Chapter 9: The Fog of Oblivion
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At dawn's first light, Darian, Elara, and Arandor left behind The Sleeping Dragon inn and headed toward the nearby forest. The air was thick with a palpable unease, as if even the trees shared the villagers' fear. The legend of the Fog of Oblivion seemed not only to fill the words of those who told it but to wrap itself around the very nature of the place.
As they moved forward, the terrain grew denser and darker. Sunlight barely pierced the treetops, and the birds' song faded into an oppressive silence.
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Elara asked, frowning. "It's not like I'm scared of magical fog, but… this feels different."
"I get it," Darian replied. "But our mission is also to help those in need. If this fog is a threat to the kingdom, we need to understand what's behind it."
Arandor nodded, his sword at the ready. "Besides, any chance to face the unknown is welcome. Nothing's worse than boredom."
After a while of walking, the fog began to creep through the trees, moving as if alive, slowly advancing toward them. It was thick, a bluish-gray that seemed to absorb all light around it. But there was something more: each time they neared the mist, they heard a faint whisper, as though someone was calling to them from within.
"You hear that?" Elara asked, on guard.
Darian nodded, focused. "It's like something's calling to us."
Arandor frowned, taking a step forward. "Well, let's find out what it is."
The mist surrounded them in the blink of an eye, and the world around them changed. The forest seemed to vanish, replaced by a dreamlike landscape where there was no ground or sky—only an endless void. Before them, a figure began to take shape within the fog: an ancient-looking warrior, clad in worn armor with sorrowful eyes.
"Who dares disturb my eternal rest?" His voice echoed in their minds, though his lips did not move.
Darian stepped forward, trying to keep calm. "We're travelers in search of answers. We've