…
The cool morning air clung to my skin as I walked the dirt path toward the village gates. The settlement was already awake, with men and women out and about performing their daily chores. None of them paid any heed to me; their eyes remained deliberately fixed on their own tasks. The closer I drew to the palisade, the clearer I saw Hazkar speaking quietly with a small group of villagers. Yet, just as I was about to reach him, the others turned and walked away.
Hazkar saw me approach and offered a warm smile. It was a broken expression, hindered by the stiff, petrified stone that consumed half his face, but genuine nonetheless. I returned his smile with a small, tense one of my own.
"Ready for our pilgrimage, Mione?" he asked, his gravelly voice laced with mild enthusiasm.
I nodded. "I have never seen a shrine to Mother Rhoyne before, so it should be deeply interesting."
He nodded in understanding. "Not many exist beyond the Rhoynar region anymore. Even after all these years, I myself am still mesmerised by their beauty."
We stepped through the wooden gates, leaving the protective boundary of the village behind.
"Stay close to me," Hazkar instructed gently. "We will be heading a bit farther from the village and into the mist." He turned, his one good eye checking my expression for fear. "Do not be worried. I have made this trek plenty of times over the years. The shrine is not so deep into the mist that we risk becoming lost."
"I am not worried," I lied smoothly. "Hazkar?"
"Yes, Mione."
"You told me that you do not know why the mist refuses to enter the village or the area surrounding the lake. Do you think it has something to do with Garin's Curse? Or perhaps Mother Rhoyne's protection?" I asked, feigning innocence.
He stroked his greying beard, giving my words serious thought as we walked. "It very well could be the lingering protection of Mother Rhoyne. She was known to be a fiercely protective Goddess. Mother to all the Rhoynar. Gentle and soothing, much like the water itself."
I remained silent, filing his speculative answer away. The thick trees of the forest were now within sight, and with them, the imposing grey wall of the mist. The closer we drew to the unnatural fog, the more a cold apprehension began to coil in my stomach.
The moment we crossed the threshold, I felt it.
The mist immediately latched onto me. It was not a physical chill, but a deeply invasive leeching. I could feel the grey tendrils swirling around my internal mana, eagerly searching for a weakness to exploit. I violently dragged my Occlumency shields into place, visualizing the impenetrable walls of black marble locking my mind away.
We waded deeper into the dead forest. The silence was eerie, save for the crunch of damp leaves beneath our boots.
Then, the singing began.
It was faint at first—a soft, melancholic melody drifting through the fog. I immediately darted my eyes toward Hazkar. He was walking steadily ahead, his posture relaxed, completely oblivious to the haunting tune.
It was the mist. It was playing its cruel tricks again, attempting to find a crack in my mental armour.
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing my eyes to focus entirely on the ragged sway of Hazkar's cloak. I knew that if I turned back now, I would never find the answers I so desperately sought. I had to know if the wailing woman was a weapon of the mist, or a genuine echo of my subconscious.
We did not speak. The deeper we marched into the gloom, the heavier the psychic pressure became. The nascent singing grew steadily louder, shifting from a distant melody into a profound, aching chorus that rang directly in my ears. The sheer weight of the sorrow embedded in the song battered against my black marble walls, fracturing my concentration.
I stumbled, my breath catching in my throat. I desperately tried to reinforce my Occlumency, but the mist was too strong here.
The marble walls shattered.
Instantly, my vision went entirely black. The damp forest floor vanished from beneath my boots, and I felt the terrifying sensation of falling backward into an endless void.
The cobblestones were cool beneath my feet. The air was heavy with that same, strange golden haze.
I was back on the winding street.
The woman in the rich blue dress stood at the far end of the lane, gently beckoning me forward. This time, there was no hesitation. I ran toward her. The golden light flared, and the profound warmth wrapped around my soul once more.
I reached her. But as I stood before her, I realised something was entirely wrong. I was not looking at her at eye level. I was incredibly small, forced to crane my neck upward just to look at her. And yet, even standing mere inches away, her face remained completely obscured—a shifting, blank canvas of light and shadow.
"My child," the woman spoke, her voice thick with agonizing tenderness. "I have missed you so dearly. I wish we could truly meet, instead of relying upon these fleeting moments."
I wanted to ask her who she was. I wanted to scream for her to show me her face. But the words that tumbled from my lips were not my own. They were spoken with a certainty that surprised even me.
I have spent ages trying to reach you, Mother. But the fates have been kinder now. We will meet soon."