The Fog blanketed the old Church in a cold haze—just out of reach, yet close enough to taste a slice of the Old World. As Kogan had promised, the Manor sat beside it snugly. The warmth of the fire orange stained glass—it portraying the origin tale of The Three; How they arrived, how they helped build the Old Empire, and how they abandoned it—was outshone by the pale moonlight overhead, with the glass repelling the light and making the surrounding Fog feel that much colder.

Vacant littered the streets within the Fog—enough to cause an issue for the mission but not enough to result in failure. Whilst the Church sat at the far end of the square plaza, the Manor could just been seen to the side amidst other Manors of similar style. Intricate, ornate carvings lined the sides of the walls—far too expensive and fancy for anyone who had lived within the Lower Tier, even before the Fog. It’s roof was unlike those Alon was used to, with each and every tile still remaining and bolted onto the roof in orderly rows—even after all these years... Even the windows contained all their glass within the frame, completely uncracked and smooth as the day they were built.

The Manor sat hidden away beside the Church— frightened by those that may wish to interfere with its peaceful slumber.

“This is the place,” said Kogan, slinging his mace from over his shoulder and into his hands.

“I figured,” said Casian, not yet brandishing his weapon.

“How are we even meant to get inside?” whispered Brook, stepping closer to Casian. “There are way too many Vacant outside the doors.”

Casian knelt down and grabbed the edge of the roof—with the freezing stone shooting pain into his palm the moment he made contact. Kogan stepped closer to the edge and rubbed his finger against his thumb, surveying the area for an angle to attack.

Mythel—brushing her way past Claude and Alon from standing in front of her—knelt down next to Casian, and softly elbowed his side.

“The bell tower on the Church is much taller than the Manor. Maybe we could use that—dropping a rope down to climb onto the roof—and pry the tiles off to get inside.”

Casian stood and rubbed the lower half of his face.

“That could work. There are less Vacant near the Church, after all...”

Brook grabbed Mythel by the shoulder and pulled her back and out of the way, charging his way next to Casians side. Mythel opened her mouth to protest, but decided to close it again, sighing.

“Why don’t we just kill the Vacant and storm our way inside? Why do we need to fuck around with this bell tower when we can just do things the easy way?”

“Come on, Brook... We shouldn’t kill them if we don’t have to,” said Claude, mumbling to hide what he said—realising halfway through what he was saying.

“Look—You may want to make love to one of the freaks, but I’ve got a wife right here—” said Brook, as he grabbed and pulled Mythel in closer by the waist, who went limp as she slumped into Brooks’ side.

“Enough!” shouted Kogan. “I don’t know how you do business with your people, Casian, but I appreciate actually making progress —none of which we’re making here.”

Casian nodded in agreement, pushing himself off the roof as he stood and turned to face the Gang.

“Mythel’s plan is fine—and we’re sticking to it. Me and Alon will scout ahead and clear the place out if need be. We’ll shine a piece of broken glass and use the moonlight to signal you all over—and hurry once we do; We’ve came too far and too close for you to be taken by the Fog.”

Brook wanted to protest, but the darting look from Kogan dissuaded him before could fully open his mouth.

Alon nodded at Casian in agreement, with Claude tapping him on the back with his knuckles to wish him luck.

“So, after you?” said Casian, gesturing for Alon to climb down onto the terrace below.

“My pleasure.” Alon hopped down, spinning around and grappling onto the edge of the roof. His feet met the top of the window frame jutting from the brick work, then rested atop it before going any further—allowing Casian to catch up and get into the same position before descending any further.

Kogan—poking his head over the top—with his hands in his pockets and swaying in the breeze shouted down to the pair:

“Don’t take too long! I can see the top of the Palace from here right over the wall, and I bet it has a nice soft throne for me to park my ass on!”

Casian scoffed in amusement as he dropped beside Alon. He looked up at Kogan, squinting and smiling.

“I bet it does! I’m trying it out first before you ruin it with your dirty ass, though! I’m doing all the hard work here!”

Kogan smacked the air as he let out a belly laugh, and stepped back from view over the edge of the roof. Casian was still chuckling to himself as he looked over at Alon, who was staring behind him into the Fog—frowning.

