Qassot groaned as she slowly climbed to her feet. Her body was half-submerged in gently lapping waves, a relaxing sensation which offset the pounding in her head.
"What happened?"
Loud gasping and splashing interrupted her question. A ways down the shoreline and deeper in the water, a small, soggy winged fuzzball was flailing around in the water. Qassot reached her claw out and flicked it backwards. The water lifted the creature up and threw it towards the shore. It landed a few paces from the shoreline. Qassot's claws sunk into the soft, cold sand as she carefully made her way over to the creature.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Would it kill you to be a little more gentle?" Aavern groaned, slowly rolling over to face her.
"Sorry," Qassot said. "I thought you were Cyil."
Aavern coughed out a mouthful of water.
"Where are we?" Aavern asked. He picked himself up and glanced around at the dense, foggy air. Aside from the small sandy shoreline that stretched on seemingly indefinitely into the mist and the ocean lapping at their feet, there was a forest deeper inland, whose trees stood taller with less underlying foliage than the ones back in Qade Valley. That wasn't the only difference. Unlike the lively forests Qassot had gotten used to, this forest was completely silent and still.
"I'm not sure," Qassot said. "Was there ever a place like this on Falnear?"
"I don't think so," Aavern said. "Unless we somehow ended up on the southeastern corner of Falnear. We haven't explored there yet."
Qassot glanced around. "This place doesn't feel like Falnear, though."
"Why do you think so?"
"It feels… weaker."
"Weaker?"
"It's hard to explain."
Aavern fell silent for a while, trying to comprehend Qassot's words, but eventually gave up.
"What do you think happened back there?" Aavern asked.
"I don't know. It was too bright to see."
Aavern glanced around at the fog. Back in Qade Valley, times when fog rolled in was rare and a cause for celebration. Creatures who could fly would try to go as high as possible to get above the fog. Aavern was never able to fly that high, but he remembered the few who made it described what they saw as the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. Because of this, Aavern always felt that fog was a rare and wonderful occurrence. Aavern liked it when it was foggy.
This fog, however, didn't feel the same. It felt dense and oppressive rather than cooling and mysterious. Aavern shivered. The air felt unnaturally cold. Wasn't it supposed to be summer?
"Where are the others?" he asked.
"We should find them," Qassot said, standing up on her hind legs like how Axel normally walked around. She liked the fog. After all, she could use her water gem more freely the more water there was in the vicinity. The reverse was also true, however, which led to her using her swords more than her gem.
Aavern held a small sphere of light up in the air. The harsh light pierced the fog only slightly. In the rapidly dimming glow of the sky that was the only sign that the sun was setting, the light wrapped with darkening mist seemed ghostly and surreal.
"Of course the day would end so soon," Aavern grumbled.
"If Dracoa were here she could blow away all this fog," Qassot said thoughtfully.
"Let's hope we find her first," Aavern said. In a mutter, he added, "I don't like this place."
"Let's go further inland, then," Qassot said, turning away from the ghostly shoreline and walking into the dark, ethereal forest.
Aavern shivered as he slowly followed.
The pair of creatures carefully picked their way through the foliage, picking their way past snapping twigs and rustling bushes that gently washed themselves of their passing in the ever-creeping fog. As time seemed to slow and tick by second by second, Aavern jumped at every noise to dart around to Qassot's other side, before startling at another noise and darting back around. For a creature accustomed to the forest, who was nigh on impossible to catch in the trees and bushes, one who celebrated the passing fog with vigor and joy, the eerie forest made the twitching, jumpy creature look all the more out of place.
"I really don't like this place," Aavern said, his voice shivering and echoing through the endless trees looming out of the fog.
Qassot's foot hit something lying on the ground. She looked down, then immediately jumped. Aavern squeaked in fright and abruptly ran off as Qassot's heart raced in her chest at the sight of a corpse, dried and long dead, lying, still covered, wearing what looked like interlocking plates smooth metal a few paces from the debris.
The corpse's head was missing.
Qassot struggled to calm her beating heart as she tore her gaze away from the sight to look around through the forest.
There were more corpses, their blood dried, staining the forest floor, lying around in a group that seemed to have once surrounded something in the center. Their various spears, swords, and shields lay neglected on the ground, but eerily enough, none of the corpses were rotting, no smell of death rose up from the air, and all of them were decapitated cleanly with one blow.
