Chapter 4 – The Threads in the Mist
Morning came slowly. The first thing Ren noticed was how still it was — no gull cries, no clatter of carts, only the faint hiss of a steam vent somewhere beyond the fogged window. The light that crept through the curtains was pale and heavy, as if filtered through smoke, making the familiar city look subtly strange.
Max was already dressed, tightening the strap on his satchel. "We're packing, right? Not sightseeing," he said, voice casual, though his eyes scanned the room as if expecting something unusual.
John, hunched at the table by the window, rubbed his eyes. "First train out. We agreed last night — we're done here."
Elli sat on the bed's edge, her hair still mussed from sleep. "The clock downstairs is slow. By twenty minutes. It's been that way since we arrived, but now it feels… different. Almost deliberate."
Ren rolled onto his side. "Streets are weird, time's weird, people are weird. Welcome to Mare Rosso."
"Not this weird," Elli muttered, more curious than fearful. She tugged the strap of her satchel tighter, eyes lingering on the pale light filtering through the window.
Liza zipped her bag shut, movements precise. "Let's just go. We can argue about weird later."
The hotel clerk smiled too wide as they handed over the key. "Enjoy the day," he said, polite but final, as if the words themselves carried weight.
Outside, the mist lingered like a living presence. There were more people than last night — a few vendors arranging their stalls, a couple of dockworkers leaning against posts, a carriage rolling past — but their movements were slow, deliberate, almost cautious, as if the city itself were holding its breath. The streets felt stretched; every sound muffled, as though the mist was swallowing it whole.
They followed what Max thought was the main street. Every intersection felt slightly off — a building taller than it should be, a street sign in an unfamiliar font, a brass lamp tarnished black. The cobblestones were damp, reflecting the faint light, and their footsteps echoed strangely, as if bouncing off walls that weren't entirely where they should be.
"That wasn't here before," John said, pointing to a narrow storefront wedged between two taller buildings.
It was a lantern shop. The display window was crowded with shapes: squat brass oil lamps, slender glass cylinders, iron cages with curled handles. All were dark — except one, deep in the shop, where a faint red glow pulsed slowly, like a deliberate heartbeat.
Ren muttered, "Not ominous at all." He squinted at the flickering light, a shadow of unease brushing past his features before he forced a smirk.
Liza leaned closer to the glass. In the reflection behind the lantern, a boy stood — black hair, white shirt, short pants. She froze. She knew that face. She had met him by the sea days ago, sketching as the tide rolled in. Even through the mist, she could almost smell the salt of the water and the sharp tang of oil paint.
But something was wrong. His movements lagged, like a shadow that hadn't caught up. His eyes were fixed on hers, unblinking. The image shimmered and twisted, faint lines of reddish-gold tracing along the alley walls behind him, as if the reflection itself was alive and reaching toward her.
"Liza?" Max asked, stepping closer, his voice low.
The glow vanished. The boy was gone. The shop was empty, shelves bare, a thin film of dust covering the counter, faint fingerprints marred the surface of the glass as though someone had touched it seconds before.
"I…" Liza shook her head. "Never mind. Let's go."
The streets returned to quiet. A low hum began somewhere between the mist and the damp walls — slow, wordless, pressing gently against their chests, a vibration that was almost imperceptible but somehow heavy enough to feel like it was threading through the air.
"That's… not the clocktower," John whispered, glancing around nervously despite his calm tone.
Ren glanced over his shoulder. "It's—"
"Ahead," Elli said. "Not behind us."
They argued briefly, realizing no one else was in sight. Every corner, every shadow seemed to shift slightly as they passed. A cart's wheel would squeak somewhere in the distance, then vanish into silence before it could be located. Windows reflected shapes that were never quite there when approached.
A street sign promised the station, but the next turn led them back to the harbor. The crow statue still loomed, larger and darker than it had seemed before, standing like a sentinel over the fog. One obsidian eye was missing, replaced by a faint red ember pulsing slowly, like the heartbeat of the city itself.
On the dock sat a hunched figure in a tattered shawl — the old hag from days ago, muttering riddles in a voice like dry paper.
"The one with the light… he threads you to the dark," she said, her yellowed eyes locking on Elli.
Max stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
"Don't let him thread you apart," she whispered, each word like sand through the cracks of their awareness.
The ember flared, glowing brighter for a heartbeat, then dimmed. When it did, the dock was empty, as if she had never been there at all.
The group hurried on, each step careful, measured, the tension threading through their movements rather than weighing them down. Mare Rosso was still unnerving, but this time, they moved through it with quiet awareness rather than fear.
Finally, the station came into view — the tall brass arch, the cobbled forecourt. The familiar landmarks of Mare Rosso were present, yet they felt strangely displaced. Sounds of travel were absent: no wheels, no voices, no hiss of steam escaping from vents. The great timetable board above the ticket desk was blank, its lights dead.
"Where is everyone?" Elli asked, voice soft, more puzzled than afraid.
Ren stepped to the platform edge. The tracks stretched into darkness, but it wasn't empty. A faint red-gold shimmer pulsed along the rails, reminiscent of the lantern in the shop. Shadows flickered at the far edge of the platform — small, deliberate movements, almost imperceptible, like someone watching but unwilling to reveal themselves fully.
Max looked back the way they had come, jaw tight. "I don't think we're in Mare Rosso anymore."
The group fell silent, each aware that the city had changed in ways they couldn't yet define. The mist swirled around their legs, curling like tendrils, brushing against ankles, and carrying a faint metallic tang that set their nerves on edge.
Ren studied the shadows at the platform. "Do you see that?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Shapes that seemed humanoid moved at the edge of vision, disappearing when he tried to focus. They were small, quick, deliberate — and they didn't behave like anyone he'd ever seen.
Elli's gaze narrowed. "Something's here," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
A faint hum threaded through the mist, rising just above inaudibility. It matched the pulse of the red ember on the crow statue, the glow in the lantern shop, and the shimmer along the tracks. The pattern felt deliberate, like the city itself was guiding them somewhere — or warning them.
John shifted slightly. "We need to keep moving. Platform's clear, at least for now."
Ren's gaze flicked again to the shadows. For a moment, he thought he saw movement in their periphery — tiny figures crouched low, scanning them. Then they vanished.
"Everyone ready?" Max asked, voice steady but quiet.
The group nodded, tension lingering but controlled. They had learned to watch Mare Rosso carefully; to step lightly, to read the subtle threads of light and shadow that danced along streets and walls.
As they moved closer to the ticket desk, the red-gold shimmer on the rails pulsed once more, slow and deliberate. The shadows shifted in the mist, small shapes skimming across the edges of the platform. Whatever was waiting here, it had been watching, waiting.
Ren swallowed, glancing at the others. "This… doesn't feel right."
"It never does," Elli said softly, her eyes scanning the platform.
They fell silent, moving as one, each step measured, alert. The mist clung to them, curling higher around the buildings, shifting like it was alive. The faint hum pulsed, a heartbeat threading through the city.
And somewhere among the shadows, just out of clear sight, small figures waited, deliberate, patient — the first hints of something new, watching, and ready.
The city of Mare Rosso had changed. And the next step they took would carry them deeper into it.