere.

“Haze!” Ayko called out, cupping his hands. He received no reply for the thousandth time.

Ayko cursed. He had only stepped into the bushes to relieve himself, and then the mist closed in, making him lose sight of his friend, her and everything else—the mist draped over the sky and seemingly the air itself, turning the surrounding foliage to shadows.

“Haze!” Ayko shouted again, his brow twitching in annoyance. “Gods!” He looked up at the blanketed sky. “Does this amuse you?”

He clenched his jaw and sprinted ahead, his gasps for breath growing more desperate. Rows of trees lined his peripherals, again and again, never growing or shrinking in number. Squelching beneath his feet were rotting Ovlos, whose juices remained pooled on the snow.

Ayko jogged and then stopped. He looked around and laced his fingers atop his head. “I’m going in a godsdamned circle,” he huffed. “Damn it! I won’t be trapped!”

He ran again, over and over, panting until his throat was raw. He shouted obscenities all the while. Ripping his sword from its hilt, Ayko hacked away at the air, hoping the mist would disperse, but to no avail.

“Damn!” He plunged his sword into the snow. “If that won’t work…” He sheathed his sword and knelt, digging his fingers into the earth beneath. “I’ll tear a hole into the world if I must!”

Ayko shoveled the semisoft dirt with his hands, chucking it behind him. Lumps turned to mounds, and the ground soon swallowed the young man whole, save for a single tuft of hair. He bellowed a triumphant laugh—gone was the snow, and instead, dirt and rocks glittered faintly with crystalline flecks. Beneath his feet, however, was nothing but rocks, a sheet of earth resembling cobblestone.

“Shit.” Ayko smacked his lips and prodded it with his sword, to which sparks jumped from it. The young man’s nostrils flared. “Break, damn it!” He roared, rearing his sword above his head and plunging it down.

The ground screeched, and a glow made him shield his eyes. Etching itself onto the stone was a magic symbol, faded but readable: Zephyriere, it read.

A gust shot from the ground into Ayko’s chin, launching him into the air. With a thud, he crashed onto his back, bumping the back of his head. “Again with the wind,” he groaned, rubbing his newly-formed knot. “Of all the places those supposed ancients could place a rune.”

Ayko shook his spinning head and rose only to fall back down. “Fine, fine,” he grunted. “I’ll give it a break.”

Boredom gnawed at Ayko as he sat cross-legged atop the snow, pouting with his arms crossed. Death was the only thing worse than him sitting on his arse watching the mist blow back and forth. The snowflakes, colored black by the haze, slowly twirled to the ground, some even kissing his face.

“Must be nice,” Ayko grumbled, watching more flakes fall. “To see above this hole of The Inferno.”

He shut his eyes, but his brow twitched incessantly. Any semblance of something living aside from himself, be it benevolent or malevolent, was all he asked for. Time flew, however, and the gods blessed him with no such thing–only the howl of biting wind and the chill of more snowflakes dusting his face.

“Screw it,” Ayko griped. “That’s a long enough break, I think.” He glared and pointed a finger at where the sky was supposed to be. “Whatever you’re playing at, I won’t waste away!”

The young man removed his sword from his sheath and hacked away at the air before doing the same with his shield. Over and over, he swung and bashed away at an imaginary force, be it Goblins, Skyfiends, or the dark gods themselves, until his arms were numb. He ran again when his arms fell to his sides, his throat burning with the numerous breaths he took.

With enough persistence, I’ll escape! Ayko thought.

He weaved his way between trees, ignoring the echoing of Ovlos rattling against one another. Beneath his feet, the juices of the felled melons splashed his ankles, the smell of mold and decay stinging his nostrils. That and the smell of perfume—perfume and cigarettes?

Ayko wrinkled his nose. Only one person in Maywood smelled like both of those things all the time. “Gods,” he said between breaths. “I’ll take anything living except her.”

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The smell drowned out everything else the further he ran, but he saw nothing save for the same trees and rotting fruit he had seen before. The bushes rustled, however, and out stumbled his greatest fear itself; the woman wasn’t even an inch shorter than Elies, and her hair was as black as her heart. Her eyes shared the same amethyst hue as her bathrobe.

Ayko gasped as he jogged past, shuddering as the woman’s dead eyes met his own. “Ilta,” he said, half to himself and half to her. He turned away from her only to crash into a low-hanging branch and fall at her feet.

“Gods, I will take anyone else!” Ayko cried when Ilta looked down at him.

The wench folded her arms. Her lower eyelids were wet and swollen. Had she been crying? Did she even know how to cry? “Glad you’re as dismayed as me,” she said coolly. She ripped her gaze away from him. “I’d hoped it was Elies I heard making a fool of himself.” She clicked her tongue. “So disappointing.”

