This might be just a fragment of what this place used to be.
The more I looked around, the more it felt eerily similar to Greek ruins I'd seen in old history books—pillars, statues, altars—all scarred by time but echoing grandeur.
"Its safe to say that the prophecy of a saviour did not become the truth," I said, carefully setting the stone tablets back onto the tabernacle.
"They got the wrong flipside of the coin then," Esther muttered, her hands busy digging through the rubble beside one of the collapsed archways. Dust clung to her robe as she pried out chunks of fallen marble.
Who knew what the people here were hoping for? Salvation? Or even the end?
I watched her pull away cracked fragments, her determination oddly quiet. But for all the effort, the only items left to us were the same: the twelve scrolls we had scavenged from the smaller temples. Each rolled tight, each with seals barely holding together from decay.
Not much we could use, at least not now.
Esther sat back, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Twelve scrolls, two tablets, and a place full of corpses that turned to mist. Doesn't feel like much of a reward, does it?"
I shook my head, clutching the scrolls in my arm. "Maybe not now… but stories like these? They don't vanish without reason."
The mist outside the broken glass ceiling swirled faintly, as if stirred by unseen hands.
Somewhere in me, a weight grew heavier.
What if we weren't just uncovering history?
What if we were walking into it?
"Should we get going then?" Esther asked, brushing the dust from her black robe, her golden-chained hair swaying slightly in the faint breeze of the ruined hall.
"I guess. There's not much here," I said, trying not to sound too disappointed. Scrolls were fine, but scrolls didn't keep us alive or make us stronger.
What a pity.
As we stepped outside the grand temple, Esther paused. She struck a flame with her fingertip, kindling one of the tall marble poles that stood sentinel near the entrance. The warm glow cut through the mist for a moment as she clasped her hands, bowing her head. A prayer. Likely for the unfortunate souls we had uncovered within.
I stayed silent, watching.
The stone floor stretched before us, laced with countless etched symbols. Road sigils—directions marked by someone or something long before us.
The problem was… each one felt like a gamble. A path forward, or a trap leading deeper into whatever this place used to be.
The sword sigil scattered into a straight line across the ground caught my eye. It was clearer than the rest, its grooves sharper, as though it had been etched more recently than the others.
"Let's follow this one," I said, pointing at the sword symbols cutting through the mist.
Esther glanced at it and exhaled through her nose. "Hopefully we won't be landing upon ruins again."
The mist thickened as if listening, curling low across the ground like it meant to swallow the path we'd chosen.
I tapped my wrist, trying again to pull the [Map] function. The overlay flickered for a moment, then collapsed into static before vanishing. Nothing. The mist here wasn't just fog—it was interference. Suppression.
"Great…" I muttered.
Esther leaned on her sword like a staff, her flame wavering faintly. "Guess it's just us and the stone's guidance then."
We stepped forward, the etched swords leading us into the unknown.
As we strolled further, the unease gnawed at me, heavy as the mist pressing on our lungs. Every step along the etched sword sigil felt heavier than the last. My skin prickled, my mind whispered that something unseen was staring back at us.
I glanced at Esther. Her flame-lit sword flickered in her trembling grip. She was usually calm, confident… but now? Her lips pressed tight, her eyes darting into the haze.
"Do you feel something?" I finally asked.
Esther flinched. The fire in her hand pulsed brighter for a second before dimming again. "So it's not only me then?"
That confirmed it. Whatever this was—it wasn't just nerves. The path itself radiated unease, as if the stone sigils were seeping into our bones.
Was it the sigil? Or maybe this mist had a will of its own?
And then, through the gray, a darker outline grew clearer. A huge marble arc, towering like the ribcage of some dead god.
"Regina, do you think it is a gate?" Esther whispered, her hand brushing my shoulder.
I squinted, taking in the proportions. The arch stretched up nearly as high as the grand temple's entrance. Smooth marble, cracked with age, but still standing proudly against time and decay.
"I think so…" I murmured, throat dry.
We approached cautiously, boots clicking against the cold stone floor.
The air shifted as we drew near. Heavier. As if we were crossing into a different atmosphere. My lungs burned from every breath.
The arch wasn't just a gate. It was a threshold. A choice.
Proceed… and risk stepping into whatever cursed weight clung to this sigil.
Or turn back… and forever wonder what we had left behind.
Esther's golden eyes flickered toward me, firelight reflecting in them. "Is it wise to proceed?"
I swallowed hard, staring at the abyssal mist framed by the marble arch.
