The nameless boy stood atop a small wooden platform, looking out over the mist-slathered road. It's bone-white tendrils coiled and lashed at the ground beneath his feet as if trying to grab at his ankles and pull him in.
He'd be pulled in soon enough, but not by the Fog.
He was dressed in rags: an itchy sack with holes cut enough to cover up his body and fit his arms through, and some shorts that were pulled from an older boy who'd been eaten by the Fog a week before. The shorts were too big, tied around his waist with a messy knot of thin, old rope. Their legs looked longer on his body, nearly touching his ankles and the bare feet at their base.
His stomach churned. He couldn't tell if it was from sickness or hunger. The taste of last night's meal in the back of his throat, having had no drink to wash it out. No use giving a damned soul water.
One of the guards grabbed him by the head and pulled him along the platform, towards a booth made of damp wood and shoddy nails. The storage house was run-down and small, but held a lot of value to these men.
He was let go at the base of the storage house's window, in which sat a gruff and pudgy man. He looked at the boy with disinterest and absentmindedly tossed him a small metal lantern on a thin rope.
The lantern was made of a dark metal that the boy hadn't seen before, it had a caged design, with a small opening for air at its base. Fairly small, it fit into his childish palms and felt light to hold. It glowed with a faint, pale blue light from a small fire that danced behind the bars.
"You know the drill, whelp. On ya neck, an' no takin' it off - else scary Gaz over 'ere will put an arrow through ya 'fore any monster can get ya!"
The window tender grinned, showing a mouth of teeth that were half-gold, half-rotted, all giving off yellow hues in the morning light. The man behind him, Gaz, gave a small smirk and aimed his crossbow toward the boy.
The boy didn't flinch. It's not like anything would change anything if he was shot.
Deprived of a fun reaction, Gaz pulled the boy along with a click of his tongue. He muttered underneath his breath.
"Creep. Good riddance, I say."
The boy fell to the ground with a shove, scraping his knees on the dirt and rocks of the road. Behind him a new smell came on the suffocated morning breeze: lingering and gross, like some gone-off food, or the smell of the dirt, mixed in with a hint of metal, like the metal of his cell bars.
Later in life, he'd learn this to be the smell of monster blood.
Heavy steps sounded on the path, just out of sight in the light fog that surrounded the camp. All guards, and even a well-dressed man in an ill-fitting suit stood at attention on either side of the road, rows of trees behind them.
A silhouette that loomed tall and long like a bear stomped into view.
"Good morning, good customer, sir." The suited man spoke. His voice was shaking, as if nervous, but the boy had heard him talk this way to many first-time customers. Pretend? He didn't understand its purpose, and continued staring at the shadow as it came into his view.
The man was huge, with a body that seemed made more of muscles than it did anything else. His arms were mounds of strength, attached to a wide chest fitting underneath a sleek, black leather jacket of some kind.
On his back loomed a bag that could've fit the boy in with space to spare. It helped his shadow cast longer and with a less human shape. At his side, clutched tightly in a scar-covered fist, was an enormous sword sheathed in a shining white sheath.
"This way, Master Drun, we have everything for your crossing ready."
***
Welt was forced back to his senses. Pulled back into the world as if saved by The Oathsome. He couldn't tell what direction he'd walked in, or for how long. Around him was an unfamiliar, but still fogged group of trees, and no tracks from his footsteps laid behind him.
Unpleasant memories faded from his head, and he checked on his wounds.
To Welt's surprise, his arm had come a long way. It was almost at a point to be unslung, though still hurt to bend. Additionally, the puncture at his side and gashes on his back were completely healed, though marked with faint scars on his skin.
Wounds seemed to heal awfully quick on him now. Was this one of his Truth's powers. Maybe? He'd read that Champions had strong constitutions and survived many harrowing battles, but this could be due to a number of factors, not just being able to quickly heal.
He stood among the walls of Fog around him, trying to take stock of his options. The trees around him weren't of much help, considering he didn't know the direction he'd been headed from. From what he could see of their trunks, there were three oaks and a pine tree.
A pine?
Welt walked towards up to the pine's trunk and put his hand against it. It was definitely larger than a normal pine. Perhaps, this was the one that poked out of the Fog? The one he'd seen from the campsite?
It was unlikely, but still a chance.
He summoned the walking stick, which was still stuck through the large eye from before. Gross. But, he couldn't really use the stick with the eye adding weight and getting in the way. Welt carefully slide the eye off and into his old, blood-soaked bandages. He didn't want to lose such a precious material - it might have uses, or could be sold for good money to some collector. He placed the wrapped eye at the base of the pine and began to climb.
Climbing with one arm was difficult, but Welt had become well-versed with scouting and difficult navigation through an adolescence of hunting smart and wild creatures through forests and fields. He'd climbed enough trees enough time to be able to do it with only one arm.
Scaling the pine took a little over ten minutes, to Welt's estimate. It was hard to keep much track of time in this place, where his senses all felt muddled, smothered and dulled. Grabbing at the thinning branches of the tree upwards, Welt felt his hand break free of the white veil above. He pushed with his legs, poking his head out into the open sky.
The fresh, cool night air was pulled into his lungs and devoured. The world was sprinkled with the twinkling light of stars, hard to see but... at least the world was there. He'd half a mind that he was in some foreign world with all the dizzying effects on his senses.
Welt's blackened left arm trembled, its grip getting weaker, but then tighter. It shook and resonated with the air around.
DOWN. DANGER.
"I know there' danger down there, voice. I'm lucky to have made it up this far!"
DANGER. DOWN.
GO. DOWN.
"...Do you want me dead? Are you-"
A black talon dove at Welt, violently shaking the tree he was holding on to. From above, a one-eyed creature shrieked and whistled as it perched atop the bowing pine. The bird was still here, still full of rage, and still more than capable of attack.
Welt ducked down, letting go of the branches and climbing down as fast as he could. He had to pull his left arm's grasp free with his broken arm, it wasn't listening to him. He groaned from pain in his right arm and tried to step back down.
Fuck... I need to stay in this place until morning?
The thing's beak poked through the Fog and lunged at Welt's head, shielded by some sturdier branches that didn't snap from the attack. It's whistling began to muffle and die in the dense mist, and it soon turned back and flew upwards.
Welt sat down against the tree again, panting and prepare himself for the long stay in this mind-numbing Fog.