The cobblestone street stretched endlessly before them, shrouded in an unnatural fog that clung like a shroud. Gone were the comforting gaslights and bustling marketplace they'd grown accustomed to. In their place, an oppressive silence reigned, broken only by the ragged gasps of their breaths.
The first sign of trouble was subtle. Michael stumbled, muttering about a stray dog darting under his feet. Yet, no dog was there. Then, Jacob let out a cry, clutching his arm, swearing he'd seen a spectral hand reach out from the fog.
Eleanor felt a prickle of unease crawls up her neck. This wasn't a regular reset. It was something different, something far more insidious.
As they walked, the fog seemed to shift, morphing into familiar faces, their loved ones, their deepest regrets, their darkest fears. Each illusion played on their vulnerabilities with agonizing precision.
