The fog was no longer ordinary.
It moved like a living creature—slithering between trees, wrapping around stones, creeping into homes. People began speaking in fragments, repeating words they didn't understand. Children cried without reason. The sacred stones that once glowed now cracked, and their fractures held no light.
Yohwa stood in the village square, clad in stone armor fused to his body. The hammer in his hand felt heavy—not from its weight, but from the burden it carried. He could feel resonance from the earth, but something disrupted it—a dark frequency that swallowed ancestral voices.
Kelam had arrived.
It wasn't a figure one could see with ordinary eyes. It was mist that devoured memory, a shadow that froze hope. Within the fog, Yohwa saw a faint silhouette: tall, thin, moving like smoke. Its eyes didn't glow—they were empty. And from that emptiness, a voice emerged.
"Light is a lie," Kelam whispered. "It only makes you forget that the world is cold."
Yohwa stepped forward. "Light is memory. And I do not forget."
Kelam laughed—a sound like shattering stone. Its fog spread, touching the stones around Yohwa. One by one, they turned black, losing resonance. Yohwa raised his hammer and struck the ground. A wave of light rippled outward, but it wasn't strong enough. The fog absorbed it like water swallowing flame
The first battle began not with blows, but with loss. Yohwa tried to strike, but every movement felt slow. Kelam's mist absorbed intent before action. He felt like he was drowning in memories that weren't his—memories of betrayal, of discarded ancestors, of light that failed.
His body weakened. The stone armor cracked. The hammer trembled in his grip. He fell to his knees, and the fog began to wrap around his mind.
But within that fog, another voice spoke. Gentle. Deep.
"Yohwa," Sira whispered. "Kelam is not an enemy. It is a wound. And wounds cannot be fought with strength. Only with the courage to remember."
Yohwa closed his eyes. He didn't resist. He remembered. He saw his father's face, the first stone he carved, Numa's laughter, and dreams of stars. The light within him ignited again—not as a weapon, but as a small flame refusing to die.
He rose. His cracked armor sealed itself. His hammer glowed. The fog retreated slightly, as if confused.
Yohwa did not win. But he did not lose.
And Kelam, for the first time, stopped moving.!