Raising from the ground was a thick white mist that soon rose to the treetops and swallowed everything inside it. The milky white coating covered everything, swirling around against the windows. Norman was not bothered by it at all, mostly because he was still fast asleep, while Slacume, next to him in the driver’s seat, could do nothing but frantically bounce his eyes around like a chameleon on cocaine. Orel had to ask, even though he feared sounding like an uncultured farmer going down to the big city.

“Is there usually this much mist here?”

“Frankly, no, there shouldn’t," Slacume tried to laugh it away. "My town had this saying: Don’t be playing in the woods; otherwise, the mist taketh thee.” He recounted like an old man telling tales around the campfire.

“Take you to where?”

“I don’t know. Dead Men tell no tales.”

“You really believe in telltales?” Andras said, completely forgetting how their last adventure went.

“You wouldn't be laughing if it happened to you. Thank the queen there's Magistrate to take care of those things.”

“Are we there yet?” Andras crossed his arms like a grumpy child.

“It’s around these parts, but I can’t make up any signs.” Slacume squint his eyes.

The car was driving slowly, almost to the point of stopping. Slacume didn’t want to stop, even less to step out, but couldn’t see anything on the road either. They should have arrived by this point; Slacume was sure of it but didn't want to admit it. He had driven through these parts more times than he could count, but nothing seemed familiar anymore, partly because of the fog but mostly because they had been driving a straight road. There were no straight lines like that on that path.

“Should we step out and look around?” Andras asked, grasping the handle.

“No, no, no, no, no." Slacume objected, sounding like a chainsaw on idle. "Stop it! No one's doing anything!"

“Norman...” Orel tried asking.

A snore was all he got as an answer. Orel was clever that he knew trying the same thing would only waste his time. That's why he decided to kick the seat until his leather shoe would stab him in the back.

“Norman!” Orel yelled.

“Wha-What. Oh, are we there yet?” Norman, still dizzy from his nap, opened the door.

For reasons beyond comprehension, Norman unlocked his seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out. Before anyone could realize it, Norman had left the vehicle.

“No!” Orel yelled.

“Damn! We can’t lose him!“ Slacume hit the brakes.

The car stopped quickly from the slow pace, though the mud made it slip around and turn almost sideways like a sled.

It was too late. Norman had stepped out into the fog and disappeared without a trace. Even though his stunt would have won him a free slap in the face, the others had to concentrate on the terrific situation. The prize and who would claim it would claim it could be decided later.

“Norman, where did you go?” Andras blunged out of the car.

“Andras?!” Orel yelled.

It only took Andras a single step to be swallowed by the fog, and he was gone as well. Orel's cries echoed into nothingness like prayers to god.

“I knew it! The mist is here!” Slacume panicked.

Terrified like a small animal, Slacume hit the pedal and tried to turn the car, drifting as the gravel and mud spun out of the wheels. He had nothing else in his mind other than running away like a corrupted politician on the first day of the war.

“Wait, they’re my friends!” Orel pleaded.

“Didn’t you see that? They’re gone!” Slacume pushed the pedal to the metal.

The moment Slacume used to talk back to Orel proved to be a fatal mistake. It was unfortunate, or perhaps it didn’t matter, that Slacume concentrated a split second on Orel, but the next thing it focused on was getting slammed against the steering wheel. Whatever the car hit, it hit badly. Smoke rose from the front while the two had barely time to recover. Orel was the first to regain consciousness and saw the dire situation. With pain all through his body, he crawled out of the car. Slacume was not that lucky, as his door was stuck. Orel took out a rock nearby and smashed the glass, time and time again until there was enough space for Slacume. With the flames coming ever so closer, Orel dragged Slacume out. It took all of his strength, but the two were now relatively safe. After a short while, Slacume’s eyes opened, and the first thing he could think was to take a look at the car. It had hit a tree that had grown dangerously near the road, much like the whole forest. The car was beyond repair and soon beyond recognition as the fire burned everything except the chassis. The two stood by the dirt road surrounded by trees, helpless like abandoned kittens.

Orel took a look at Slacume, still near the burning rubble. He was praying like a criminal for his last chance at redemption.

“No, no, no, no.” Slacume chanted in despair. "I’m finished.” His voice cracked as snot burst out of his runny nose.

