The dense fog seemed to have a life of its own, transforming into various shapes with feral, talon-like movements—now a demon, now a bat, now a skeletal face. It was undaunted by the approach of dawn and showed no sign of dissipating.
It wasn't until the sun began to show that the fog reluctantly streaked towards the direction of Comanso.
Only then did Gaven and the others dare to descend the mountain.
When they arrived at the Thacel Refugee Camp, Kopofiel and his people were busy taking a headcount, unable to hide the grief and anger on their faces.
"Are there still people missing? How many were taken?" Although it risked reopening old wounds, the question had to be asked.
"So far, eighteen people are unaccounted for. They're searching door to door to see if anyone's too scared to come out," Kopofiel answered with a grave expression.
The number of missing people was far greater than anticipated.
"How could there be so many?" Gaven was shocked.
