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By the time Estarin disappeared behind the white curtain of mist, Elarian no longer knew whether she had been walking for one hour or five. Sound dulled. Color faded. Even her own footsteps sounded far away. She dutifully marched, pack heavy at her back, Reshva’s final instructions tucked against her breast. Though she had once lived in this place that swallowed the world and birthed fey creatures, her skin crawled with each step.
The Evermist rarely welcomed travelers.
Her first day in the endless sea of gray passed by uneventfully. She only stopped once for a small meal—fistfuls of berries and nutcakes with honey—before trudging on. Though it had been nearly a hundred years since she last crossed the Evermist, she still remembered the old paths she and Reshva established.
Sleep only came in fragments in this strange, accursed land.
When dawn arrived on the third morning, Elarian no longer trusted the direction of the sun. Pale light seeped through the endless gray. It was never enough to warm her face. The mists scattered its source until she could only use instinct to guide her. Walking north always felt like she was tumbling down a hill, her legs just barely able to keep her upright.
Rock and shattered bone carved winding paths through the land, scattered with broken stumps. In the distance, massive black shapes slouched over like fallen fey beasts. Here and there, a light twinkled in the deep mists before extinguishing.
The world shifted until there was no end, no beginning…
Only her.
Near midday, when the weak light grew ever so faintly stronger, she found herself staring at the same twisted standing stone she had passed earlier that morning. Fingers brushed over ancient carvings, gray moss buried in the deep crevices of crescent moons, wolves, and stars.
Elarian breathed out softly. Once, she left offerings here; the feral girl running with fey wolves who still felt Melistra’s call. She never knew why she did it, only that the act comforted her.
The pale petals of a moonflower caught the periphery of her vision. She bent down and observed the cluster of flowers.
An offering.
Impossible.
She had seen nothing but mist for three days and only heard the faint howls of fey wolves in the far distance. None would dare follow her from the Darkening.
Elarian stood and cast her gaze around; walls of gray surrounded her. She must have already been seeing illusions. Not wishing to dwell on it further, she dismissed the offering as only a vision. Drawing her cloak closer, she turned and continued toward the next standing stone.
Near the end of the day, the silence had settled over her until the blood rushing past her ears was deafening. Desperate for anything to break the unnerving silence, she began to recite old prayers and training mantras.
“Blessed is the Mother, for she carried us when we fell.”
Still, Elarian kept walking. Bone crunched underfoot. The mournful cries of fey wolves crept closer.
“Wise is Melistra, for She Who Is Death raised us again with Grace.”
The words that once brought comfort only vanished in the Evermist.
Night settled over the Evermist that evening quickly, the light vanishing even as she ate. One moment, the pale light seeped weakly through the dense fog. Next, the world simply darkened until only her silver blades glinted in the dark and shadows consumed all.
Picking her way through the tangle of roots and rocks as sharp as fangs, Elarian found a small hollow on the side of a tall rock. She gathered dead branches out of habit, though she knew better than to light a flame or even use her starin. Light invited hungry maws, and worse fey creatures were lurking in the Evermist than wolves and wraiths. Instead, she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and nestled into the smooth stone, hands resting atop her silver daggers.
Sleep was slow to come despite her exhaustion, but soon, she drifted into slumber. For once, she did not dream. Instead, the stone warmed at her back, and she slumbered long into the night. A sense of safety she had long lost enveloped her weary form. Mist swirled around the rock as if seeking to hide her from the world.
Evening slowly passed into dawn.
A snuffling sound wrenched Elarian from sleep, eyes flashing open as her fingers wrapped around a silvered hilt. Claw scraped over stone, combined with the wet breathing of a massive beast.
Blue flashed across her vision. Elarian remained still, slowing each breath until her heartbeat nearly disappeared with the mist.
A pair of eyes—as blue as the cerulean summer sky—opened before her.
Another emerged from the shadows, followed by a third.
Elarian loosened her grip on her dagger and slowly stood. Moonlight glowed behind the edges of large, pointed ears nearly at her chest height. The massive head swung to the side, revealing blue stripes in a sea of silvery-white fur. The beast’s coat shimmered as though each hair had been spun from starlight itself.
Fey wolves.