Orel didn’t know what to do but knew he had to do something. Just looking at him made him feel awful as well.

“It’s alright.” Orel patted his shoulder.

Only some words were audible. The rest was utterly indescribable from the weeping and sniffing.

“Gotthold’s going to end me.” Slacume cried out.

Orel could not really sympathize with the feeling but knew a loss was a loss, even if it was reputation and occupation.

“At least we’re fine.” He said with the gentlest voice he could manage.

The man was not listening. He laid before Orel quietly. After a few seconds of silent whimpering, Slacume finally rose, cleaned his glasses, and put them on, even though the lenses were completely shattered. Orel couldn't save his suit from the damage either, but it was still fine enough for him.

“Are you ok?” Orel asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed a bit of venting.”

“A bit of venting...” Orel would not have called it that.

“What?” Slacume seemed frighteningly normal.

“Nothing.” Orel looked at Slacume’s shattered glasses. “Maybe the insurance still holds?” He tried to change the subject.

“Oh, these? Don’t worry.”

He took out a pendant from around his neck with a colorful gem as the centerpiece and held it by the chain. Orel hadn’t seen such garnished jewelry even in his grandfather's treasures.

“O spirits, give aid and mend that is broken and restore that has changed.” Slacume chanted, waving the pendant in his hand.

Small flickering lights appeared around him of different colors, where one floated onto the glasses and popped with a flash. When the light vanished, the lenses were all fixed again and shining. Slacume hid the pendant under his shirt and put the glasses back on like nothing happened.

“What was that?” Orel was sure nothing would surprise him anymore.

“You don't know about spirits? They’re just some lesser spirits I can call to help. I’m not that good with magic overall, but I got some spirit affinity, meaning I can get them to help me cast spells and such. It’s pretty rare but a bit wasted on me, to be honest.”

“I could use that spell." Orel thought back to all the times he broke a vase or plate.

“I don't want to be some sort of handyman.” Slacume scoffed. “I can't even do this without my pendant. It helps me concentrate my magic.”

“Don’t mages usually have those sort of things?”

“Well, it depends. Some spells work better with wands or orbs, but you don’t need any if you got the talent.” Slacume said. “You’re an adventurer. Don’t you have magic?”

“I can only create pennies.” Orel threw one. He had trained enough to create one whenever he wanted, though the limit was about the size of a small pouch.

The gesture slightly put off Slacume as he traced the coin in the air. You couldn't make a more questioning face without drawing a question mark on your forehead.

“What?” Orel didn't like speculating based on the expression.

“Um, how should I say this. You were the party leader, not Norman, right?”

Orel realized the point of the question; he had asked it himself. It hurt, like something squirming inside of him. How wouldn’t someone think about it? A normal guy with no special qualities somehow ends up leading a talented mage and fighter with supernatural powers. Orel had dreams more believable than that, yet he couldn't wake from this one.

“It was his idea for me to be the leader. He said himself that he isn't a leader-type guy, but I'm not really like that either. His teaching me doesn't make it any better.”

“You’re his student? I mean, I should have guessed. It’s just rare for a teacher and apprentice to be friends with one another.”

“Don't get me wrong. He's not that nice.”

“Mages don't pick and choose their students however they want. They always see some talent there that they can polish.”

“What talent?”

“How should I know? I barely got anyone to teach me.” Slacume shrugged. “Well, if you want some tips, I know one they taught me. If you come across a mage, look at their hands. If they have plenty of rings, get out of there. Wealthy mages carry them as a sort of last resort spells, and you definitely don't want them to use them. Those things can wreck you hard, even if someone wearing them isn't that powerful. The problem is, judging the difference between a high-class wedding ring and a magic ring is pretty hard.”

“Thanks for the info, I guess.” Orel wasn’t sure how he would ever use it.

Thinking back, Orel realized he didn’t see a ring on Norman’s fingers. He said he didn’t own any magic items, but there wasn't even a wedding ring.

A little bit of silence followed. Both started to look around themselves, not just because they had nothing to say. The two were along a long obscure dirt road circulated by mountainous forest, blocking out the sun along with the fog. It was humid, timid, but not cold. The fresh smell of grass and trees filled the air while a splash of mud followed each step. It was surprisingly quiet, only a slight wind went around the trees, and perhaps some bird chirped in the distance. The dirt road continued to the mysterious fog, where you couldn’t exactly tell how far it would go.

