The dawn is cold, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones and lingers. I'm waiting near the city's outer gate, my newly packed bag slung over my shoulder. The streets are quiet, save for the occasional murmur of guards stationed along the walls. The massive gates, reinforced with layers of metal and stone, loom ahead like a grim reminder of the world beyond.
I don't wait long before I see them. Five figures emerge from the shadows, their footsteps soundless on the cracked pavement. Each of them carries an air of quiet purpose, their movements deliberate and confident. At their head is the woman who found me.
She's the first to speak. "You made the smart choice."
I nod, my throat dry. "You said there were others."
"There are," she replies, motioning to the group behind her. One by one, they step forward, their faces mostly obscured by hoods and scarves.
One of them stretches an arm towards me. He's wiry, with sharp features and restless eyes that dart around constantly. "I'm Tin," he says simply, his voice as quick as his movements. I take his arm and feel his bony palm it reminds me of that night. My ankle itches.
"Grey," says the next, a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a quiet demeanor. His face is shadowed by his hood, but his calm, steady presence feels reassuring. "I'm the one who'll keep you alive when things get rough."
The lean woman with strikingly sharp movements steps forward next, her amber eyes glinting in the faint light. "Hound," she says with a sly grin. "You'll know why soon enough." There's a playful edge to her tone, though her gaze is as sharp as a predator's.
"Sol," says the youngest of the group, barely older than a teenager. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and he clutches a worn book tightly to his chest. "I… I'm good with maps. And… stories." His voice is soft, uncertain, but there's a quiet determination in his eyes.
"Blade" the lady at the center states and steps closer, her piercing gaze locking onto mine. "And you?" she asks, her tone expectant.
I hesitate. My name… the person I was before… I barely remember.only bits and fragments of memories still remain in my mind. Even if I could remember my old name I doubt it would be mine, whoever I was in the past I'm a different person now. My gaze drops to the scars on my arm. "RUN." The word is a command, a mantra, a reminder of what's kept me alive.
"Runner," I say finally. "Call me Runner."
Blade nods approvingly. "Fitting."
Tin steps forward, pulling something from his pack. It's a hooded robe, woven from a dark, durable fabric that seems to absorb the dim light. He hands it to me without a word.
"Wear it," Blade instructs. "It's more than just clothing. It'll help keep you hidden out there. And it marks you as one of us."
I pull the robe over my head, the fabric surprisingly light yet sturdy. The hood casts a shadow over my face, offering a sense of anonymity that feels oddly comforting.
"Ready?" Blade asks, her gaze sweeping over the group.
We all nod. Without another word, we move as one toward the gate. Blade leads the way, her movements precise and unhesitating. The guards barely glance at us; Blade must have arranged this departure in advance. The gate creaks open, revealing the expanse beyond—a barren, broken landscape stretching as far as the eye can see.
The silence outside the walls is oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps on the cracked ground. The air feels heavier here, tinged with the faint scent of decay. The ruins of the old world rise in the distance, jagged silhouettes against the pale morning sky.
"Where are we going?" I ask after a while, my voice breaking the stillness.
"The Mists," Blade replies without looking back. "There's a settlement there. Or at least, there was. We need to know if it still stands."
I've heard of the Mists over the last few days—a region perpetually shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog. The stories about it vary wildly. Some say it's a refuge, a hidden haven for survivors. Others claim it's cursed, a place where people vanish without a trace. Either way, it's a risk.
"Why the Mists?" I press.
Blade glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "Because if there are others like us, that's where they'll be."
The answer doesn't satisfy me, but I let it go. The others seem unfazed, their focus fixed on the journey ahead. Tin and Grey walk side by side, their silence companionable. Hound moves with a predator's grace, her gaze darting to every shadow. Sol lingers near the back, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something.
The hours drag on, the landscape around us changing only slightly. The ground becomes rockier, the air cooler. By midday, the faint outline of the Mists appears on the horizon, a ghostly veil that swallows the land beyond it.
We stop to rest, huddling together beneath the meager shade of a crumbling overpass. Blade distributes water and food, her movements efficient and practiced. As we eat in silence, I watch the group, trying to piece together their stories. They've all forgotten their names, just like me. They've all chosen new ones, names that fit the fragments of themselves they've managed to hold onto.
"What do you think we'll find there?" Sol asks suddenly, his voice soft but steady.
Blade pauses, her gaze distant. "Hope," she says finally. "Or the end of it."
The words hang heavy in the air, a grim reminder of what we're up against. As the shadows lengthen and the Mists draw closer, I feel the scars on my arm throb beneath the robe. "RUN," they seem to whisper, a warning that refuses to fade.
Something was watching us, I knew it my scar was telling me to run.