"I don't know…"
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and we stepped beneath the arch.
At once, the weight crashed onto us. The unease that had been whispering now screamed. My chest tightened, my knees almost buckled. For a fleeting second, I thought my body would refuse me.
I forced myself upright, trembling, clutching my blade for grounding. Esther's flame wavered violently, as if reacting to the pressure that wrapped around us.
And then—our eyes adjusted.
What lay scattered before us froze my blood.
A graveyard.
But not just any graveyard. Small stones. Shallow mounds. Weathered markers no taller than a child's knee. Etchings of tiny names long erased by mist. And some graves… marked only by cracked urns and unformed tablets.
A graveyard for children. And unborns.
The mist slithered through the hollow markers like mourning spirits, curling around the graves in a slow, deliberate caress.
Esther covered her mouth, her voice breaking. "Why… why would they…?"
I couldn't answer. My throat tightened as bile rose. Each grave was a wound carved into the land itself, and together they formed a field of despair stretching endlessly into the mist.
And then I noticed something worse.
Some graves were fresh. The soil darker, undisturbed by time. As if someone—or something—had buried more children here not long ago.
A crackle in the wind.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, goosebumps racing along my arms. Esther immediately raised her sword, its flame bursting brighter, casting long shadows that danced unnaturally across the childlike statues.
She must've sensed something I hadn't.
We tread carefully, weaving between the tiny graves, careful not to step too close, but no matter where we turned it was the same—rows upon rows of resting places, some adorned with little carvings of angels, smiling children with wings. At first they might've looked innocent, even comforting, but the longer I stared, the more warped their faces became. Those smiles weren't pure. They were mocking. Hollow. Watching.
"I smell something burning," I whispered, my voice sharper than intended.
Esther nodded stiffly, her nose wrinkling. "You're right… but there's something else. A stench… rotten, thick."
We froze. That wasn't the smell of fire alone—it was charred flesh, mingled with the damp scent of the graves.
Were we truly about to find something here?
If yes… then it was not something either of us could be ready for.
The scent grew heavier as we pressed forward, guiding us like a cruel leash. My stomach twisted with every step until, at last, the mist thinned just enough to reveal a clearing at the center of the graveyard.
And there, rising from the cracked earth, we saw it.
A pyre.
Blackened wood stacked high, long since burned down but still smoldering faintly with unnatural heat. Around it lay charred bones, small—too small. A circle of them, fused into the earth as if they had been offered… or condemned.
Above the pyre, nailed into a crooked wooden post, hung a statue. No… not a statue.
It was a preserved corpse, a child, its face locked in an eternal scream.
I almost threw up. The grotesque reality of the scene pressed on my chest like a stone—my throat tightened, bile threatening to rise.
Esther's face shifted from shock to disgust, then finally burned into anger. Her sword quivered in her grip as she aimed it toward the man.
But this wasn't just any man.
Half his face sagged like candlewax, melted and warped, yet the other half… it cried as if locked in eternal grief while trying, desperately, to smile. White robes clung to his frame, the same robes the mirageus wore.
"What monstrosity have you done!?" Esther barked, stepping forward, flame roaring from her blade.
He didn't flinch. Slowly, almost reverently, he approached the corpse of the child nailed above the pyre.
His right arm was infested with writhing maggots, chewing through rotting flesh until it resembled a lattice of holes. His left arm barely existed—held together by dangling sinews like frayed strings of a broken puppet.
"Ahh…" his cracked voice shivered in the silence. "What am I doing? Freeing these poor souls."
"Freeing?!" My words snapped through clenched teeth. "You tortured a child to death and displayed it!"
He extended his rotting hand. A small flame appeared, and in one motion, he pressed it to the child's corpse. The body burned to ashes, curling into nothing before our eyes.
"You—!" Esther lunged.
But her sword struck something invisible, a force rebounding her back. She stumbled, fury blazing in her eyes. "A barrier!? Break it, now!"
"This…" he said softly, "…is for your safety."
"What?!" Esther and I echoed in unison.
"You don't want to be next, do you?" His hollow smile stretched, trembling. "All these children's graves… they were ashes before they were buried. The White Death claimed them before we could save them."
I steadied Esther, forcing my voice calm. "…Explain."
He dragged his ruined body closer, each step sounding like tearing cloth. He clutched the ashes of the child in a vase.
"The White Death… you're travelers, aren't you? Then listen. Once hope failed, the people grew desperate. They turned to the Devil of the Mist. At first… he answered. He rewound time, erased conflicts. Every plea, he granted. Until… he grew tired of their greed."
