As the sun rose to shine its light over the Ereveil Empire, the farmers rose with it to begin their day working their fields

On Fairfield Farm, its proud owner Gerald Fairfield rose with his men to begin their day. There were animals to be tended to, and crops to be watered, and a whole list of things that went into running the farm.

Today was no different from every other day. One could even call it a good day, the skies empty of clouds and the breeze brisk and soothing. After a morning of hard work, the farmers retreated into their farmhouse, both to escape the scorching noonday sun and to have their lunch, after which they dozed happily as they waited for the heat to abate, the winds blowing away any stuffiness they might have felt.

Gerald was content with his life. His success story of being an adventurer, finding love, and settling down to work on a farm wasn’t special or rare, but it was his, and he was happy with it. He’s happy, his wife is happy, his children are happy and his men are happy. What more could a man ask for?

“Ah, dang. Boss, looks like clouds on the horizon. Dark ones.”

Gerald sat up from where he had been relaxing, looking at where one of his men, Chip, was pointing to. Out the window was a pleasant view of the main road snaking its way lazily up a gentle slope, his freshly tilled fields on either side of it. As Chip had pointed out, though, that view was marred by the dark, ominous clouds that hung above the hill.

With a heavy sigh, Gerald got out of his chair. His men knew what that meant, but even though there were grumbles and complaints no one actually refused to move. “Alright, boys!” Gerald shouted anyway. “Let’s get this done and retire early! Early night out for us, and you all know what this means!”

“Party!” The farmers all cheered as they dispersed to finish up their tasks.

“Again, dear?” Gerald turned to see his wife, Senna, smiling wryly at him.

“Well, of course! Drinking the storms away is a tradition I have no intention of doing away with!” Gerald replied cheerfully.

“It’s not much of a tradition if it started with you.”

“But it still is one!” The couple shared a laugh. “Well, I better hurry up and get this done, the coming storm looks pretty nasty. Where’re the children?”

“Telir is leading his merry band of adventurers out to conquer the evil overlord’s castle again.” Senna told him, smiling fondly at the thought of the children playing in the nearby forests. “Iliana went with him, of course.”

“Well, I suppose the wicked witch would have to chase the adventurers away back to the farmhouse, no?” Gerald grinned mischievously.

“Who’re you calling a witch?” Senna grumbled playfully.

“Oh pardon, my goddess. Won’t you please guide the lost adventurers back home, where they are safe?”

“Oh hush, you!”

With another shared laugh and a peck on the lips, Gerald and Senna split up, the husband returning to the fields while the wife went to call the children back.

An hour later, the animals were almost all ushered back into their barns, and their final hurried check for pests in the crops halfway completed. The stormfront was rapidly closing in, now, and every farmer was pushing themselves to work as quickly as possible; no one wanted to be caught out in the storm.

Except one, apparently. Gerald frowned as he watched one of the farmers out of the corner of his eye. Celise is a young adult, barely nineteen summers old, but she had started working on the farms at her fathers behest for two years now. She wasn’t the hardest worker, no, and she always had her head in the clouds, wishing to be an adventurer, but she wasn’t a bad kid, and was never one to shirk her work.

So why was she just staring into nothing?

Getting up, Gerald walked over to the young woman. “What’re you doing, Celise? We’ve still got a ways to go before we’re done.”

Celise started, her head snapping around to face the farm owner. “Oh, boss! Sorry, it’s just…” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the storm. “Aren’t the clouds moving a bit… weird?”

Gerald took a look himself. The dark clouds were still there, but… how odd. He had thought the clouds were approaching slowly, but taking a better look, it was almost like the clouds had stopped moving after it moved past the hill, and were instead flowing downwards… Oh!

“Ah, so it’s just fog.” Gerard sighed, then frowned. “Hmm? How odd. I’ve never seen fog this dark before…”

“Right? It’s just… really strange.”

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“… call the others.” His instincts had dulled greatly with time and age, but Gerald had been an adventurer, once. Twelve years of life and death experiences aren’t so easily forgotten. “Forget the checks, everyone put their tools away and return to the farmhouse. Now.”

His orders spread quickly, and within fifteen minutes everything was put away. The fog bank was growing closer and closer by the minute, and as it did so Gerald could clearly see the unnaturally red tinge to the fog. It was most likely magic of some kind.

“Listen up, boys!” Gerald shouted over the uneasy mutterings of his men. “Whatever that cloud is, it’s not a storm, and it’s not natural either! We’re evacuating whoever we can! The carriage can only take so many people, and I’m certain everyone wants their children out first, so only five people will be able to ride in it!”

There were murmurs and whispers, but the people of Fairfield Farm are united, more akin to family than unrelated laborers. The five who would accompany the children were quickly decided, Senna amongst them.