"This is strange," Qassot muttered, carefully picking her way through the scene of a massacre.
A sudden crash in the distance alerted Qassot, and she quickly snapped up from the gruesome scene, drawing her sword in an instant. The moment she heard Aavern's distant voice, she burst into a run towards the source of the noise, dodging trees that loomed up ominously in the fog in a mad dash.
In a sudden rush of wind, Qassot emerged into the open air. She immediately slowed her pace, leaving the treeline and stepping carefully from the forest onto a winding dirt path, beginning to be invaded by creeping vegetation and strewn about with a few scattered debris and pieces of wood. Qassot looked up and down the path, wondering where the source of the noise was.
Aavern was there, in front of her, curled up and clutching his face in pain as he rolled around on the dusty ground. Near him lay a tree trunk that had fallen and rolled onto the path, and now sported a barely noticeable fuzzball-shaped dent in it. Qassot sighed, rolled her eyes, and sheathed her sword.
"Qassot?" Aavern asked, looking up at her, then ran over and hid behind her again.
"Looks like you found a path," Qassot said, looking around and trying to decide on a direction to walk in.
"I don't like this place," Aavern said.
Qassot was beginning to agree with Aavern. She didn't like this place either.
"This place is scary," Aavern said, sticking close to Qassot.
Qassot could only let out a long sigh as she chose a direction which she guessed led away from the shoreline, continuing walking with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The lack of visibility and dead silence made her nervous, prompting her to remain poised, ready at any moment to draw her sword and strike out in an instant.
The path wound through the forest, making its way through the trees onwards even as they walked for a long time, the light neither growing brighter nor dimmer as the day passed, with no evidence for the passage of time to speak of.
The pair carefully picked their way over a few rough, uneven parts of the path before it emerged into a wide, open area, the trees giving way to what would have been well-built, reliable houses to last a lifetime if it wasn't for the holes blown into the roofs, the char marks and crumbling rubble scattered across their walls, and the various suspicious stains on the walls.
Qassot stopped walking.
"Wait here for a bit," she said. Based on what she saw in the forest, she guessed that the sight would make Aavern freak out.
"Why? Where are you going?" Aavern asked nervously.
"I'll only be a bit," Qassot reassured him, then walked into the fog, leaving Aavern standing nervously by himself at the entrance to the village, stuck between wondering if he should follow or stay where he was, hesitant until the point she vanished entirely from view and he was left all alone in the dark.
Qassot walked slowly and carefully through the buildings, past houses and stores, all run-down and broken from some wave of destruction that swept through the place, leaving no stone unturned.
As Qassot walked through the dust, she started to notice strange tracks in the dirt. What looked like a mixture of claw marks and various prints she didn't recognize, mixed in with the strange, unnatural imprint that Axel's boots left behind in the sand, lay scattered, scraped, and dragged all over the paths between the buildings that got more and more decrepit as she walked, culminating with an absolute mess of marks left almost untouched by years of wind and fog around what must have been the village's central plaza, complete with a derelict well in the center of it all, lying sadly in an abandoned village that had long since forgotten the mundane yet heartwarming hustle and bustle of everyday life.
Qassot frowned as she recognized more scorch marks and divots in the ground, evidence of a battle where something or someone fought against an army all on their own, a hard-fought, difficult battle full of close shaves and shining bravery, but eerily enough, there was no trace of either side winning or losing.
In fact, there were no corpses at all.
There weren't even any signs of the remains of the battle being dragged away, or even any traces of blood.
It was as if the battle was fought in another dimension, exerting its influence on the village from afar.
Qassot frowned and continued wandering through the village, settling upon a strange path of footprints similar to Axel's, moving en masse, joining up with other footprints far from the site of battle until they numbered in the thousands, settling down and blending together, unifying into one group that trickled towards a particularly destroyed-looking house that seemed to have been the sturdiest, most extravagant building in the village at one point.
The footsteps did not lead to the crumbling doorway, however.
They led towards a shattered, burnt trapdoor that must have been heavy and extremely durable, surrounded by the fallen remains of the wall behind the building.
Qassot carefully made her way through the shattered remains, which had been cleared away to make enough space for a human to slip through. She carefully walked down the stairs under the trapdoor, leading down into the dark, stuffy underground.
