The Northern Front with its ballistic cannons armored along the parapet, the reinforced hundred foot iron gates, and all its glorious might was nothing but a mirage. It was merely a beacon for the people to admire and relish their great protector. A false sense of security. Though Leor too agreed that much was necessary. Without it, the spineless bunch would crumble at the sight of the ever-looming veil of fog. The bane of humanity, a reminder of the world’s end.

The true guard was the Wall, the invisible blanket of light that halted the haze some hundred yards from its pretender. It was the limiter of Leor’s success as a mercenary. All the gold came from beyond it and as a purblight, that chance came as often as flying pigs. And now, it was an iron leash that bound him to the Order.

Trumpets signaled the departure and the houses funneled through the lifted portcullis leading to the lost lands. The iron almost seemed to groan with the wind as he left its safety. He gazed back upon the large cannons pointing at the drawbridge up ahead. He shuddered at the thought of being the target of one of those things and wondered what threat would yield such armory. It did little to comfort him.

Reaching the outpost, Arthur spoke down to the guards from his brilliant warhorse, pointing at the different groups. The guards nodded, all the while their fists pressed firmly over their hearts. Leor took note of that and studied the faces of his fellow contestants. Just as his mentor taught him. He could almost hear the old man’s voice whispering in his ear, the quiet rustle of their brush, his stifled breath that reeked of liquor. “Observe your prey. Understand their motives. Study their movements until you can predict their next. Do this and you may only lose a finger or two.”

The Yonchins and Licht Order wore stone masks, hardened for war, while the Cresente donned a much softer expression. Leor could only wonder what the Dragonslayers felt; the six of them were nothing more than Alden’s shadows. Leor found them the most ominous. Even he felt some nerves entering the lands the houses could not conquer. And not being able to read the faces of knights who could leave him for dead without just cause made his stomach churn.

Much of the officers were ahorse and fashioned with intricate steel armor embroidered with their sigil. All except for Agnar who had his carved into his chest. He led his pack on foot, chest barreled and puffed. The only steel they carried hung on their hips and laced to their limbs. He pounded his meaty pecs and chanted, “Warriors! We quench our thirst in the name of the Mountain Carver! Crush the enemy with your might! Bring home glory! Only the strong may afford audience with our lord!”

And there was Leor. Not quite armored like the rest or grouped with a few he could trust or even had a horse to ease the travel. No matter how he sought a sliver of hope, he only saw the folly in his plans. If it’d dared be considered that. He counted five he knew partaking in the trials and three of them did not seem too fond of him. Yui saddled with her host, stealing glances at him from time to time as if she were a mother watching over her newborn. Or a jailer guarding an escape-prone prisoner. Neither were to his liking. Without a shred of doubt, Arthur and Afzal were not to be trusted and he labeled every word of theirs as masked lies. As for Alden, the Dragonslayers kept him centered in their fortress of blackened steel bodies. Leor looked down at his sole partner and gave him a good ruffle through the furs, but he could not help but wonder what use would come from a wolfling?

The chains slithered and so the drawbridge fell with a great thud. Leor thought the Wall would require a command to pass, as was the case in Lichtwerth, but the Arindians proved him wrong by blitzing through. With each passing, the Wall rippled and warriors vanished into the fog. Though some were not so lucky and were spat out as if they were castaways. Would I be repelled too? No. I cannot falter here. Leor swallowed his hesitance and marched forward.

The Wall was thick like paste. It felt as though he had sunken to the ocean’s depths, fighting the raging torrents coming from all sides. Yet it was filled with blinding light. He stormed forward, swiping his arms, tearing through the currents. Nearing the end, his limbs burned and Leor fell to his knees as the Wall plopped him out the other side. It took a moment for him to posture himself but fear snatched his fatigue when he realized he had forgotten about Yoru. He quickly glanced behind him to check what became of the wolfling and to his pleasant surprise, Yoru was unscathed, waiting patiently for him to rise. Leor rewarded him with a rub behind the ears for that.

He glazed over the area coated in thick fog that obscured the already faint silhouettes of the surrounding trees. Their bodies were ashen toothpicks with branches that crept out like a thousand broken fingers. Cold, ghostly hands groped his flesh and sent him drawing forth his sword. It dawned on him how quiet it was. There were no shouts from the Arindians. No horse hooves or the crunch of steel. No squawk of birds or howling winds. Even in the deathly silence, he could not shake the feeling he was being enclosed, surrounded by eyes, and waiting for someone. . . or something to drag him from behind. He swiveled his head, but no matter how much he searched, nothing was there. No one was there. Have I been left behind already?

What felt like an eternity passed and Leor still had no inkling of where he was. There were supposed to be paved roads along vast plains past the Northern Front, not woodlands. Not for another couple of leagues north when they would reach the Hero’s Greenwood. He was sure of it. He remembered walking the very path as a child.

Shit. I might as well be a lost child, he thought as he looked upon the endless maze of withered oaks. He knew not the time of day for the sun was consumed by the fog. Only his restless mind could tell time with fatigue and his arms cried from carrying a weapon that weighed thrice of his twin blades. And still, there were no signs of the thousands who entered with him. Perhaps those who never returned from the haze simply forgot their way home, he thought. He turned to Yoru, who had been trotting beside him. “You have any ideas?”

But of course, the wolfing stared at him with his single silver eye, ignorant of their predicament. If he could not find his way back to the troop, would he be treated as a deserter? Or even worse, forfeit his chances of saving Ceri? He shook away the thoughts of failure and searched for his mentor’s wisdom. There must be something other than drunken tales, proverbs, and women that came out of the old man’s mouth. Something worth remembering.

