It was too sudden.

The trees faded into obscurity, succumbing to the gluttonous clasp of the fog. Its fangs bared deep into the grove, swallowing all light from all sources, even the auras seen by my right eye. I searched my surroundings, hoping to see even a shadow of the elves, but the dark silver fog had consumed even their outlines.

The cold, watery air chilled my lungs. It’s more than just the heavy vapor. It was as if something unseen was tugging the air in my chest. A tightening sensation crawled up my throat, squeezing an uncomfortable part of my throat until I let out a loud groan.

I clawed my neck, instinctively trying to repel whatever entity was choking me. But no matter how hard I tried, no magic came from my fingertips. A sharp, sourceless pain stabbed my throat. The screams of elves surrounded me, suggesting they’ve been experiencing the same pain.

I reached for Siron’s rune in my pocket but noticed the rock had gone black. The radiant energy had been drained out of the stone, leaving only the necrotic aura that permeated the fog.

A low, foreboding growl loomed from a distance.

It’s coming.

I powered my magic eyes, desperately looking for a clue of what was going on.

A humanoid shape began to take form. Its malformed claws phased through my neck as it squeezed something vital in my gullet. It’s an undead, an elf at that. Signs of enchantment magic coursed through its glowing eyes.

They’re thralls!

They’re fucking thralls!

The elves killed in the past were put under The Kieran’s control. And it was spying on us since we left the village.

Raising the dead is one thing, but controlling the incorporeal is a whole another level.

The only thing that can hit it is something magical. I clenched my fist around the soul gem in my pocket and swung toward the general direction of the ghost. The tight grip finally left my neck as the ethereal shadow dodged my strike.

The figure pounced in rage, this time grabbing my head and smashing it into the ground.

I felt a drip of blood leak from the back of my head.

My bloodline was known for being resilient… but holy hell, I haven’t felt that much pain in a while. I felt my ears ring and muscles weaken as necrotic energy began to drain my vitality through its cold palms.

I can’t cast spells, nor can I exorcise an undead, but I do still have magic. I mustered every remaining strength that I had and channeled all the mana left in my blood into my eyes.

Every living being has mana. What makes each different is the extent they can channel it. Some are even born with innate abilities. In my case, I was born with this eye, a blessing only the royal family possessed. Besides granting me the ability to detect magic, it also acts as a channel for spell-casting. Unfortunately, my spell-casting abilities are locked, however, like anything that carries energy, it can be overloaded.

There’s a high chance I could permanently blind myself.

It’s a last fucking resort!

But…

An intense bright heat scorched my skull, almost entirely blinding me. The energy bursted out of my orbs and blew a hole in the ghost’s hand.

The ghost recoiled in panic, fading away as it fled into the fog.

I stood up, staggering to my feet as I reached for something to hold on to. My vision blurred to hell, half of it completely black. Thankfully, the surge of mana allowed me to see the environment’s aura to compensate for my loss of perception.

Was it worth it? Blinding myself to scare one shitty ghost.

But I had to… Anyone who foolishly decides to spare resources on the off-chance they’ll encounter more of these is in for a world of pain.

These ghosts can drain the strength of anything they make contact with. The best way to deal with them is to burn them as fast as possible, otherwise they’ll come back stronger… but it looked like sacrificing an eye isn’t even strong enough to kill one.

In my hometown, we call them shadowlings, but these don’t look shadowy enough to warrant the name.

The screams and groans in the distance continued.

I ran towards the noise, using my remaining blistering eye to search for the elves.

I recalled what Siron said about the fog; The farther you walk, the longer you stay. There is no exit. Even so, I hoped for a way to use my eye to find one. Again, high risk, low reward… but the only way to survive is to regroup.

As I ran, I found myself in an open field, something that didn’t exist before the fog came.

Thorned tendril-like vines crawled on the grass. Their serrated leaves crunch beneath my feet, causing a loud series of noises that echo throughout the darkness as if they were alerting the other plants.

They’re forcing us to make noise!

I slowed my pace, hopping over the growing vines. Despite my efforts, the vines coiled around my ankles, their sharp thorns digging into my skin and drawing blood. With frantic desperation, I tore at the vines, feeling the sting of a thousand tiny cuts lacerating my arms in the process.

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The vines formed sharp blades that slashed my arms. I was able to dodge before they could reach my neck but the sudden movement caused me to lose my balance, sending me tumbling to the ground

Just when I thought I was done for, a bright bolt of flame splashed near my feet. The fire spread through the grass, instantly turning it into ash but just barely sparing my skin. A bloodied Siron stepped in from the fog, his bow radiant with heat, its glowing red.

“T-They… they’re afraid of fire,” he muttered, limping and panting as he staggered towards me.

“You’re hurt…”

“S-So are you,” he retorted, limping towards me.

I collapsed to my knees, each breath escaping me in visible puffs into the chilling air. The searing pain of my injuries began to settle in. I could practically feel the air replace the blood in the cuts of my arms. I noticed my hands shaking and tucked it under my armpits.

He placed a palm over my eye. A cold, soothing energy flowed into my eye, recovering some of my vision.

“Shouldn’t you heal your leg first?” I asked.

“Your eyes first… Without it, our mission will be for nothing,” he said. I could sense a tinge of pain in his words. I suspect he’s not expecting to come out of this alive.

“How many are left?” I asked.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze distant. “Ragh and Lydia are dead. Thean is missing an arm. Shira ran somewhere…,” he started reporting deaths and injuries most people I don’t know… His voice shivered with each name he uttered.

“And Eliet?”

“…I don’t know.”

