I wake from a restless doze, sitting upright near the campfire. Though I never remember closing my eyes, the soft crackle and warm glow suggest that some time—whatever passes for time here—has drifted by. Lynn remains as I last saw her, standing at a slight remove, the firelight painting gentle shadows across her angular face. The silence weighs on us both. She tries once again, mouthing words into the hush, but the mist denies them. I shake my head, letting her know I understand. No need to try. We will find another way.
My gaze falls to the small collection of oddities I've gathered: canned goods, an old medkit, a salvaged axe, a worn brooch, and now a scrap of indecipherable parchment taken from the Preacher. I run a thumb over the parchment's surface. Its runes shimmer strangely, as though inked in some substance that never fully dried. Staring at it too long makes my head hurt, yet I feel certain it matters.
When I look up, Lynn is closer. She points to the parchment, then to the brooch. I detect a pattern—she's suggesting some connection. The brooch, with its crossed blades beneath a shield, could it be a crest? A symbol of old faith or command? The parchment could be the opposite: a mark of those who follow discordant paths. Perhaps I'm meant to gather these pieces—light and dark, order and chaos—until I find a truth that can slip past the mist's silence.
I cannot ask her, so I pick up the deck once more. The Eternal Campground's fire crackles, as if anticipating another journey. My breath catches slightly as I shuffle. I've come to expect the subtle hint, the guiding warmth that selects my cards. Three once again rise into my hand:
Location: Bargain Cinema Ruin
A theater once filled with laughter and quiet whispers, now reduced to tattered seats and silent screens. The image shows faded movie posters and a ruined concession stand. My heart twinges at the notion of stories once told there, dreams projected onto a blank wall.
Event: Echoes of Former Lives
Again, these phantom figures—lost people performing their old routines. They ignore us, but sometimes they offer a glimpse into the past. The card's presence feels deliberate, as though drawing me closer to my buried memories.
Enemy: Wire-Wraith
A creature half-apparition, half-twisted metal. It can scramble perceptions, short-circuiting the senses. Even its name makes me uneasy. I imagine something lurking behind the torn cinema screen, ready to snare my mind in illusions.
I swallow. This combination feels personal, as if the labyrinth is speaking directly to me. The cinema, a place of stories and memory; the echoes, replaying old scenes; and the Wire-Wraith, threatening my very sense of reality. I feel a tightening in my chest. Perhaps here I will glimpse something of who I used to be.
Lynn watches me silently, steady and calm. I give her a nod, step toward the mist, and press the three chosen cards forward. The fog parts reluctantly, revealing a cracked asphalt lot, rusted bike racks, and a broken sign that might have once read "Gala Cinemas" or something similar. Glass crunches beneath my boots as I advance. The Eternal Campground's soft glow lingers behind us, a promise of retreat if things turn dire.
Inside, the cinema lobby is choked with debris: toppled popcorn machines, spilled kernels like pale seeds on the floor, ticket stubs long since faded to blank slips of paper. Neon lights flicker overhead, and a set of double doors lead into the theaters. The smell of old upholstery and mold fills my nose.
The Echoes of Former Lives appear at once—tall silhouettes moving in line, clutching phantom snacks, laughing at silent jokes. A ticket-taker stands at a podium that no longer exists, tearing invisible stubs and gesturing politely. I watch them drift past, feeling a pang of longing. This place once held excitement, anticipation, perhaps even joy.
I wonder if I ever sat in a chair like these, staring at flickering images on a screen, losing myself in stories. A buried memory stirs. Something about a uniform—a younger version of myself, off duty, relaxing with comrades. Did I watch a film once that gave me courage or hope? The thought floats away before I can clutch it fully.
As I approach the main theater, the temperature seems to drop. The Wire-Wraith must be near. I grip my axe, flexing my new leather-gloved fingers. Lynn trails behind me, her footsteps as soft as the echoes drifting through the lobby.
We pass through swinging doors into a vast auditorium. Rows of seats molder in the gloom, many torn or collapsed. The screen at the far end is ripped open, revealing ragged fabric and exposed framework. A faint hum fills the air. I scan the darkness until my eyes catch a faint gleam of copper at the edges of the screen. Wires twisted into a vague humanoid shape cling there, its form shimmering like a mirage.
The Wire-Wraith emits no growl, no hiss—only a faint static crackle. I step forward and the creature's form shifts, twisting the light. For a heartbeat, I see what I fear: the auditorium is whole again, filled with living people, all turning to stare at me. I blink, shake my head, and the vision dissolves. The Wraith tried to trick me.
I raise my axe, and the Wraith's eyes—if it has eyes—flicker with sparks. Lynn takes position at the edge of a row of seats, watchful but unable to guide me with words. I must trust my instincts.
The Wraith lashes out with a tendril of wire, striking a metal beam. The sound echoes sharply, making me dizzy. I see illusions dancing at the corners of my vision: soldiers in uniform, children laughing, a river of molten gold. Nonsense images colliding in my mind. I grit my teeth, focus on the weight of the axe. Steel is real, my grip is real, and Lynn's presence at my back is real.
I move closer. The creature tries another trick: the entire auditorium seems to tilt, making me stumble. I plant my boots firmly. It crackles, irritated. When I swing the axe at its form, the blade meets resistance that feels like cutting through dense brambles. Sparks jump from the impact. The Wraith writhes, twisting wires tighter, trying to snare my weapon.
I yank the axe free and strike again, this time lower, where the wires anchor into the floorboards. The Wraith shrieks silently—my ears feel the pressure but hear no sound. It flickers, losing shape. I press the advantage, ignoring the illusions that flare up—shadows of things I cannot name. Another swing, and the Wraith's form collapses into a tangle of dead metal, no longer sparking with strange energies.
Silence returns. The echoes of former patrons continue their aimless walk down aisles, as though no battle occurred. I breathe steadily, and Lynn approaches, placing a hand on my shoulder. When I meet her gaze, I see approval. I held firm against illusions and lies.
We search the theater. Behind the torn screen, I find a small alcove with old projection equipment—corroded reels, broken stands. Hidden inside a metal box, I discover a coil of rope and a few old flares. Not much, but flares might light distant corridors, and rope always has its uses.
As we turn to leave, I pause. An echo stands in the middle of the aisle, slightly apart from the others: a figure in a jacket, leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching the empty screen with rapt attention. The shape flickers. I sense that they are engrossed in a story that no longer plays. Something tugs at my heart. Did I once watch a tale of knights and heroes in a place like this, dreaming of honor and valor?
The echo fades. I sigh softly, knowing the answer won't come easily. Lynn waits, patient and silent. I lead the way back through the lobby, stepping around the phantom ticket-taker, and soon we emerge into the Eternal Campground's gentle light again.
As always, it's as if no time has passed here. The fire crackles, and the cards wait. I set down the coil of rope and flares, considering how each find builds a meager arsenal of survival. More than that, each location and event seems to press me closer to understanding myself. I recall the illusions the Wire-Wraith showed me—weren't some of them strangely familiar?
I glance at Lynn. She offers a half-smile, her eyes filled with guarded encouragement. The silence still rules us, but in that silence, a form of trust grows. We are two wanderers in a realm that hoards its secrets. I will keep drawing cards, keep facing dangers, until the day I understand why I was reborn here and what destiny this Knight-To-Be truly serves.
For now, I rest and think of the cinema, of stories untold and dreams unrevealed. A quiet vow settles in my heart: I will forge ahead, no matter how deep the mist tries to hide the truth.