"My Queen, please!" Lira shouted, voice cracking as the wind swallowed her words. "You must come back! It isn't safe—nothing out here is safe!"
I wiped my wet hair out of my face, grinning like an idiot as another wave lapped at my boots. Water. Endless water. Not ice. Not melt drips. Not rationed snow.
"Lira, it's fine," I called back, lifting a hand to dismiss her. "I'm just bringing some water back to the settlement. Then—then maybe we can find a way out of here. Don't you see?" I stood tall, chest heaving with hope I hadn't felt in years. "We finally have a chance. If we can make buckets, boats—anything—we can—"
I stopped.
Lira's frantic panting faded.
My heartbeat quieted.
Something heavy pressed against my spine—an instinct older than reason. A coldness, sharper than the sea wind.
Slowly, I turned my head.
At first, I didn't understand what I was seeing. A pale haze rolling across the ground. A faint shimmer over the distant houses. A ripple—soft but purposeful—moving toward us.
It didn't register.
Then the truth hit me so hard my breath stuttered.
The fog was coming back.
My stomach dropped into my boots.
"Shit… shit—!"
Lira gasped. "My Queen—"
"No time!" I snapped.
I lunged for the wooden bucket—my precious creation, the hope I clung to—and lifted it—
—only to drop it immediately.
Too heavy.
Too slow.
Too much.
If I carried it, I would die.
If I didn't carry it… everything we could've had would vanish.
But the fog was creeping toward the border at a speed I had never seen before—rolling like a living tide intent on swallowing the world whole.
There was no choice.
"RUN!" I shouted.
I bolted.
My boots tore across the sand, legs pumping so hard my bones felt like they'd split. My lungs burned. My throat scraped raw each time I pulled in the icy air.
But the fog…
It was faster.
Much faster.
I could see the border ahead—just a few dozen more steps, snow-dusted ground rising beyond the sand. Home. The settlement. My people.
I stretched out my arms—
And the world vanished.
The fog slammed down in a wall of white, thick and impenetrable. A monstrous curtain falling between me and the only home I had ever known.
It cut me off completely.
"No—NO!" I screamed, skidding to a stop so hard I fell to my knees. "ONCE—JUST ONCE—LET ME THROUGH!"
My fists punched the ground. Snow burst under my fingers.
It was too late.
The fog had returned.
The border was sealed again.
Everything I had ever known—every face, every voice, every memory—was gone behind an impenetrable wall.
Fear curled up my spine like icewater—
but alongside it, horrifyingly, came something else.
Joy.
I was outside.
I was free.
For the first time in my life, the fog wasn't behind me—
it was in front of me.
"I—I got out…" I whispered, trembling.
Then the truth slammed into me like a blow.
My people.
My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe.
They were still inside.
Trapped.
Starving.
Waiting for a queen who couldn't return to them.
"I have to go back," I breathed, stumbling toward the fog. "I have to—I can't leave them. I can't—"
But the fog pushed forward, creeping across the ground like fingers reaching for me.
A shiver of dread pulsed through me.
Something moved inside it.
A shape.
Large.
Heaving.
Watching.
A low growl rolled out of the fog, so deep it vibrated through my bones.
"Fuck," I whispered.
A second growl answered.
"Fuck, fuck—Lira!"
But Lira was nowhere. Whether the fog swallowed her or she fled—I didn't know.
A massive shadow lunged.
I threw myself sideways as a giant claw tore through the sand where I'd been standing.
A mutant bear.
I recognized the silhouette—far too big, hunched, wrong.
Fog-beasts. Born of the mist. Creatures we never saw fully but always feared.
The claw tore another trench into the sand.
Its roar split the night.
I scrambled to my feet and ran. Not toward the border—impossible now—but toward the sea. The only open space left. The only direction not swallowed by fog.
The ground shook behind me.
Snow and sand flew.
The beast bellowed, fury shaking the air.
The fog reached farther, curling around my ankles, reaching for my legs.
I screamed and sprinted harder, feet slipping on wet sand.
The sea surged forward, waves slamming into my shins as I crashed into the water. I didn't think. Didn't breathe. Didn't care that I had no idea how to swim.
I just ran.
The water reached my knees.
My thighs.
Cold stole the breath from my lungs.
I had no plan.
No idea.
Just blind panic.
Thunk.
My foot cracked against something solid.
I pitched forward with a yelp and crashed chest-first into something that bobbed and rocked beneath me.
A crate.
A floating crate.
I tumbled into it, limbs folding awkwardly as I half-fell, half-rolled inside. The crate dipped with my weight but didn't sink—not yet. My legs dangled over the edge, boots dragging in the water as the waves tugged me farther from shore.
Behind me, the fog swept across the sand, swallowing everything.
The beast roared, its shadow lunging—
But the waves carried me out of its reach.
Panting, shaking, soaked to the bone, I clung to the splintering wood as the crate drifted farther and farther from the border.
And I laughed.
A broken, breathless laugh—
half horror, half relief.
Of all things—of all moments—my makeshift bowl, my stupid invention created out of desperation and childish hope…
It had saved my life.
I slumped against the side of the crate, chest heaving, tears mixing with seawater on my cheeks.
The fog shrank into the distance.
The growls faded.
The land I knew so well—
the frigid darkness, the snow-crushed shelters, the people who needed me—
disappeared behind the wall of mist.
I drifted alone into the black sea, the endless water rocking me gently, as the wind whispered over the waves.
For the first time in my life, the fog wasn't closing around me.
It was letting me go.