In a distant place, Lark watched the sky. The thick crimson fog, now a familiar sight, swallowed everything around. The stars and moon, once beacons of light, seemed to have vanished entirely beyond the mist, leaving only the haze in their wake.

  His gaze dropped to the makeshift camp around him. Dozens of survivors sat huddled, some tending to their meagre belongings, others with their heads in their hands. Their faces were gaunt, their clothes little more than tattered rags. They had become the picture of despair: mud and blood smeared over their skin, each one marked by the horrors they’d endured.

  The camp was a patchwork of survival—tents that fluttered weakly in the occasional gust of wind, lanterns that cast a faint glow through the thick mist, their flames struggling against the suffocating fog. Shadows stretched and bent unnaturally, like restless spirits, lingering in the cold air.

  Somewhere nearby, a child’s cough echoed, dry and hollow, causing pain to anyone who heard it.

  Not far off, a mother wept, her sobs filling the night air with a grief that had become all too familiar.

  Three days ago, this might have felt different, less hopeless, more of a struggle than an inevitable end.

  Lark’s dark eyes lowered to his hands, raw and covered in cuts, still red and swollen from the previous day’s fight. The blood stains were now crusted over, blending with the dirt and grime that clung to his skin. The wounds stung, but they were nothing compared to the agony in his chest. The faces of the fallen flashed in his mind—the mother holding her child as they were torn apart, the brave warrior who had stood firm until the beasts swarmed over him, devouring him whole. The hollow eyes of his comrades haunted him, accusing, pleading.

  It’s my fault, he thought, clenching his fists in frustration.

  “If only I were stronger,” he muttered to the cold night, his voice barely above a whisper. “I could have saved them. I could have—“

  “Lark,” a husky voice interrupted, cutting through the fog like a lifeline.

  Lark tensed but quickly relaxed, turning to see Rudd, his large frame slowly emerging from the haze. The man’s boots crunched the gravel with each step, his shadow looming over Lark as he approached.

  Rudd frowned, his thick brows knitting together. “What, am I not allowed to seek the company of a friend?”

  Lark smirked faintly and shook his head. “Never mind. What are you doing here? It’s late.”

  Rudd grinned. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d see how my favourite, gloomy companion is faring.”

  Lark chuckled softly. “You’re not wrong there.” He paused, looking around at the camp. “How’s the situation?”

  Rudd’s face darkened. “We’ve got enough rations to last us through winter…” He sighed, glancing over the survivors. “But morale’s shot. Most of ‘em are ready to give up. They don’t think we’ll survive another attack. Hell, some are starting to think the fog’s worse than the beasts.”

  “They’re probably right,” Lark muttered bitterly. “How could we survive like this? We’ve lost too many. The beasts took out most of our fighters.”

  Rudd grunted in agreement, lowering his head. “That damn fog… and those monsters…” He shook his head, the words tasting bitter.

  Lark’s fingers curled instinctively around the black talon hanging from the necklace around his neck. T1he obsidian claw, a reminder of his first kill, was the only trophy he had. He had been lucky then, killing the beast just after it had slaughtered dozens. A newborn, as dangerous as it had been. But now?

  Now we’re running out of luck.

  The fog was a curse, spreading its blackened plague through the land, infecting everything it touched. The people, the beasts—it didn’t matter. They all became part of the fog, and the fog consumed them in turn.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lark sighed, pulling his coat tighter against the cold. He looked around the camp—murmurs, the crackle of small fires, the occasional cough or groan of pain. The survivors were worn, but they had yet to break entirely.

  “We’re so close to Rifeton,” Lark muttered, glancing toward the horizon, though he couldn’t see anything beyond the fog. “But I don’t know how long we can hold out.”

  Rudd’s gaze darkened. “The eastern kingdom’s our last chance. If we don’t make it there… we’re done for.”