“Not getting a signal. It can’t just be the location.” Slacume put his phone away.

“Should we follow the road? Wait for rescue?”

“No point waiting. They’re not going to find us if this thing transported us somewhere.”

“What is this place?” Orel looked around.

“This thing may have just displaced us, but in the worst-case scenario, we’re now on a different plane.”

“Where’s Norman and Andras? I can’t see them anywhere.”

“It’s possible it placed them somewhere else.”

“Then there’s nothing else to do.” Orel started following the road.

“Wait, where you’re going?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not going just to sit around.” Orel’s voice echoed.

“Wait a moment!” Slacume took a sprint.

He hurried to Orel’s side, glad to see that he wasn’t left alone.

They walked, walked, and walked some more on an endless dirt road. Time passed. How much is not specific as no clocks worked, but the sun had started dropping from the curtain of the sky. The moisture made it exhausting, and finally, as they saw two sets of footprints ahead of them, they gave up.

“We’ve been walking in circles.” Slacume sat down.

“There’s the car.” Orel pointed out.

“What do we do now?” Orel leaned against a tree next to Slacume.

Slacume looked up to the sky hopelessly, like a bird in a zoo. “I don’t know. Storm clouds are gathering.”

The silent forest suddenly echoed a horrible howl. It made Slacume’s heart spike. Orel was frightened as well, but Slacume became hysterical. He covered his eyes and curled up like a baby, chanting ominously.

“It’s here. Don’t look at it. It’s here. Let it pass. Don’t look at it.” Slacume whispered by himself.

“What is?"

“Barghest.” Slacume hushed.

The howling closed in on them. Orel could hear rustling from the fog. A four-legged thing was steadily stomping towards them. Judging by the situation, Orel followed suit and covered his eyes. His senses heightened, or perhaps it meant the beast was close. On the road was a distinct pattern of splashing mud. The sound made Slacume let out a peep before silencing himself. The thing growled like a wolf or a bear. It gnashed its teeth and gripped the ground with its claws as it galloped towards them. It passed Slacume with a single growl. The beast continued towards Orel with no other sound than its rugged mane rustling in the wind. Orel could feel its foul breath as it sniffed his face. Orel remained still as the beast opened its mouth and let out a warm breath. One of the teeth scratched his forehead, which felt like being sliced with a knife. At that moment, Orel felt the closest to death he had ever gotten, and it froze him still. Thankfully, the dog backed out. Orel couldn’t tell what happened but heard a set of footprints splashing from the road. A powerful yet hoarse voice followed.

“Foul beast of these woods! May you forgive me, but I shall slay you today! You shall fall like the setting sun!”

The dog growled loudly and stepped forth. The steps galloped as if they had begun to attack. Somehow it had begun to rain, and not only that but thunder. Slacume couldn’t open his eyes, but Orel took a peek. It was a long foreign swinging a polearm. The man had wrapped his head under a white cloak while his orange garb stood out from underneath the large hide over his shoulders. The dog’s eyes glowed red like lanterns in the night, and its breath steamed out between its giant canine teeth. Instead of looking away, the man stared at the huge black dog. The air started to feel static with electricity, and the storm clouds darkened the sky. The dog growled and bounced at him. Instead of dodging, the man let the dog sink its teeth in his arm like two boards full of nails. Once the beast locked its jaw, it ground its teeth further into the flesh as blood spewed out. The dog looked back at the man, expecting him to clench in pain; instead, the man kept his unrelenting gaze and his face unfazed. He swung with his weapon in one arm while the other was still in its mouth. The dog kept its head but lost an ear. The beast let loose and whimpered.

The thunder became ever more apparent; the man raised his voice again while spinning his weapon above his head.

“Be consumed by god’s thunder! Strike down and devour, Raiju!” The man held his weapon high.

A blinding flash of light and a roar of thunder. The blade swung down in an instant. It beheaded the beast like a guillotine. A wolf’s head wrapped in lighting formed from the edge, growling twice as loud. It opened its maw and devoured the head. After a quick gulp, the dog began eating the rest of the corpse. Orel and Slacume watched in horror as the body disappeared, leaving but a pool of black blood.

