The fog enveloped everything.

It felt as if the world had disappeared, as if it had been stolen.

Sound itself was swallowed by the vapour, the shouts and cries of fighting distant, suppressed. Rial could see no further than an arm’s length.

Trian was lying at his feet, alive but curled up from the beating he had received. Rial had made it just in time, swinging his sword upwards and blocking the descending blade that was meant to be the tool of execution.

The huntsman, untrained in the use of the sword and terrified at the sudden onslaught from this shadow in the mist, had retreated, disappearing into the grey.

It was as if the fog had been waiting, cascading in during the few seconds it took Rial to race from the forest to where his friend lay. Now no one else was visible, though they were no doubt nearby.

A shout cut through the haze, followed by the clash of steel. A figure tumbled into view, staggering to his feet and turning with a look of horror towards Rial, who held his sword still raised. The figure staggered backwards into the fog.

The next shout became a scream, changing from the harsh guttural cry of aggression to one of pain and fear the next instant. A flash of grey passed across Rial’s vision, fanged muzzle and raised tail discernible for less than an eyeblink as it loped away.

Two more figures staggered into view, one struggling to keep a stranglehold from behind on the other. The front figure drove his elbows backwards in an effort to dislodge his attacker, fighting against the weight of his assailant until with one great push he sent the other over his shoulders and crashing to the floor. Rial didn’t recognise either of the figures; they were made twins by the hatred in their expressions.

The first figure did not manage to land the raised boot he had poised to crush the fallen man’s face. A grey blur leapt out of the fog, crashing into the man at shoulder height and carrying him out of sight, into the vapour. Rial saw a glimpse of fangs closing on throat before both disappeared from view.

The second figure was not safe, either. As he laboured to stand another khiladri, one of the biggest Rial had yet seen, stepped out of the cloud almost casually and bit down on the nape of the man’s neck. He was dragged backwards into the mist, fingernails clawing lines in the dirt.

Rial stood there through all those frantic few seconds, sword raised and mouth agape. Screams echoed all around.

“Make it stop…”

Rial looked down. Trian was staring up at him through a bruised and bloodied face.

“I can’t… It’s not me. I’m sorry,” he said.

Trian coughed, spitting blood. Rial realised the beating he had witnessed was not the first Trian had suffered.

“Use the… Use it. You know how, don’t you?”

Trian stood up painfully.

The screams had faded now, more distant as the people scattered in flight. The mist remained as thick as before, swallowing everything but the two of them.

“Use it?” asked Rial.

“You think… I’m… stupid?” hissed Trian. “It’s true, isn’t it? You can… stop this.”

Trian’s eyes fell on the dull metal lump held in Rial’s off-hand. Rial fought the urge to hide Mead from his gaze.

“Rei wasn’t lying, was she?” said Trian, wiping blood from his eye. “I don’t know what that is, but if you can stop this…”

“They were going to kill you!” protested Rial.

“That… doesn’t… matter…” said Trian, panting, locking eyes with Rial.

Rial hesitated, not knowing what to say.

“I… We go, first. You have to get out of here.”

Rial stepped around Trian and cut his bindings, freeing his arms. Trian brought his hands forwards and rubbed at blistered wrists, but made no move to leave.

From somewhere deeper into the village another cry came. A child’s cry.

Trian said nothing.

“Mead, can you neutralise the khiladri?” said Rial.

“I can.”

Trian’s eyes widened at the voice that emanated from somewhere within the treasure.

“Do …”

Rial never finished his order. The air caught in his throat as his lungs filled with blood. He watched in slow motion as a spray of crimson erupted from his mouth.

His head fell slowly until he could see the blade, sharp and bright and with a bloody sheen, emerging from his chest.

He fell forward to the Kotaku’s laughter.