Gerald had been nominated to take a spot on the carriage, but he had staunchly refused. Senna met his eyes, her expression grim. Both of them realized that this may very well be the last time they ever met.

The couple shared one last kiss, and the carriage departed, the horses pulling it along at a fast trot.

As for the remaining men, they had their backpacks filled with clothing and dried rations. They would be evacuating as well, but without a carriage they would surely move much slower. Even still, the sight of the fog filled Gerald with such uneasiness he decided against hunkering down in the farmhouse to wait out the fog.

The farmers took off at a steady jog. Their years of toil upon the land showed, their strength and endurance letting them keep moving through the afternoon.

And yet, it was for naught. The fog caught up with them, all the same.

Barely half an hour after they started, Timothy went down, his labored breathing cutting off in a choked gasp as blood spilled from his mouth.

Dalac went next, his attempt to stop and check on his best friend his undoing. He slumped onto the ground beside Timothy, together even in death.

The farmers fell, one after the other. Gina, Fris, Elliot, their deaths spurred those that remained to go faster, desperation lending them a second wind. Kerix, Sheron, Will, Harim, Celise… Gerald almost turned back when even Chip, his right hand man, succumbed to the fog, but he forced himself onward.

Even as he kept running, though, Gerald knew. He couldn’t outrun the fog. No, the fog had already overtaken him. He could feel it in his chest, a searing pain as his organs melted and his lungs collapsed.

From one moment to the next, Gerald found himself on his knees. His attempt to get back on his feet merely toppled him over. Blood flowed freely from his lips and nose as the red fog covered his view of the sky.

As he lay dying, Gerald found enough strength to offer one last prayer, that the fog would stop before it caught up to the carriage ferrying away his family.

And just like that, Gerald Fairfield had passed on.

The same scene played out across the Ereveil Empire. People fled from the unnatural red mist in droves as it devoured villages and cities alike. Some even knelt down where they stood, praying to God for mercy and asking Him to grant them salvation. On one of the roads out of Ereveil, Senna Fairfield looked back in fear as the mists grew closer and closer.

And yet, none made it out alive. The mist was too sudden, too quick, and the people of Ereveil died. Even on the back of a horse drawn carriage, Senna fell into despair as she watched the children cough and cry as they vomited blood, her own lungs burning. The carriage slowly ground to a halt, the horses that once pulled it having succumbed to the mists themselves.

In the span of a day, the Ereveil Empire died, blanketed by the Scarlet Mists. And yet, the Mists did not go past its borders, and the vessel kingdoms of the Empire survived.

No one knows what caused the Mists, or what caused it to stop spreading past the Empire’s borders. Some say that Ereveil had angered God, and was thus struck down by His wrath. Some say that Ereveil had tried to summon another Demon after their first had completed its contract and disappeared, and the second demon had destroyed them for their arrogance. Yet others say that the Empire had been developing a super weapon, only for their experiment to fail and destroy them.

No one could tell for sure, for no one had ever managed to delve far into the Mists. Not even after more than two centuries have passed.

But even with such deadly toxins, even if no humans have ever managed to adapt to the Mists… Life finds a way.

The leaves of the trees turned red and their bark blackened as they absorbed the poison in their surroundings. Animals grew fiercer and stronger as they took in the Mist and evolved to suit, and the rivers grew red, the fish adapting to the toxic waters.

The Mist may have driven away the people, but life still went on.

After two centuries without human intervention, however, something happened.

The humans have not retaken their land from the Mists, nor did the Mist itself change. No, it was something that had been here long before the Scarlet Mists appeared.

Within the land that was once the Ereveil Empire stood a rather large forest, and within that forest stood an old house. It was so old that red vines had crawled up its walls, that black moss covered every stone, that every piece of wood in it had long since rotted away. Several birds had made their nests on its roof, and where plants did not creep, dust covered.

A single room in that house, however, was far more pristine. Neither vine nor moss crept across its walls, nor did insects dwell within it. The dust in the room was thick, but the furniture within was still functional. The cause for such a well preserved room was easily noticeable; a simple but beautiful spear, its head stabbed into the stone floor over a magic circle that had since lost its glow, now dull and inert.

The most important detail, though, was the bed in that room. For on that bed, tucked under the blankets, was… a corpse. Or rather, something that looked like a corpse.

The body had laid there for centuries, undisturbed. Despite the passing of time, despite how it looked to be barely skin and bones, with cheeks so sunken and shoulders so thin its bones were clearly outlined, if one looked closely, they could see its chest move faintly with every breath it took, as it had since it was laid upon that bed.

And on this day that started like any other day for the past few centuries, the body on that bed slowly opened her eyes.