I accepted the gesture for what it was. In my heart, I knew I was no closer to meeting her now than I was the day she died. My bloodline made sure of that. Yet, a fragile part of me still wished I could meet her.
"Shall we head back?" I asked, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.
He nodded. "Yes, but we may need to go a little further down the path first. There is a specific mushroom I need to pluck. The soup made from it is simply a delicacy you must try."
I nodded, following him out of the ruined temple. I paused at the threshold, glancing around. The churning grey fog formed a towering, impenetrable wall entirely encircling the temple, yet it did not advance a single inch past the broken marble steps. It was as if the mist itself was strictly barred from trespassing upon sacred ground.
Hazkar did not linger to admire the divine boundary. He waded directly back into the thick gloom, and I hurried to follow.
The moment the fog swallowed us, the intrusion resumed. The mist clawed aggressively at my senses, eager to drag my mind back into that golden, heartbreaking dream. Yet, my chest felt strangely lighter. Our grieving yet honest conversation had unburdened a small fraction of the grief I had been carrying. With a renewed sense of clarity, I pulled my Occlumency shields into place. This time, the black marble walls held firm, reducing the haunting wails and songs of the mist to a subdued echo.
We walked in comfortable silence. Gradually, the twisted, dead trees began to thin out. The oppressive canopy gave way, and we stepped out of the dense forest into a wide, damp meadow. The mist layered itself here just the same but it granted us more visibility than the forest.
"Are the mushrooms not found within the forest?" I asked, my boots sinking into the slick grass.
Hazkar glanced back at me, his one good eye scanning the pale gloom. "No, they are not. But we will see them soon. Just a little further."
As we pressed onward, the forest began to fade and I questioned my sense of direction. I realised I had no idea how far we had strayed from the safety of the palisades.
"How do we find our way back?" I asked, unable to keep the mild apprehension from my voice.
"I carved marks into the trunks of specific trees along this route ages ago," Hazkar explained calmly, not breaking his stride. "Returning to the village will not be a problem."
I accepted the logic of his answer, allowing my tense shoulders to drop. I fell back slightly, walking in the wide wake of his tall frame. My mind drifted back to Father, wondering if he had made any progress plumbing the depths of the dark lake while I was gone.
"There it is," Hazkar exclaimed softly, breaking my reverie.
I stepped out from behind his broad back, following his gaze. The air forcefully left my lungs.
It was a ghastly sight.
Lying in the deep mud just a few paces ahead was the massive, decaying bulk of a horse. The ruined leather reins and the familiar cut of the saddle were unmistakable; it was the gelding Father had driven into the mist.
The beast's midsection was violently torn open, its flesh already rotting and putrid from the accelerated decay of the cursed lands. Yet, what truly turned my stomach was the foul flora sprouting from the carcass. Thick, pulsing clusters of bloated, purplish mushrooms were erupting directly from the horse's dead flesh, feeding greedily upon the diseased carrion.
Hazkar moved forward, kneeling beside the rotting carcass. He began plucking those foul, purplish toadstools from the decaying flesh as casually as if he were harvesting grain in a sunlit field. I was utterly horrified by the sight, yet he seemed entirely unbothered by the stench of death.
"Hazkar, no. This is foul," I said, my voice low and tight.
"Regrettably, it is one of the only sources of sustenance within the mist. No grain or healthy animal can survive here, Mione," he replied, holding up one of the bloated toadstool. "This and the thick algae within the lake are the only food we have. And between the algae and the mushroom, trust me, the mushroom tastes considerably better. You have been eating it ever since you came here. The origin has no effect on the taste," he added with mild nonchalance.
His words gave me terrible pause. I remembered how he had so graciously provided us with bowls of soup throughout our stay in the village. Father had been none too pleased with the offerings, simply throwing the food away after taking a single, discerning whiff of it. Because we had our own untouched supplies, it had been of no consequence to us. Now, the desperate conditions within this fog truly began to terrify me.
I said no more as he continued to harvest those foul things from the dead gelding. I felt my stomach violently turn, threatening to retch, but I held my breath and averted my eyes.
Once his woven basket was full, Hazkar rose, and we began the long trek back. We waded out of the damp meadow and back into the dense forest, the grey mist swallowing us once more. I kept my Occlumency shields locked tight against the corruption, following closely in his wake until the massive, ruined outline of the Temple of Rhoyne loomed through the fog ahead.
We walked past the ancient marble steps, tracing the perimeter of the divine boundary.
Suddenly, a violent, deafening crackle of thunder shattered the absolute silence of the mist.
My magical core violently flared in response. Before I could even think to take action, the psychic assault bypassed my shields entirely.
"RUUUUN!" The wailing woman's voice now screamed directly into my ear with such piercing, agonizing volume that I stumbled forward, clapping my hands over my head.
Before I could process the auditory assault, the gloom was violently illuminated. A massive, jagged bolt of blinding green lightning shot directly out of the impenetrable fog. It struck Hazkar dead in the centre of his chest with the concussive force of a siege weapon. The massive impact launched his large frame backward through the air, sending him crashing violently into the ancient marble walls of the temple.
The air grew instantly heavy. I gasped for breath as a suffocating, terrifying wave of pure, unadulterated mana crashed down upon the forest floor.
A heavy, gauntleted hand clamped firmly onto my shoulder.
"Are you alright, Hermione?"
I whipped my head around. Standing beside me was Father. He was wearing his velvet coat clad in full suit of midnight-black plate armour. His vibrant emerald eyes were practically glowing in the gloom, tiny arcs of green lightning crackling and dancing across his irises.
"Father?" I breathed, my mind spinning in shock. Why had he attacked Hazkar?
Before he could answer, a loud, grinding crack echoed from the temple.
I turned back to the ruins, my jaw dropping in utter disbelief. The solid marble wall had splintered inward from the impact, but Hazkar was not dead. He slowly pulled himself free from the shattered stone, his ragged clothes smoking from the lightning strike, his greyscale-covered face entirely unfazed. A mortal man should have been reduced to ash by Father's magic.
Father stepped past me, his armoured boots crunching heavily upon the damp earth. He stared down the ruined elder, his voice dripping with calm.
"Found you, old man."