“What’s the matter with you, eh? You want to sit on it before Kogan ruins it with his smelly ass?” smiled Casian, resting his chin on his right shoulder.

Alon turned back towards the wall and looked down at his feet before looking at Casian.

“Nothing will go wrong, will it? With your plan, I mean...”

Casians smile faded, being washed away with concern.

“What makes you think that?”

Alon paused before answering, wanting to fully consider each and every word he was going to use.

“I’ve told you before—” said The Voice, ringing throughout Alon’s head. “—follow each and every one of my commands, and mine alone, and you shall gain everything you have ever decided.”

Alon shook his head.

“It’s nothing really,” said Alon, giving Casian a smile in the hope that it’d reassure him. “I just want us all to do well—I don’t want all of this to be for nothing.”

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Casian smiled warmly—a smile one could only think of as home.

“It won’t be for nothing. I promise.”

Alon looked down at the terrace below, and the Fog just creeping over to cover the top—enough to reach their ankles—and inhaled deeply, preparing for the drop.

“That’s all I need, then,” said Alon. “Let’s get this done.”

***

The Fog swirled up Alon’s ankles as he stood upon the terrace, as if it were trying to climb up his body. Even now—with the Fog being too far away from his nose and mouth to cause any harm—his heart still raced as he stood in it’s presence.

Casian dropped down beside Alon and kneeled near the edge of the terrace, counting the Vacant between them and the door to the Church.

“—five, six, seven,” said Casian, standing back up as he began forming a plan within his head. “We’re gonna have to sprint past them and block the Church doors somehow; There’s still far too many to take on inside the Fog. By the time we’ve dealt with them, it’ll be too late...”

“Well, we do love to do things the hard way,” said Alon, reassuring himself.

“As always, as always...” chuckled Casian, reaching for his scarf out from his inner pocket. “Remember; Take a deep breath and hold it for as long as you can; Shallow breaths onwards, as few as you can manage.”

Alon pulled his ragged scarf out from underneath his sweater and wrapped it tight around his mouth, nodding to confirm Casian’s request.

Casian wrapped his own around his face and tied it behind his head—adjusting it to cover both his mouth and nose whilst allowing full visibility. He pulled his falchion out from his sheath, both detailed with intricate carvings showcasing events and battles from the Old Empire—The Carvings, The Massacre of Ad Centrum, when the Three abandoned the World it had helped build, and ultimately left to fend for itself...

Alon—of course—wouldn’t have known any of this if it wasn’t for Casian’s insistence on cramming the history of the World into his throat.

“History was given to us in the present as a gift—A lesson we ought learn from, and pass onto others so they too may learn...”

Alon pulled out his daggers from their sheaths, throwing his shoulder cape over his back in preparation for the sprint ahead.

“Ready?” said Casian, twirling his falchion around, gripping it tighter as he acquainted himself with the weight and balance of the blade once again.

“Whenever you are.”

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

Casian leaped off the terrace as far as his legs could take him, with Alon opting to drop down from the ledge with a heavy thud. Two Vacant stood ahead—oblivious to the goings-on of the pair. Casian nodded back at Alon, then nodded towards the Vacant of the left. Alon sprinted up to it and without a moment wasted, he forced the dagger into the back of the Vacant’s skull, knocking it over and freeing his dagger with his shoulder. Casian ran up to and skipped to the side of the Vacant, slashing at its neck and letting it crumple to the ground—spraying blood onto the age-old paving stones that covered the plaza.

Casian gestured for Alon to hurry as he neared the Church, with Alon—his breath still held—rushing faster to reach him.

Casian threw a Vacant away from near the Church doors and kicked another onto the ground—kicking it in it’s temple and forcing whatever life it had left to vacate it’s body.

“Hurry!” shouted Casian, pulling his scarf down from his mouth.

Alon threw his arms back and forth in an attempt drag himself further, hoping the momentum would carry himself that little bit further.

He couldn’t hold it any longer. He exhaled— coughing as he did—before inhaling a shallow breath. The panic and adrenaline coursed through his veins, making him draw another short breath.

“Damnit!” said Alon to himself, cursing every step he took—knowing he could’ve used it far more wisely, to go further and faster.

Alon reached the door and helped Casian push it open, squeezing every ounce of strength within his arms and legs.

