It was supposed to be morning. The break of dawn had come, or so they thought… but the world disagreed. Instead of the slow, inevitable bloom of light, the sky remained a murky shroud. The sun was nowhere to be seen. In its place, a heavy gloom lingered like a nightmare that refused to end.

A mist seeped into their makeshift shelter, curling low and silent. Its breath was cold enough to sting the skin. It had not been there moments ago; it seemed to have crept in uninvited, birthed from the tenebrous shadows themselves. It slipped between the walls, pale against the dark, until the shelter inside looked like it was drowning in ghostly smoke.

Horren and Shima, standing watch, felt it first. The unnatural chill crawled across their faces, clinging to their skin.

They exchanged a glance, then moved quickly to where Yerin was curled.

Yerin moved sluggishly, eyes clouded with sleep.

“What's the matter?”

But the moment her gaze caught sight of the mist swirling in the residual darkness, drowsiness fell away.

She lifted her hands, and a small ember sparked to life in her palm, its glow fragile and warm against the creeping cold. The mist drank in the light, its pale tendrils twisting through the thin flame as though testing its strength.

“It should be morning by now, but somehow…” Shima’s voice faltered.

“…it’s still dark and… misty,” Horren finished.

Yerin exhaled, watching the faint steam of her breath. The tips of her fingers were numb. A dull ache had begun to bloom there, the skin paling.

“Wake Arlok and Ruvian, I’ll add more flame.”

But due to the noise they made… Ruvian’s eyes opened before his mind had fully caught up. Cold air bit at his skin, dragging him the rest of the way to wakefulness. His first thought was simple, confused—

‘Why is there a mis—’

Then the sight struck him like a bucket of ice-water. The pale vapours writhed between the earthen walls, dense enough to swallow shapes whole, moving with a deliberate persistence that set his instincts on edge.

For a second, he forgot about the cold entirely.

Beside him, Arlok shifted under his cloak.

“Why’s it so freezing? Hey, stop taking my blanket.”

Shima leaned down to pinch his nose shut.

“You never had a blanket, you duckhead.”

“—Mmph! Hey!”

Arlok sputtered, flailing upright.

“What was that for?”

Shima released him without sympathy.

“Because you didn’t want to wake up the easier way.”

Yerin was crouched near the fire, coaxing the flames higher. She glanced at Ruvian then and froze. His face was pale, his jaw set as if bracing against something heavier than cold.

“…Ruvian? What’s the matter?”

Ruvian was too stunned to answer. His gaze swept over the camp, over the suffocating shroud that was steadily pressing closer.

“How long has this mist been here?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Shima and Horren exchanged a look, unease flashing between them.

“…About ten minutes. Maybe less,” Horren said.

Ruvian’s eyes narrowed, and the faint tremor in his exhale was not from the chill.

“Shit.”

He rose in one swift motion, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Everyone. Pack your gear. We’re leaving…. Now!”

****

They moved in single file, each hand gripping the rope that linked them together. The line swayed with every step, the damp fibers cold and rough against their palms.

Ruvian led from the front, his silhouette barely visible in the haze, nothing but a faint outline against the smothering dark.

They were in B7 now—somewhere in the west of the island. Heading east, toward C7, away from the source of the mist. At least, that was the plan.

Their pace was quicker than a march, slower than a run. Mist swirled around their legs and faces, blended well with the darkness, erasing the world beyond an arm’s reach. The cold gnawed at them relentlessly, slipping through layers of cloth and leather as if they weren’t there.

Behind him, Arlok’s voice cut through the muffled silence.

“Ruvian… why do we need to get away from this mist? You haven’t told us yet. And why east, man?”

Ruvian didn’t look back. His grip on the rope tightened.

“This mist isn’t natural. It’s not something the island produces on its own.”

He paused as if he didn't know how to deliver it without surprising them.

“…It came from one of the higher-ranked Voidspawn.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crunch of boots and the faint hiss of the wind moving through the haze. The others exchanged glances, their expressions invisible in the dark but heavy in the rope’s pull.

He had said it too casually and with certainty.

That was the first thing that struck them. The second was worse—there was only one explanation for a Voidspawn that could blanket the land in such vast, freezing mist.

A Reaper-Rank or… maybe more than that.

A creature so far beyond their strength it bordered on the impossible, that possessed unnatural power.

“You’re joking, right?” Arlok asked, his voice wavering between disbelief and dread.

“I wish I were.” Ruvian’s steps didn’t slow. “If it’s coming from the west, that means the thing is somewhere along the western shore. And we’re just one region square away from it.”

Yerin’s voice came from behind him:

“How do you know this?”

Ruvian took a moment before answering it. A part of him wanted to. A part of him wanted to say that five years ago, Velthia had lost a team of scholars to this island, and no one had ever found out why.

Yet he knew why; it's all because of that Voidspawn. And he knew that because all of this was a novel and the information was provided to him by the author.

So, if he told them that… no one would believe something that absurd. And telling them now would be worse than silence.

“…I’ll explain later. First, we get out of here. Before it catches our scent.”

That seemed to settle it. The rope in his hand tugged with renewed urgency as the others fell into step, no more arguments rising from the rear.

Horren’s voice, however, cracked.

“But… what if we run into another Voidspawn along the way? We can’t fight and run at the same time—”

Ruvian cut him off.

“Don't worry. We won’t…. Cause anything else alive here would’ve fled the moment this mist arrived.”

****

The rope slackened as Ruvian slowed his pace.

Ahead, the mist thinned. The shapes of absolute darkness emerge from the misty wall. The cold still clung to them, but not the same haunting coldness.

One step. Two. And then, they broke through.

It wasn’t light that greeted them—only a different kind of darkness. The world beyond the mist was still drowned in shadow, the horizon flat and colourless, the sky a ceiling of deep grey. But it felt open.

Their breaths came easier now. The rope between them loosened further, no longer their lifeline. Behind them, the wall of fog lingered as though disappointed to see them go.

Then, the first hints of change came slowly.

A subtle lightening of the treeline, the silhouettes becoming sharper. Then, almost imperceptibly, the black began to bleed into a deep blue, streaked with sluggish currents of murky silver.

The clouds above were swollen and uneven, their bellies heavy with unfallen rain.

It was morning, technically. A begrudging morning as though the sun had been dragged out of bed too early, forced to work under protest. Light seeped in unevenly, the edges of the world sharpening in some places and blurring in others.

Horren glanced up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well… that was miserable.”

Shima gave a humourless laugh. “I think my bones are still frozen.”

Arlok flexed his fingers, wincing. “Pretty sure mine are just gone.” Then, he shrugged.

“But hey, you take what you can get,” Arlok paused, looking around at the strange half-light, the grey sky hanging low over the forest. “Still… what a horrendous night! I still haven't got enough sleep yet.’

Ruvian adjusted the strap of his pack, tucking the rope away. “Well… that was just the first night. We’ve still got nine days ahead of us.”

He hesitated, as though searching for the right words or perhaps deciding how much to warn them. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, but no less serious.

“And one more thing… we need to be ready for the storm…”

He turned away and looked at the distant, cloudy sky. “This island also has a feral, raging storm… One that we are about to face in hours… maybe less. But it’s coming.”

“So, brace yourself when it does.”

PP= 3150

ME= 510

MR= 5