“It is not only you who is an omen of death. Through hell shall your soul be purged.” The man prayed on the spot.

“Who are you?” Slacume shouted in shock.

“I am a humble monk of Raikou temple on pilgrimage, Kubo Isao,” The man calmly explained as he strapped his weapon behind his back to a sash.

“That technique, have I seen it before?” Orel had a faint memory of something similar.

“Is your hand alright?” Slacume asked.

“These are no mortal wounds." Isao stretched his hand over to it.

Blue sparks flew out and scattered along the arm like little spider legs. It was like he was welding himself, though one could honestly not see anything because of the bright light. Once Isao was done with it, the sparks stopped as suddenly as they formed.

“Never mind that. How the hell does a monk from Azuma get here of all places?” Slacume addressed the elephant in the room.

“I have followed storm clouds here in search of power and found myself here while traversing the great streams.”

“Oy, Orel. There’s something wrong with that monk.” Slacume leaned over.

Glancing at the lean stature of the weirdly dressed man and having witnessed the spectacle that just unfolded, Orel could, at some level, agree with the sentiment.

“No fellow should be able to control electric currents like that, even with magic. Also, he totally just cauterized that wound like it was nothing.”

Isao didn't care for what the two thought and kept his focus on tending himself. After doing a few stretches, Isao continued traveling along the path without a moment's notice. Seeing him leave, Orel started following the man, as he was their best option for survival. Slacume was not that quick to trust a stranger, but he knew their options were slim. Isao could feel a presence following them from tree to tree for a while. Orel walked a little bit behind on the side while having his head filled with questions.

“Follow me at your own risk." Isao could see the question being asked.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Orel asked another in return.

“I do not need to. I am a vagabond; the next step of my foot is what leads me.”

“Why are you traveling?”

“It is my holy duty, something an outsider’s ears are not welcome to hear.”

“Stop pestering him, Orel!” Slacume yelled from a distance.

“...Why did you kill it, the Barghest?”

“Orel!” Slacume yelled louder. He hid again as Isao turned his head.

“...The lighting must be fed. It was only by chance that I rescued you along the way.”

“Do you know how to get out?”

“Whatever trial I may face, I will give it my all. Fate has not brought us here, but ourselves, and as long as we display courage and perseverance, we will be able to continue.”

“I see, so you won’t mind us following you?”

“No one saves us but ourselves,” Isao said. "What I have shown you is not my strength, but compassion."

“Is it alright?” Slacume’s frightened voice echoed.

“Probably, as long as we won’t get in the way," Orel yelled back.

Slacume did not wholly trust those words but decided to stop covering behind trees and followed them on the road. He felt pretty awkward about it, so he decided to break the ice.

“I- My name is Slacume Potomac.” He was not quite good at it.

Just as Slacume could finish the sentence, he peeped out of fear with Isao’s sudden answer. “I did not ask for your name.”

The walk continued the same way as before, two highly different people walking along the road and a third person following them shortly from cover to cover. The mist was relentlessly blocking the view, and the forest seemed to continue as long as the road, but there was something different at one point. The two noticed an old crumbled rock fence forming on each side of the road. Not long after, they saw a broken sign with letters pointing down from the way it used to. Etched letters were hard to read as age and weather had already scraped the dark paint away, but you could make up a word with some investigation. “Bertim.” If it was truly Bertin, his friends could be there, Orel thought. He needed to find out.

Traveling a bit farther, the three witnessed the mist finally opening up to reveal something. A tall stone building was before them with its tall central tower, two enormous wooden doors, and once colorful round windows turned bleak. Before they could approach, an entirely different scenery opened around their feet. A field full of lean and short stones revealed itself as an unkept graveyard, a horrid display continuing for far too long. With that in mind, it was only natural to conclude that the lengthy building before them was none other than a church. Walking beside the long-forgotten graves of the dead was a testament to willpower itself, for Orel could not shake a feeling of dread from him. Isao brushed the graves with a disappointed look while Slacume held back tears of terror. The subsequent trial awaited Orel after reaching the entrance if the doors would not open themselves. A quiet yet audible hum already resonated from the inside for his displeasure. With that in mind, Orel pushed the door.