The room they led us to was small but warm, lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp that flickered on a wooden table. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and something faintly metallic, a reminder of the world outside the Mists. Sol leaned heavily against the wall, his glow dim but steady. Blade stood by the door, her hand resting on her weapon, her eyes sharp and watchful.
The man who had spoken earlier sat across from me, his scarred forearms resting on the table. His name, we'd learned, was Elias. The woman he'd protected was Mira, and she stood near the doorway, her arm bandaged and her expression cautious but calm.
"You've all been through a lot," Elias began, his voice steady. "But it's time you remembered what you've forgotten. It's the only way you'll survive out here."
I frowned, glancing at the others. Tin and Hound exchanged uneasy looks, while Grey remained silent, his gaze fixed on the glowing scar on his hand.
"What do you mean by 'what we've forgotten'?" I asked.
Elias leaned back, his expression grave. "Do you remember the flares?"
"The flares?" Tin repeated, confusion etched across his face.
Elias nodded. "Five years ago, the Earth was hit by the strongest solar flares ever recorded. The sun unleashed hell. Cities burned, power grids failed, and the world was thrown into chaos. But that wasn't the worst of it."
"What could be worse than that?" Hound muttered, his voice low.
"The flares didn't just destroy the world we knew," Elias said, his voice darkening. "They tore open something... unnatural. The Mists appeared shortly after, spreading like a plague. And with them came the watchers."
A cold shiver ran down my spine at the mention of the watchers. My scars throbbed faintly, the word "RUN" pulsing in my mind like a heartbeat.
"The watchers were just the beginning," Mira added, her voice quiet but firm. "Other things came too. Things worse than them."
"What kind of things?" Blade asked, her tone sharp.
Elias hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. "We don't have names for most of them. Some of us call them the Forgotten, others the Shadows. They're... wrong, like nightmares given form. They don't just kill—they twist. Corrupt. Change."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on us.
"You're saying all of this started with the flares?" Sol asked, his voice hoarse.
Elias nodded. "The flares tore apart the world's defenses—physical and otherwise. They burned away the barriers that kept things... out."
"Out of where?" I asked, my stomach twisting.
"Out of here," Elias said simply. "The world wasn't always like this. It used to be protected, in a way. But the flares burned through those protections, and now... now we're living in the aftermath."
Mira stepped closer, her expression softening. "You don't remember because the Mists take more than just life. They take memories. They take pieces of who you are."
I glanced at the others, the unease on their faces mirroring my own. My scars burned hotter, the faint echo of a voice whispering, "Not fast enough, meat," in the back of my mind.
"Why don't we remember any of this?" Tin asked, his voice trembling.
"The Mists," Elias said. "They cloud your mind, erase what they touch. You're lucky to remember your own name, let alone the past."
"Most of us don't even have names anymore," Mira added, her gaze lingering on each of us. "Those of us who survive long enough choose new ones. It's how we hold on to ourselves."
The weight of her words settled over me like a lead blanket. My name—Runner—wasn't mine. It was something I had chosen, something born out of desperation and instinct. But what had my real name been? Who had I been before the Mists?
Elias's voice broke through my thoughts. "You've all been marked," he said, his gaze lingering on the bandages covering my scars and the glowing circle on Grey's hand. "That means you're different. And that difference might be the only thing keeping you alive."
"What do you mean?" Sol asked, his glow flickering faintly.
"The marks are connected to the Mists," Elias explained. "They give you... abilities, instincts, things that help you survive. But they come at a cost."
"What kind of cost?" Blade asked, her tone wary.
Elias hesitated, his expression troubled. "The more you use them, the more the Mists take. Memories, humanity, maybe even your soul. No one knows for sure."
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing down on us.
"So, what now?" I asked, my voice low.
Elias leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Now, you decide if you're going to fight to survive—or if you're going to let the Mists take you."
His words hung in the air like a challenge, the faint sound of the wind outside carrying the distant, haunting growl of the watchers.
For the first time since we entered Sanctuary, I felt the weight of the choice before us. Survive or succumb. Fight or fade.
And deep down, I knew there was no turning back.