Siron's breaths came out in ragged gasps as he leaned against a rock, his gaze scanning the murky fog for any sign of movement. "W-We rest here,” he croaked. “This fog isn’t like the usual. It should be outside of The Kieran’s normal range. Although… It knows exactly where we are.”

“How long do we have?”

“Half an hour until it arrives… I hope.”

He sat down beside me, turning over to heal his legs. It was as if he’d lost nothing. It’s strange… The first time we met him, he was a nervous mess. His short and stout stature didn’t help his image. Initially, I thought he was just a runt only sent to message us… I never even acknowledged him when he was leading the rangers…

Looking back, I’ve never seen him as someone significant nor did it even occur to me that he had talent. It was unfair of me…

Valor…

“I owe you a lot… thanks,” I said.

“Please don’t… I’m the one that got us into this mess.”

His eyes drooped into a half frown. I could feel a part of him feeling guilty and dejected. Well, then… It’s not often I show a bit of empathy.

“You can cry. I won’t judge,” I smiled.

His frown softened into a puzzled expression, and one eyebrow raised in confusion. Was I offensive? I mean… I did try to be nice for once. It’s the thought that counts, right?

“We need to move. I know a few enchantment spells.”

“What sort?”

"One that will keep us silent and avoid attracting The Kieran's attention... and another that will allow us to see through this cursed fog. They won't last long, but without my runes, we don't have many options," he explained.

He chanted under his breath and a swirl of sparks engulfed his arms.

"We're quite different, you and I," I remarked, attempting to engage him in conversation.

Siron remained focused on his task, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the spell casting. Upon closer observation, his actions resembled a prayer more than the manipulation of arcane forces. A cleric perhaps?

“Think about it,” I continued. “Outside of danger, you’re timid and I’m confident! But bloody hell, you’re more competent than I thought!”

Siron ignored my comments though I spotted a timid glance from the side of his eye. It’s hard to tell if it was him being shy or aloof. To be fair, that did sound a bit condescending. Part of me hopes that Siron considers my narcissism as a coping mechanism… Crap, I feel bad.

“It’s ready,” he muttered.

He held out a hand. A piercing stare stayed static in his eyes as if saying it was time to get serious… It’s finally time.

He reached out towards my head, his fingers almost touching my temple, when his gaze shifted abruptly to his elbows. There, a burning vine snaked its way onto his elbows from a nearby tree. The branch sprouted a small flower. Its petals peeled back to reveal a set of jagged teeth and a gaping throat.

A deafening scream erupted from the flower, tearing through the air like a banshee's wail. A loud, harrowing scream.

I stumbled back, my ears ringing from the piercing sound. The sudden shockwave sent me tumbling back along with the fog that was partially pushed back by the immense force. Meanwhile, the vine seized Siron with tremendous force, hurling him against the trunk of the tree with a sickening thud.

I scrambled to my feet, running towards Siron before immediately freezing as I felt a malicious presence shake the earth with its weight.

A deep, guttural snarl echoed from the behind trees.

The hope left Siron’s eyes as a colossal goat skull emerged from the fog.

Even with its back hunched, it loomed a staggering 13 feet tall. Its horns were adorned with various accessories made out of skin, hair, and bones. Beneath the skull, and leaking from its sockets, was pitch black smoke, emanating from seemingly out of nowhere. Beneath its long black cloak was a torso made of black skeletons from various animals, and a pair of horse legs that rumbled the ground as it walked.

The Kieran

In a blur of motion, the beast lunged forward, its massive jaws clamping down on the tree to which Siron was restrained, snapping it and one of his arms in half. Its tail slammed into the forest behind it, knocking out a chunk of the grove in an instant. Siron flew around the air like a toy as The Kieran sliced off his limbs one by one.

Siron’s screams merged with the loud splintering of tree trunks. Shrieks of terror bounced between the trees along with the bones and blood that splattered as the beast’s teeth shredded his flesh.

There was no better way to describe its movements other than “raw power.” Every nerve in my body screamed “danger,” and not a single muscle dared to move, save for the heart that was beating its way out of my chest.

Moreover, my eyes were glued to the sheer amount of mana the creature possessed, rivaling those of certain dragons and devils.

I grabbed his bow on the ground. Its presence seemed to beckon to me, despite lacking any tangible magical aura or even an arrow to accompany it… It was instinctive… I don’t know what I expected.

Time slowed down for a moment as Siron and I locked eyes whilst he hung upside-down from The Kieran’s mouth.

His mouth moved as if saying something.

A surge of divine magic erupted from the bow, a radiant burst that crackled with power. The force of it reverberated through the wood, leaving jagged fissures in its wake and shattering the taught string with a sharp snap.

A Divine Intervention.

In an instant, the bow seemed to defy gravity, lifting from my grasp and pressing against my stomach with an otherworldly force. I was propelled upward, torn from the ground as if carried by an invisible hand. As Siron and The Kieran vanished from sight, the bow guided me away in a straight line, narrowly avoiding the trees that blurred past in a dizzying blur.

A whirlwind of thoughts engulfed my mind, so much that I struggled to process it all.

The Kieran was far worse than the stories. It was a miracle that any tale had been made at all. It was hard to imagine anyone ever surviving after encountering that monster.

Everything about it was an anomaly. How did the previous explorers survive the fog? Did it know that we were coming?

How? How? How? How?

Finally, the bow lowered its altitude and slammed me down a river.

The icy waters swallowed me whole. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as I sank into a dark abyss, the cold tendrils of the river wrapping around me like a vice. The sudden pressure slammed into the back of my head, knocking me unconscious.