  A strange silence settled between them as Lark placed his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, when, a sudden chill ran down his spine. An eerie silence hung in the air. The mist seemed to thicken, pressing against their skin like a living thing. Then, from beyond the thick crimson came a noise. It was a familiar one, a deafening yet raspy roar from the beasts that had taken everything from him. The roar seemed to shake the air itself as the lights flickered and the shadows danced. Goosebumps rose on his skin as sticky sweat dripped from his body.

  Lark shot to his feet, his heart racing. He locked eyes with Rudd, who looked just as tense. “They’re close,” Lark said, his voice steady despite the rising panic.

  Rudd nodded, already moving into action. “We need to move. Now.”

  Lark’s pulse quickened, but his voice remained firm. “Sound the sirens. We don’t fall today.” His body protested, exhaustion heavy on his limbs, but he pushed through. He wouldn’t let them die here.

  As he took his first step forward, an unfamiliar image flashed in his mind—blurry, distant. He couldn’t make out any details, but it stirred something inside him. Was it hope? Or fear? Or anxiety? Confusion?

  He couldn’t tell. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was surviving the night.

  ***

  Away from the daunting red fog, the familiar soft hum of distant hover trains echoed across the station platform, blending with the faint murmur of voices and footfalls of the crowds. Finn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his small brown suitcase parked by his side. His hot breath formed wispy clouds in the cool morning air, and he tucked his hands away in his pockets.

  Finn craned his neck upwards, scanning the holographic departure board above. His train wasn’t due for another ten minutes, but his heart thumped as if it were to arrive any second. He was early—of course he was. Waiting had always been something he was used to, he was patient by nature, but today was different. Today was special.

  The platform bustled with life. Families hugged goodbye, friends laughed in groups as they shared jokes and last-minute advice, and solitary travellers stood in reflective silence. Finn found himself somewhere in between, lost in the quiet hum of anticipation.

  Finn’s gaze darted around, taking in everything around him. Sweat began to form on his forehead, this scene felt so… familiar. A strong sense of Déjà vu crept through him. For a fleeting second, an image flashed through his mind—it was blurry like everything was covered in a haze, but he could make out a camp. A faint hoarse voice rang in his ears, calling out to him.

  His stomach twisted and he stumbled, and soon everything went back to normal. The images were gone and the voice had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Finn shook his head repeatedly, trying to dispel the thought of what he had just seen. It was so confusing, so alien, yet so familiar at the same time.

  The train whistle blew in the distance, snapping Finn back to reality. The platform brushed with renewed energy as Finn instinctively looked toward the oncoming hover vehicle. It’s here… he thought to himself.

  He exhaled, grounding himself in the present. Whatever that was, it had to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was taking a step forward. He needed to focus on his dreams. No delusions or visions could stop him.

  The hovertrain neared closer, its silver shell glistening in the faint morning sunlight. Finn straightened up, clutching the handle of his suitcase a little tighter. The hover train's engine hummed louder, the sleek silver craft seeming to glide through the air toward the platform. The train finally began to slow, the soft hiss of its mana-powered brakes accompanying its smooth stop.

  The crowd around him shifted, people beginning to gather their belongings and then boarding the hover vehicle. Finn hesitated for just a moment before he stepped forward, his heart quickening with excitement. He joined the line to board, a mix of quiet anticipation and the hum of muffled conversations filling the air. He could feel the heat of the engines as he passed by, his thoughts buzzing with the possibilities ahead. What would life be like once he reached his destination? What kind of person would he become there? His dreams felt within reach, and that made the knot in his stomach seem more like excitement than anxiety.

  As he neared the door, he stole another glance at the departure board above. The time was listed—his train, the one to take him away, was departing now. The moment was finally here. He stepped into the train car, finding an empty seat by the window. He placed his suitcase in the overhead compartment and sank into the plush seat, glancing out at the bustling station one last time.

  He was leaving home for the first time in his life, yet he wasn’t sad, or anxious. He was excited. This was his future, this was his dream.