The mist swallowed their legs.
It was cold, dense, and shifting as if it had a mind of its own. Each step forward felt heavier than the last.
Salemadon led. His boots sank slightly into the mist, then lifted again. Threads flickered at his sides, stabilizing his balance.
Brughan's face was pale. "I… I can't see a thing!"
Althara gripped Salemadon's arm. "Focus. Listen to the Threads."
The mist hummed—a low vibration that shook their bones. It was alive, not in a way you could touch, but in a way you could feel deep inside.
THE FIRST OBSTACLE
Suddenly, a shadow leapt from the mist.
It was tall, featureless, and moved faster than thought. Salemadon barely had time to react.
He extended Threads outward. The shadow slammed against them. The force threw him backward, scraping his armor across the glowing floor beneath the mist.
Brughan stumbled, catching him mid-fall. "Careful! What is that thing?"
Salemadon pushed himself up. Pahtem glimmered faintly, but he didn't summon it fully. He relied on balance and Threads.
The shadow struck again. This time, Althara acted. Threads shot from her hands, striking the dark figure. But it passed through her like smoke, leaving a chill behind.
Salemadon growled. "It's not solid. But it's dangerous."
THE SECOND OBSTACLE
The mist thickened. The shadows multiplied, not physically, but as reflections of their fear.
Brughan shouted, "Are these illusions?!"
Althara shook her head. "No. They're warnings. The mist reacts to us."
Salemadon's eyes narrowed. "Then we push forward, or we're trapped here forever."
He stepped deeper. The mist swirled violently around him. Each thread of light from Pahtem's armor illuminated only a small area. The shadows danced at the edges, always just out of reach.
THE TICKING MOMENT
A faint glow appeared ahead.
A path? Salemadon wasn't sure. Every step closer made the mist pulse, sending tremors through the ground.
Brughan whispered, "It's like the mist knows we're coming."
Salemadon didn't answer. Instead, he focused on each step. Breathing. Balancing. Watching.
The shadows grew bolder. One lunged directly at Salemadon's side. Threads shot out instinctively, striking it. The shadow recoiled—but instead of disappearing, it split into two smaller shapes.
Althara gasped. "It's multiplying!"
Salemadon's teeth clenched. "We're being tested again."
THE CLIFFHANGER
A rumble came from beneath. The mist shook violently, forming tall spikes of dark energy that shot toward them like spears.
Brughan dodged to the side. "This is insane!"
Salemadon grabbed Althara and pushed forward. Every step now was a battle. Every movement counted.
Ahead, a glow intensified. Something—or someone—was waiting. Not an enemy, not yet. Something far older than the mist itself.
Salemadon's eyes narrowed. Pahtem pulsed faintly, responding to the danger without him calling it.
The mist parted for a moment, revealing a figure taller than any man, covered in shadows that seemed alive.
It didn't speak. It didn't move.
But Salemadon felt its power pressing on him.
He whispered, almost to himself, "This… this is only the beginning."
The shadows surged around them. The path behind vanished completely.
There was no turning back.
Through mist and shadow, every step could be the last.
The mist had answers, the shadows had power—and Salemadon had only one choice: move forward, or be lost forever.