The day the fog came was the day everything changed.
Leora had always felt out of place in the village of Nareth, a small, forgettable hamlet tucked between rolling hills and endless meadows. People whispered about her behind their hands—"the shadowless girl," they called her. She ignored them. Or tried to.
That morning had been like any other. Leora was gathering herbs in the wildflower fields just beyond the village when she noticed it—the silence. Birds usually filled the air with their calls, and crickets chirped beneath the warm sun, but now there was nothing.
Not a sound.
The stillness pressed down on her like a weight, and when she turned to look toward the treeline at the edge of the meadow, her breath caught. A black mist was creeping between the branches. It wasn't natural. It wasn't even like fog. It moved in slow pulses, tendrils curling and uncurling as it slithered across the ground.
A chill crawled down her spine. She rose to her feet, basket clutched in her hand.
"Smoke?" she murmured, though no fire burned. The mist made no noise—only moved, slow and deliberate, as if it were alive.
Then she saw them—dark shapes within the fog, tall and humanoid, though they didn't walk. They drifted.
Her stomach twisted. She took a step back, almost stumbling over her own feet. She didn't understand what she was seeing, but something inside her—something deep and primal—screamed for her to run.
Then, distantly, she heard her father's voice.
"Leora!"
He was shouting her name from the village, his voice cracking with panic. Her heart dropped.
The figures turned as one, their heads snapping in her direction, though they had no faces. The black mist rolled faster now, reaching out for her, swallowing flowers and grass like water drowning fire.
"Run," she breathed, and then she did.
The basket fell from her hand, spilling its contents across the meadow as she bolted for the village. Her breath came in ragged gasps, legs pumping, arms swinging. The wind howled past her ears, and still the silence remained—no birds, no crickets, no sound of her feet pounding the earth.
By the time she reached the village, the fog had arrived too. It snaked between houses, curling up chimneys and around doorframes like smoke, though it brought no fire. People screamed and scattered, clutching children and possessions as they fled. Others simply froze, staring as shadowed figures emerged from the mist, reaching for them.
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Leora ran toward her cottage, eyes scanning the chaos until she spotted him—her father, his sturdy frame silhouetted against the spreading blackness.
"Papa!" she cried, her voice raw.
He turned to her, his face pale beneath his grizzled beard. Without a word, he grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the house.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice low and urgent.
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"What's happening?" she asked, breathless.
"There's no time," he snapped, though his eyes were filled with something she'd never seen before—fear. Her father, the strongest man she knew, was afraid.
Inside the cottage, the air was heavy, as though the mist outside pressed against the walls, trying to seep through. Her father grabbed a satchel, stuffing it with supplies—bread, a water flask, and an old map.
"You'll take this," he said, thrusting the satchel into her arms. "Head for the hills. Go as far as you can, and don't look back."
Her hands trembled. "But what about you?"
"I'll follow," he said, though something in his voice made her heart clench.
She didn't believe him.
"Papa, please—"
"Go!" he roared, spinning her toward the door.
Tears blurred her vision, but she ran. Outside, the fog was thicker now, pressing against her skin like icy hands. The village was dissolving into chaos. A woman screamed as a shadowed figure reached her, its dark arm brushing her shoulder. Her scream cut off abruptly, and she crumpled to the ground.
Leora froze.
The woman's shadow—the one that should have stretched long in the pale morning light—peeled away from her body, writhing like a living thing before it was sucked into the mist.
"Leora, move!"
Her father's voice broke through her paralysis, and she ran again. She pushed her way through villagers, stumbling up the hill toward safety. The mist followed her, faster now, pulsing like a predator closing in on its prey.
But then she tripped.
Her ankle twisted, and she cried out as she hit the ground.
The fog coiled around her, dragging at her legs. It wasn't mist—it was something else. Something alive.
Leora screamed, kicking and clawing at the dirt, trying to pull herself free. The cold seeped into her skin, numbing her limbs.
Then it appeared.
The figure stepped out of the fog, tall and wrong, its form shifting like smoke in a breeze. It had no face—only a black emptiness where features should have been. Yet somehow, it looked at her.
"Light-Stealer," it whispered. The voice came from inside her head, curling through her mind like oil. "We will find you."
Her vision blurred, and the world tilted. Shadows swirled around her, wrapping her in black.
"Papa," she whispered weakly.
The figure tilted its head, as though curious, before it lifted a hand. The last thing Leora saw was its shadowed fingers reaching for her face.
Then, there was nothing.