The mist rolled in without a sound.
It wasn't fog. It didn't cling or drift. It moved with intent—folding around trees, sliding over the river, swallowing the cairn stone by stone.
Kael noticed it first.
He had been watching the fire sputter when the edge of the world vanished.
It wasn't night. But the world dimmed as if a shadow had stretched its fingers across the valley.
---
Aila stepped out of the shelter, her voice hushed. "Do you smell that?"
Oran paused. "Metal. Wet metal."
Kael stood. "Something's inside it."
The three of them moved together, slow and silent, their new language forgotten for now.
The mist didn't part. It accepted them.
---
They walked to the riverbank.
The water no longer ran—it stood still, surface flat like glass. Reflected in it was not the sky, but a pulsing shape.
A silhouette, tall and misshapen.
It had no face.
No limbs.
But it moved.
A ripple passed through the air—not in sound, but in memory.
Kael gasped.
His sister's voice.