“Don’t pretend to care about him,” Ayko demanded.

Ilta ignored him and sat beneath one of the many Ovlo trees, a faint sigh escaping her. She covered her torso, staining her hand red from the blood, velvet-hued and thick, oozing between her fingers.

Ayko helped himself up and watched her face twist in pain. “You’re hurt,” he gasped, stepping forward.

Ilta grunted and turned away from him. “Don’t pretend to care about me,” she said.

Ayko rolled his eyes. “Just move your hand,” he huffed. “As much as you suck his blood dry, Elies still cares for you,” the young man said, crouching and gently setting her drenched hand aside.

“I know,” Ilta murmured. “I don’t know why.”

Ayko narrowed his eyes and scanned her face. He was almost certain her cheeks reddened, but it was as faint as it was brief. He rolled his eyes again. “Because he’s an Icebrain and because love’s unbreakable. Or so they say.” A thin smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Oh, what am I saying? I’d bet my orbs you hexed him.”

“Like that elf did with you?” Ilta smirked at him. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger like I do with him.”

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Ayko’s burning face. “J-just let me see your stupid wound.”

Ayko parted her robe and flinched away from the gash in her stomach. It stretched diagonally and was almost black in hue; the blood spilling from it was thick as sap.

“Ayko.”

Ilta’s flat voice ripped Ayko’s gaze from her wound, much to his relief. “Do you think they’re alive?” she asked. “Elies and that girlfriend of yours?”

Ayko gave her a quizzical look. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

“It only makes sense they died,” Ilta said.

Ayko stepped away from her and ripped bunches of Peppergrape leaves off the trees. “If you really think that, you know nothing about Elies or Haze.” He knelt and spilled a mound of leaves before her. “They’re alive,” he said, stuffing his cheeks. “And we’ll see them again. I’ll make sure of that.” He spat a glob of chewed leaves into his hand, ignoring the disgust on Ilta’s face. “Now, hold still.”

*******

The gurgling of water woke Ashencrane from her sleep. The aged woman gasped at the realization that she was alone. “Elies! Ilta! Yarrow!” She frowned upon not receiving an answer. “Hazelmere! Ayko!” Again, nothing.

She picked her cane up off the ground, her frown further twisting her face when she saw her fall had snapped it in two. “So it wasn’t a dream,” she said calmly. “And who’s doing was this?” She asked, swatting at the mist obscuring her view. “A Shadowhand’s as well?”

Disregarding her snapped cane, Ashencrane walked straight ahead, chasing the sound of the river’s rushing water. Lights cluttered the distance, their flickering followed by shapes illuminated by the lanterns hanging from their three-clawed hands—Lizardmen with emerald scales and white cloths draped over their snouts and limbs. All of them, save for the girl sitting on a branch above them; she looked human, but her silver hair and slit pupils in her eyes said otherwise.

Ashencrane sank to the ground, letting the brush envelop her. More Shadowhands? She thought. She slowed her breathing and watched as the girl conversed with them, grinning from ear to ear and nodding eagerly.

The ground shook beneath another Lizardman’s feet, one with blood-colored scales and black, slicked-back atop his horned head. Piercing his snout were gold rings. “Est Cierata!” The Red Lizardman growled. Smoke rose from his nostrils, and he slammed his lantern onto the snow. Flames squelched and turned to smoke while glass shards fired in all directions.

The girl giggled at him. “I told you, Daeaniera, there’s no leaving this mist.” She giggled again. “But it’s cute you’re still trying.”

Ashencrane drew her brows together. So unbothered.

Kneld Ikt Yvada Nilf! The Red Lizardman jabbed a claw at her, smoke snaking from his mouth with each word.

“Ask fate why you’re stuck with me,” the girl laughed. Despite the Lizardman’s rising tone, her voice remained upbeat.

Kajata, Reina! Kajata!

The girl snickered and placed a hand on her chest. “Oh, you sweet soul!”

Ashencrane pressed her lips into a thin line. She’s no Shadowhand, she thought. Just nuts.

The corners of the silver-haired girl’s lips sank slightly before she spoke again. She puffed her cheeks. “Are you gonna lay there all night, or are you coming out?”

The Lizardmen snarled, seemingly in surprise. The red one’s nostrils flared, and his pupils constricted. They reached for their scimitars, making Ashencrane shiver.

Sweat slid down the back of Ashencrane’s neck. She slowly rose from the ground and held up her hands.

The girl smiled and waved at her like an old friend. “You heard us talking, didn’t you? You can relax! I don’t bite that hard, you know.”