His ruined eye lifted toward us, empty and shining.
"And so, he birthed his answer. A being of pure power, to rule the mist… but instead of salvation, it gave them their end."
Esther's grip on her sword whitened. "Why turn to the devil at all?"
"Because the gods themselves were the root," he rasped. "Perfect… yet imperfect… they forged the mist as their mistake."
I frowned. "I don't follow—"
His head twitched toward me, lips trembling. "The twelve scrolls. I hope you've found them."
"…We did," I admitted. "What about them?"
"Regina—don't just—" Esther tried to stop me.
But his laugh was dry, like cracking bones. "Then you may see the truth of this realm. The scrolls… each written by an observer. Solve them, bear their weight, and you might give this land a new beginning."
His left arm suddenly tore free, flopping lifelessly onto the ground. He winced but pressed on.
"Listen well. When you see the being of great size that stares—run. Do not confront it. Do not listen to it. Run." He coughed, black blood spilling.
"Another warning… when one comes claiming to be a savior, never believe. That is the devil's mirage. And no matter how many aberrants you fight… avoid the Guardian of the Mist. If you cannot…" his voice cracked, "…then I shall pray for you."
We listened, silent, not daring to interrupt.
His chest heaved with effort. Then his gaze fell on Esther.
"You, beauty with the flame… end me. This… is my last request."
Esther's eyes widened. She clenched her lips, but nodded. "I shall grant it."
His ruined eyes turned toward me. "And you… beauty that bears the goddess's face. Take my core. It will not rot, it absorbs. Use it, or don't… but keep it. Better in your hands than wasted in mine."
I hesitated… but nodded. "…I'll keep it."
His trembling smile softened. "Good. A dying man's will… shouldn't be discarded."
He knelt, folding his hands as if in prayer. Esther raised her sword, her flame reflecting in his one good eye.
"Don't forget…" his voice cracked, fading, "…bury the child."
Esther's lips parted, her voice low, resolute. "…We will."
She brought her blade down in a single smooth arc. His body turned to ash, carried away by the mist.
Silence.
Only the graves and the pyre remained.
The silence weighed heavier after the man's ashes scattered into the mist. His last words clung to us like a curse.
Esther lowered her sword, her flame dimming as her shoulders shook—not in weakness, but in restraint. She turned toward the remains of the child. All that was left was charred ash and brittle bones.
"…We should bury them," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, quiet, almost trembling.
I nodded, though my chest felt hollow. "Yeah… that was his last request."
We found a patch of soil near the other small graves, though it felt wrong—like adding one more stone to an endless pile of sorrow. I crouched, my fingers cold as I dug into the dirt. Esther knelt beside me, using her blade's fire to soften the earth.
Every handful of soil I pulled up, every shovelful she burned through—it made my hands feel heavier.
When the pit was ready, Esther gently gathered the child's fragments with her cloak and lowered them in. She folded her hands in prayer, her flame dancing faintly against the mist.
I stood there, staring at the dirt in my hands, unable to move for a moment. "…What a strange exchange that was."
Esther glanced at me, her eyes still sharp even through grief. "Strange?"
"That man… what was he? A murderer? A priest? A survivor clinging to guilt?" I muttered, tossing the dirt into the pit. "He looked like a monster, but… his words didn't sound like one."
Esther pressed her lips together, not answering right away. She lowered another handful of soil. "Even monsters pray, Regina. Maybe he was both."
Her words cut through me deeper than I expected.
We covered the grave, layer by layer, until the mound was sealed. Esther took a broken piece of marble and drove it into the earth as a makeshift marker. She lit the top with a small flame, then stepped back.
I looked at the rows of graves around us—the children's statues, the winged smiles carved in stone, the silence that felt suffocating. "…If what he said about the White Death is true, then none of this was just desperation. This was… extermination."
Esther tightened her grip on her sword. "And if what he said about the scrolls is true…" she glanced at me, her expression unreadable, "…then maybe we're already caught in something bigger than we thought."
The mist stirred faintly, curling around the graveyard like it was listening.
I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "He told us not to believe in saviors. But everything here… it's built on prophecies of one. If the people of this land couldn't even agree, what chance do we have?"
Esther didn't answer. Instead, she bowed once more to the fresh grave, her flame flickering against the darkness.
"…Let's go," she finally said. "We owe them at least that much—to move forward."
And so, we left the graveyard.But with every step, I couldn't shake the feeling that the mist itself now watched us, curious about what we'd do next.