The mist was unnatural. It didn’t simply hover in the air—it coiled, crawled, and climbed, as though it were alive. The forest on either side of the road had vanished into the fog, leaving only the skeletal shapes of trees, their branches clawing at the sky. When the road forked abruptly, Dinadan pulled on Bracken’s reins, halting the mule. The faint crunch of hooves on gravel was swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Ahead, the crossroads loomed like a wound in the land, its twin paths disappearing into the same swirling gray void. The mist wasn’t static—it pulsed faintly, as though the land itself were holding its breath.

“Well, boy,” Dinadan muttered, patting Bracken’s neck, “left or right? I’ve got no preference, but you’re the smarter one here. Thoughts?”

Bracken flicked an ear and snorted, unimpressed by the options. Aidric, seated behind Dinadan on Thistle, shifted uneasily. The boy clutched the glowing chest tightly to his chest, its dim light muted as if the mist were deliberately smothering it.

“This place isn’t right,” Aidric said, his voice trembling. “It feels... wrong.”

Dinadan adjusted his cloak against the creeping chill. “It’s just fog. Albion has plenty of places like this—damp, gloomy, unsettling. You’ll get used to it.”

Aidric wasn’t convinced. His gaze darted to the shadows shifting within the mist. “No, it’s different. The chest feels heavier here. Like... like it’s being pulled.”

Dinadan glanced at him sharply, unease prickling at the back of his neck. The boy’s voice carried a weight that made Dinadan’s usual sarcasm feel inadequate. “The chest always feels strange, Aidric. It hums, it glows, and it nearly gave us a heart attack the last time it decided to sing. You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not,” Aidric protested, his knuckles white against the chest’s handle. “It’s worse here. I can feel it.”

Before Dinadan could reply, Bracken froze. The mule’s ears pricked forward, and Thistle let out a nervous whinny. Dinadan felt it too—a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The mist pressed closer, thickening like a second skin. Even the faint rustle of the wind was gone, replaced by a suffocating stillness.

“Something’s wrong,” Aidric whispered.

Dinadan forced a wry smile, though his hand had already moved to the hilt of his sword. “No, everything’s perfectly fine. We’re just standing at a cursed crossroads, surrounded by living fog, with a glowing chest that hates us. Nothing unusual at all.”

Aidric didn’t laugh. The boy’s wide eyes locked onto something in the mist, his breathing quick and shallow. Dinadan followed his gaze, but the swirling gray gave nothing away—until a voice slid through the silence like a blade.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

The voice was layered, as though a dozen whispers spoke at once. It carried no malice, yet it wasn’t comforting either. It was simply... there, resonating in the mist. Aidric flinched, his grip tightening on the chest, while Dinadan’s sword slid halfway from its scabbard.

“Who’s there?” Dinadan demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

The mist stirred, twisting into a shape that grew denser, darker, and more solid with every passing moment. A figure emerged, draped in veils of black and silver that shifted as though alive. The figure’s face was obscured, but faint glimpses of weathered skin and burning, otherworldly eyes flickered through the moving fabric.

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“I am the keeper of this place,” the figure said, their voice soft but commanding. “I am the Seer of Shadows, and this is the Crossroads of Choices.”

Dinadan frowned, his unease hardening into irritation. “Another cryptic figure with a flair for the dramatic. Let me guess—you’re here to test us, or guide us, or possibly eat us. Have I missed anything?”

The Seer tilted their head, their glowing eyes flashing faintly. “You stand at a place where fates diverge. Every choice made here ripples through Albion. The land watches, and it waits. But it does not wait forever.”

Aidric stiffened. “What does that mean?”

The Seer turned their veiled gaze toward the boy. “It means that hesitation has a cost, child. You carry a burden greater than you understand, and the land demands action.”

Dinadan stepped in front of Aidric, his sword fully drawn now. “Enough with the riddles. If you’re here to guide us, guide us. If not, step aside.”

The Seer didn’t move. Instead, they raised a hand, and the mist stirred once more. Figures began to emerge from its depths—gray and formless at first, but gradually taking shape. Dinadan’s grip on his sword tightened as he saw them: a woman in tattered robes, her face streaked with tears; a man with a shattered spear, his armor dented and broken; and finally, a knight in spectral armor, his visor raised to reveal hollow eyes that burned faintly.

“These are the shades of those who faltered,” the Seer said, their voice quieter now but no less heavy. “Their choices undone, their paths unfinished. They linger here, bound to the crossroads, unable to move forward or back.”

The spectral knight stepped forward, his hollow gaze locking onto Dinadan. “Why do you linger?” he asked, his voice an echo that seemed to rattle the trees. “Do you not feel the weight of your indecision?”

Dinadan raised his sword, though the motion felt more like an empty gesture than a true defense. “I didn’t realize we were on a timer.”

“Every moment of hesitation is a choice,” the knight said, tilting his head. “Every delay weakens the land. Do you not understand the burden you carry?”

Dinadan’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “I’m starting to think everyone in Albion has an opinion about what I’m carrying.”

The knight’s hollow eyes narrowed. “You think Albion can endure without you? Do you think the land will wait while you hide behind wit and hesitation?”

Aidric stepped forward, his small voice breaking through the tension. “He’s not hiding,” he said, trembling. “He’s trying. He’s—”

“Enough, Aidric,” Dinadan said sharply, his tone cutting. He turned to the knight, his frustration boiling over. “I don’t need a lecture from the restless dead. Whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’ll deal with them on my own terms.”

The Seer’s veils rippled as they moved closer, their presence suffocating. “The land does not call idly, Sir Dinadan,” they said, their voice softer now but no less resonant. “It does not choose lightly. But its call cannot be ignored forever.”

Dinadan sheathed his sword with a sharp motion. “Fine. Let’s skip the rest of the moralizing and get to the part where you tell us where to go.”

The Seer raised a hand, and the mist parted slightly, revealing the two paths once more. The right-hand road seemed to gleam faintly, as though touched by unseen light, while the left stretched into deeper shadows.

“The path is clear,” the Seer said. “But clarity is not certainty. Choose.”

Dinadan hesitated, his eyes flicking between the two roads. His chest tightened as the knight’s words echoed in his mind. Every moment of hesitation is a choice.

Aidric pointed to the right, his hand trembling. “It’s this one,” he said. “I can feel it.”

Dinadan glanced at him, then at the Seer, whose glowing eyes watched without expression. “If this is the wrong path,” he muttered, “I’ll come back and haunt you myself.”

The Seer tilted their head. “Every path is a story, Sir Dinadan. And every story shapes the land.”

Dinadan tightened his grip on Bracken’s reins and stepped onto the right-hand path. Aidric followed closely, the chest’s faint glow flickering in the mist.

Behind them, the Seer’s form dissolved into the fog, their voice lingering like a whisper. “May the land guide your steps.”

As the mist closed around them, Dinadan didn’t look back. The road stretched ahead, uncertain and foreboding, but he pressed on, step by step. Somewhere beyond the fog, the Henge waited.