"What now?" Henry demanded, his stomach dropping as he watched the elder's body begin to swell ominously.

Elara hovered closer, her eyes sparkling with a mix of alarm and peculiar fascination.

"Ohhhh, fiddlesticks!" she giggled, almost as if amused. "He's about to go boom!—a great, big, shadowy mist kablooey! Five minutes, maybe less, before this place is absolutely crawling with whispers. So, unless you fancy becoming mist puppets, we should probably scamper!" She turned and started fluttering away.

Henry shot her a sharp look.

"And your plan is to just... float away?"

She blinked at him, tilting her head as if pondering a riddle.

"Well, flying does have its perks. But I suppose that's not an option for you ground-dwellers. Unless you learn how to miss the ground."

"Not helping, Elara," he muttered. Turning back to the terrified crowd, he saw their faces twisted with fear, eyes darting between him and the grotesque transformation unfolding before them. "What about the villagers? What about Luka? What about that girl I saved?" Without waiting for an answer, he looked at the elder, as he pushed through the crowd, a plan forming in his mind.

He burst into the elder's house, nearly tripping over the clutter strewn across the floor. The place was a maze of chaos: twisted metal parts, gears clicking aimlessly, half-assembled contraptions humming with latent energy. Strange runes snaked across the walls, pulsing with a faint, otherworldly glow. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt metal and something else—something stale and unearthly, like forgotten dreams left to decay.

In one corner, a pile of children's clothing lay discarded, tiny shoes and shirts tossed carelessly beside a heap of adult garments. A cold dread seeped into Henry's bones. His gaze settled on a metal doorway embedded in the far wall—an elevator, its steel doors gleaming like the eyes of a predator in the dim light. This was no ordinary village house.

He spun around and shouted to the crowd gathered hesitantly at the entrance.

"Please! Get inside the elder's house! It's the only way we can escape!"

But the villagers eyed him with suspicion, their faces etched with doubt and anger. A man near the back sneered,

"This is his doing. He brought this curse here."

Another voice rose above the murmurs.

"Why should we trust him? He controls the mists!"

Elara floated beside Henry, her feet barely touching the ground. She leaned toward him conspiratorially.

"Funny how people get all jittery around someone who might actually save their skins."

"Not helping," Henry snapped, frustration boiling over. He looked back at the villagers. "You don't understand! The elder is going to—"

The innkeeper, a sturdy woman with dark, worried eyes, stepped forward, her young daughter clutching her skirts.

"I've seen what Henry did. He saved my daughter from the mists." She glanced around, her gaze piercing. "If he says this place is about to explode, then I believe him."

Luka's mother joined her, holding her son tightly.

"Henry saved my boy from that horrible place. Please, for the sake of your families, listen to him!"

A tense silence hung in the air. The villagers exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes reflecting the flickering light of the elder's impending doom. Henry could almost see the wheels turning in their minds, fear wrestling with mistrust.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He took a deep breath, stepping forward.

"Look at the elder!" he shouted, pointing to the grotesque figure in the square. The elder's body had swollen grotesquely, his skin stretched thin like parchment over the writhing shadows beneath. Dark mist leaked from his mouth, eyes, and the crimson cracks webbing across his flesh. "He's going to burst any second. If you stay out here, you'll be consumed by the mists—just like him!"

Some villagers recoiled, faces paling as they beheld the horrifying sight. The elder's eyes flickered open, now empty voids seeping darkness. His mouth twisted into a silent scream.

Elara sighed softly, almost dreamily.

"His eyes—they're like windows to the abyss, aren't they? So poetic."

Henry shot her a sharp glance. "Seriously?"

She shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "What? I appreciate a good metaphor."

"That's not even a metaphor!"

Gradually, a few more villagers edged toward the house, fear outweighing their suspicion. But others remained rooted in place, clutching each other as if solidarity could shield them from the inevitable.

The innkeeper raised her voice again.

"Please! Don't let your pride be your downfall. Come with us!"

At last, about half the villagers hurried toward the elder's house, pushing past Henry into the cluttered interior. The rest stayed behind, their eyes hard with defiance or glazed with resignation.

Henry's heart ached, but there was no time to argue.

"Those of you who trust me, follow me—now!"

As they crowded into the elder's house, a low, ominous rumble echoed through the village. Henry glanced outside one last time. The elder's body convulsed violently, cracks widening as tendrils of mist began to spill out, curling like skeletal fingers.

He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his breath ragged.

"We need to get underground," he said, turning to the frightened group. "It's our only chance."

Elara floated nearby, her eyes distant yet shimmering with excitement.

"The mists are hungry," she murmured. "They'll seep through any crack, any crevice. We need to go deeper, where their whispers can't reach."

A muffled boom shook the walls, dust raining down from the ceiling. The air grew colder, a thin veil of mist creeping in under the door.

"Mists are already leaking in!" Henry shouted. "Everyone, to the elevator—now!"

They hurried toward the metal doors, which creaked open as if on cue. The elevator was cramped, and they pressed together tightly. Henry flipped the switch, and with a jolt, they began their descent into the unknown.

As they descended, the faint sounds of the village above faded, replaced by the grinding of gears and the hum of machinery. The walls around them were etched with more of the strange runes, glowing faintly in hues of blue and silver.

Luka trembled, clutching his mother's hand.

"I don't want to go back down there," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Henry knelt beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I know it's scary, but it's the only way to stay safe right now."

Elara drifted closer, her gaze softening.

"You know, Luka, sometimes the darkest places hide the brightest secrets." She tapped the side of her head. "Just like how closing your eyes can help you see the stars inside."

He looked up at her, confusion mingling with fear. "But... that's not how stars work."

She grinned. "Isn't it?"

The elevator shuddered to a halt, and the doors slid open with a reluctant groan. What lay beyond made Henry's blood run cold.

The cavernous room stretched out before them, illuminated by the eerie glow of flickering lamps. Strange machines sprawled across the space like the twisted innards of some mechanical beast. Metal pistons pumped rhythmically, hissing and clanking in disjointed harmony. Glass cylinders lined the walls, each filled with swirling red mist that pulsed like a heartbeat.

From the ceiling hung the limp forms of children, suspended by metal straps and tangled tubes that snaked into their skin. Their eyes were closed, faces pale and devoid of life, like marionettes waiting for a puppet master's command.

The air was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and something sweetly rotten. Every surface glistened with a thin layer of grime, and the constant hum of the machinery set Henry's teeth on edge.

"What... what is this place?" Luka's mother whispered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of sounds.

The villagers behind them gasped, some covering their mouths in horror. The innkeeper clutched her daughter tightly, shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight.

Elara floated forward, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

"So many eyes closed," she murmured. "So many dreams trapped in glass."

Henry swallowed hard.

"We need to find a way out of here."

Just then, Luka let out a choked gasp. His gaze was fixed on one of the suspended children.

"Jerem!" he cried, his voice raw with fear. "What's happening to Jerem?"