The door slammed open and smashed against the brickwork. The Vacant outside surrendered their desire to observe nothing at all and put their attention into their new fascination: The door that Alon and Casian slammed back shut.

“Find something to jam the door closed with!” shouted Casian, stretching out his arms across both doors—his feet sliding forward with every charge, every push against the door from the gathering crowd outside.

Alon’s eyes scanned the Church. It had been picked clean for near everything that could’ve possibly been taken. He looked back at Casian, struggling to keep the Vacant outside—his eyes begging for Alon to find something, to find anything at all.

The Fog swirled around him, up into his clothes, into his scarf, and into his mouth...

Alon noticed a piece of wooden—enough of it jutting out—peeling away from the pillar at the side of the Church, holding up the second floor.

He darted towards it and drove his dagger into the pillar as deep as he could. He stepped back, and kicked the hilt of the dagger —driving it deeper. He kicked again, and heard a crack coming from the pillar.

He stepped back again—further than before—and forced his foot through the pillar, with dust and wooden debris falling from above as half the pillar toppled over and smashed onto the stone flooring.

He ducked, pulling his shoulder cape over his head. After the smashing stopped, he looked around and grabbed the largest piece of wood he could feasibly pick up by himself. He rushed over to the door—with Casian huffing and panting, just barely managing to keep the door shut—and pushed the wood between the handles.

Casian stumbled back and looked at the door—it being banged and pushed and slammed against with all the might of a dozen alerted Vacant... but holding soundly, enough for the pair to step back and feel safe enough to observe the work they’ve accomplished.

Alon grabbed Casian by the arm before he could allow himself to claw his breath back and pulled him towards the ladder leading to the tower—and out from the Fog.

Casian nodded and sprinted alongside Alon towards it, stepping out of the way and allowing Alon to climb it first.

Alon grabbed onto the sides and ran up the ladder as fast his legs would allow, long forgetting the situation they were in as he panted heavily as he climbed.

Alon felt his escape from the Fog, and looked down at his chest—it being completely visible to see once again as his legs followed suit, pushing himself further completely out of the Fog.

He stormed his way up the remainder of the ladder and pulled himself up over the edge onto the floor of the bell tower, rolling over and lying on his back as he panted—freely, without worry—for the first time since they ran into the Fog.

Casian followed, poking his head from over the edge of the ladder shaft and pulled himself into the bell tower proper. He fell back and rested against the edge of the tower, kicking his legs out as he stared up—panting—at the copper bell dangling from the chains hoisted from the ceiling.

“Well, that didn’t go awfully...” said Casian, resting his arm atop his knee as he sat against the wall.

Alon clawed his breath back, preparing himself for the pain of forming a sentence.

“Could’ve gone worse...”

“Can’t complain with the results; we’re here,” said Casian, pushing himself up and onto his feet. He walked over to the window facing the Gang atop the roof across the plaza and ripped off a piece of broken glass from the window frame.

He looked up at the moon—observing it’s height, and the distance from the tower to the Gang—and knelt over the window, resting his elbows atop the window sill.

He placed the glass out in front of him over the edge of the window, using his fingers to grab the edge and pushing them back and forth against his thumb—shining a dim light across the plaza towards the others.

Alon pulled himself up towards the window, turning around as he peered over the window sill. Kogan waved his arms around—flailing madly, with Claude following suit, trying to make himself useful.

Casian nodded at Alon and pulled his burlap sack of his back. He placed it down in front of him as he knelt down on his knee, pulling a cord of rope out and handing it to Alon—wrapping it around his forearm.

“Use this and drop it onto the roof of the Church. Cut it, and use the rest so the others can climb up the back of the Church and onto the roof. There’s no way they’re getting in the way we did.”

Alon nodded, and looked down towards the doors of the Church. The Vacant slammed against them with no purpose and no desire to actually get inside; mindlessly and hopelessly doing only what their instincts determined.

Alon looked at Casian and his scarf—it being nowhere to be seen.

“How long was we out there in the Fog?” said Alon. “It must’ve been two, maybe even three minutes...”

Casian frowned, furrowing his brow.

“It was a close one, I know—Far too close...”

Alon and Casian sat in silence for a moment.

“But we have a job to do. We got lucky—we did, but now we need to make good use of it.”

***