Qassot's nose suddenly twitched as she descended the roughly hewn stone steps into a wide, pitch-black room.
It was faint and old, so old that she wondered how it still lingered in the air, almost annulled by the dust-filled musty stench of the room, but the distinct metallic smell was easily recognizable.
Qassot slowly drew her sword, letting its gentle white glow sweep over the room, illuminating it not enough to see the entire thing, but just enough to see the dried pool of blood that covered the entire floor, littered with mangled, torn corpses of numerous humans, their faces locked in various stages of agony and fear as they lay haphazardly around the room.
Qassot immediately left the village.
"We're leaving," she said abruptly as she passed by Aavern, nervously shaking and glancing around in the midst of the fog, making him jump in fright.
"Don't do that!" he said after calming down, but followed quickly.
When Qassot remained quiet, he mustered up the courage to ask, "So what did you find?"
Qassot could only shake her head, desperately pushing what she saw to the back of her mind as she quickly left the village behind, only slowing down when she had passed the fallen tree trunk which Aavern had run into in fright.
Qassot led Aavern along the path out of the trees and back to the shoreline. The small orb of light floated timidly in front of her as Aavern clung close to Qassot's leg. The mist muted all sounds. The thin creeping of waves lapping at the sand overlapped with the dull crunching of claws in sand and the light tapping of Aavern's stubby legs over the beach. Qassot led Aavern aimlessly along the shoreline, in any direction other than back to the village. Now that she was back near the sea, she had her claws poised and ready to draw her sword at any moment. Something about the low visibility and cold air made her more nervous than the eerie forest or ruined village.
"Can you walk any quieter?" Aavern grumbled.
Qassot glanced back to glare at Aavern.
"It's sand," she snapped. "I can't help it."
"That's not what I meant," Aavern said. "I think I heard something."
Qassot stopped walking and spread her wings wide, gathering the moisture in the air under them. With some concentration, the fog in the air gathered under her wings and held her a short distance up above the ground.
"Better?" she asked.
Aavern nodded, twitching and turning slightly as he carefully listened to his surroundings.
"What is it?"
"Shh," Aavern hissed, carefully turning around. The only sounds Qassot could hear was the lapping of waves and the gentle brushing of Aavern's wings on the sand as he listened. Aavern suddenly stiffened and started backing up. Qassot flexed her claws, moving one near the hilt of the sword sheathed on her back.
"Aavern?" Qassot asked.
The gentle crunch of sand underfoot made her fall silent. A calm, regular pace of sounds. A chill ran down Qassot's spine. Her instincts said to run.
"That doesn't sound like Qassot, Dracoa, or Riselus," Aavern whispered. "They don't walk like that."
The leisurely steps continued approaching them. Qassot slowly drew her sword. The dull white glow of the magic blade appeared with a sharp scratching noise as the blade left its sheath. She spun it skillfully but slowly through the air to a ready stance, the blade duplicating into three additional parts in the process, which floated to hover behind Qassot's back.
The steps didn't stop. Their constant pace continued, even at the sudden noise. From the dim light from Aavern's orb, a dark silhouette appeared. The outline of a person. Similar to Axel in its form, but taller, with wider shoulders and more distinguished muscles. Where Axel looked like a runner, this person looked like a warrior. Unruly light brown hair slightly longer than Axel's flowed gently around its head as it walked through the still air.
The figure reached towards two sheaths on its hips as it walked. With a sharp scratch and a sudden glint of light, it drew a pair of jagged, curved daggers in a smooth motion. The daggers spun skilfully, almost playfully, in the figure's hands as it approached. The intricate flowing designs across its blades flashed brightly in the dim light of Aavern's orb.
The figure took one more step, stopping just outside the reach of Aavern's light orb.
Its eyes seemed to glint dangerously in the light.
Qassot's sword swung swiftly through the air, duplicating into another four. All seven floating swords along with the sword in Qassot's claw snapped around to point at the figure.
The figure spun the daggers around into a reverse grip, slowly crouching down, appearing to move to sit down on the sand.
Aavern relaxed slightly.
In a sudden burst of movement, the figure flashed across the sand. Crossing the distance in an instant and weaving smoothly around the sword pointed at him, both wickedly sharp daggers flashed forwards towards Qassot's neck.