A lifeless grey sun shone above the forgotten wasteland, washing the terrors of the night back into shadow.
But one presence refused to retreat.
Its hunger was endless. Its thirst insatiable.
It devoured everything in silence.
And soon, the world became an unending veil of white, shrouding the wasteland in fog.
....
Jack stirred awake, eyes slowly scanning his surroundings.
Aside from sleeping inside the hollow skull of a dead giant, everything seemed normal—and thankfully, everyone was still alive.
Pale light filtered through the empty eye sockets above them.
He pushed aside the rag he called a blanket and stretched, letting out a slow breath.
Strangely, his body felt light.
Too light.
The usual tension in his muscles had vanished, as if something heavy had been peeled away during the night.
That was a good sleep.
"What are you happy about?" Harris asked, his voice tense, heavy.
"Everything is not okay."
Jack's eyes widened, scanning the skull's hollow interior—but nothing seemed wrong.
His body still felt relaxed. Almost relieved.
But Harris' grim, shadowed expression shattered that illusion.
"What's wrong?"
Harris didn't answer. He raised a hand, pointing toward the skull's empty eye socket.
White mist seeped through it.
Jack's calm expression collapsed.
"No… damn it. I was ahead of it. I'm sure."
No. Wait. We can wait this out. First, we seal the eye sockets.
"If you think sealing the holes will save us," Harris said, frowning, "you're wrong."
"That thing is malice given form. Raw negative emotion."
Jack's gaze darkened.
"I know. Trust me. But it'll slow the effects."
Sigh.
"Then let's hurry."
Soon, the skull's eye sockets were sealed with the brown cloths they had brought.
Jack collapsed at the other end of the skull, breath rigid. He stared at Harris, who seemed lost in thought.
Finally, Harris spoke.
"What now?"
Jack frowned.
"We wait. And hope that in the next three or four days, the fog will pass."
"And if it doesn't?"
Jack's eyes darkened.
"On the fifth day, our bodies begin to change. Broken, forced to become what we were never meant to be. On the sixth, our memories fade. We forget things we swore we'd never forget—even how to speak, who we are. Eventually, we become mindless monsters."
Harris stared at the sealed eye socket.
"No one has ever survived past the seventh day."
"What if we venture outside?"
Jack sighed, grimacing.
"That's even worse. No one knows what happens once you step into the fog."
"Back in the last settlement, there were records—just one journal, written by a man whose mind descended into madness.
The fog swallowed the town whole, killing almost everyone. The survivors… became empty shells."
"How did he survive so long?" Harris asked.
"Ten days," Jack said coldly. "That's how long he lasted.
This thing… it's closer to a natural disaster than anything else.
The White Death. That's what we call it."
Harris stared at him, a subtle smile on his face.
"But it's not."
"Huh?"
"But it's not a natural disaster. It's a remnant, isn't it?"
Jack nodded slowly.
"Are remnants immortal?" Harris asked.
"No."
"Then let's kill it."
"You crazy bastard. Killing a remnant is extremely difficult—and one of this magnitude would be impossible."
"But you don't know that, do you?"
Jack was bewildered. Moments ago, Harris had seemed as desperate as him. Now he wanted to venture outside to face the White Death.
Is he already under its effects?
Hidden by the shadows, Jack's hand reached for the back of his coat.
"Calm down," Harris said.
"I'm perfectly sane. It was just a suggestion to keep in mind."
Jack's cautious gaze relaxed.
"Oh… okay. Well, I'll keep that in mind."
Even though Jack feigned understanding, the air remained tense.
Harris seemed unbothered, leisurely putting his hat over his face, seemingly going back to sleep while Jack watched him.
Not even five hours had passed since they noticed the fog's presence—and tensions were already rising.