He thought back to when his mentor handed him a shabby dagger and a brown spotted apple, and said, “Survive till morning”, before leaving him alone in the Edgewoods. He was but a child then, forced to flee the haze with an old drunk he had no relation to. Looking back, perhaps it was his punishment for being a sulking brat. Come morning, he had survived, but not as the old man intended. When the old man found him, he smacked him on the head, yelling. “You damn fool! What’s sitting on your ass good for?”

“I lived, didn’t I?” Leor remembered saying. It brought a small chuckle out of him. He could picture the blood flushing the old man’s cheeks.

His mentor had smacked him again for that and called him twice a fool. “Look here, boy. I didn’t save you just so you can die on me like a lost mutt. You got to fight. Staying down is for the dead, you got that? When you’re stuck in the depths, what do you do?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Climb.”

Damn it. Even after years apart, the old man’s words still rang true. Twice as much when Leor felt blind. How could he forget the ways of old? The ancients once used the trees to hide from the fabled beasts that craved human flesh and as vantage points. He studied the nearby trees and measured their sturdiness. Once he found one that would support his weight, he scaled the trunk, jumping from solid branches until he reached the peak. The haze was a slight less thick, but figures were easier to make out. He took note of that as he scanned the tree line, marking where it vaguely rose and fell. Perhaps he would see the runners in the sky or Champion’s Road.

He saw neither. Though a yellow glint caught his eye, like the twinkle of a jewel buried in pale sand. It flashed then faded, and flashed again after a brief pause. Gauging the range, the beacon was well within running distance. He memorized the location as best as he could before descending and bursting into a sprint. He feared the light would disappear if he didn’t catch it in time, but the greatsword anchored his movements. He felt as though he were running with a limp. Yet he ignored the burns. The leaves and twigs snapped like bones as he raced through the trees. At his side, Yoru barked and diverged from his path. The wolfling must have caught a whiff of something and Leor took that as a blessing.

Screams and shouts laced the winds that blew past him as he ran. Leor dropped to a crouch behind a thicket of bushes and commanded Yoru’s heel when the sounds stabbed his eardrums more than he liked. Peeking through the brush, he saw a knight of the Order pinned to the floor by a bear painted in the color of the ashen woods and speckled with blood from the open gash left by the glowing longsword impaled through its torso. The knight cried in pain, crushed by the slain beast.

“Get this monster off me!” He ordered the six slaves, four men and two women, around him as he struggled to free his arms, his face splattered fresh with blood.

The slaves looked at each other warily before doing as they were bid. It took five of them to roll the corpse over, the heavy shackles on their wrists and their scrawny bodies labored their efforts. The knight scrunched in pain, clutching his broken arm; his leg twisted out of place and blood gushed from his claw-torn breastplate.

“Y-you there! Bring me a vial of healing waters. Hurry!” He said to the sixth slave guarding his horse and cargo.

The sixth slave was a hard-looking man with eyes as dark as the black locks on his head. His brow hung low and turned his face a permanent scowl. His mouth looked as if it never knew a smile. Clearly, he was different from the rest. A giant in ragged clothes and rotten leather armor. Small wonder he was chosen as guard. Chains bounded his brutish limbs; they jangled as he waddled to the crippled knight.

“It’s about time, you oaf. Give it here.”

And the giant gave it to him. A whip of his chains across the cheek. It slashed open another wound. The knight reeled but the giant roped the chains around the knight’s neck. He drove his foot down the knight’s back as he yanked the iron lasso. The knight’s face swelled purple and his eyes bulged to the point of popping.

“What — are you doing!?” gargled the knight. He thrashed his unbroken leg for footing, kicking up leaves and dirt, and attempted to peel the chains off him with his working hand.

The giant gave no reply or the slightest change of that frozen face of his. After a few more desperate gasps, he gave the chains a final tug and there was a loud snap. The knight fell over, lifeless; his throat branded with a necklace of blood and bruises. It was then Leor emerged from hiding.

“Have you gone mad? What have you done?” Leor said to the giant with his sword pointed.

No one spoke a word. The other five slaves fumbled back at the sight of the snarling edgewolf while the giant only stared back. Leor couldn’t tell if the giant had truly gone mad and lost the will to speak. He watched the giant carefully. His build and skin are that of an Arindian, but what is he doing in chains? With a knight of the Order, no less. They shared an unbreakable match of stares until the giant finally spoke. His voice high-pitched like that of a boy verging on manhood.

“You’re the one everyone speaks of — the purblight chosen by the gods.”

Leor hesitated. He had forgotten how rumors spread far enough are turned into lies. “And you are?”

“I, too, am an accursed purblight. The name’s Hendrick,” he bowed and smiled. The corner of his lips peeled back his cheeks so unnaturally that it made Leor uncomfortable. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I owe you a great deal.”

“What are you on about? I’ve done nothing that calls for your debt nor have I seen you before.”

“Believe it or not, sir Leor. You have bought me what I’ve yearned for since being taken captive by the Order. A chance at freedom.” Hendrick looked down at his rattling chains and sighed as if he had forgotten their heft. “Well, half of it anyway. The Order has promised me and many others freedom if we prove fruitful in this pilgrimage into the lost lands. Without you, we would’ve been forgotten till death, drowning in our own excrement. Or hung.” He chuckled. “Glad it happened soon too. The ropes beckoned my name so sweetly.”

“And killing the knight served what purpose? A twisted way of thanks?”

Hendrick frowned. “You think of me wrong, sir. I only did what must be done to save the women. The bastard knight was oh so cruel to them. Speaking about having his way with them when camp was made. You must understand they lack the fight within them. Unlike me, they have been brought into this fogged hell against their will.”

Leor glanced at the cowering slaves. Yoru trapped them by circling them. Without a doubt, they were beaten and he could imagine the knight making such claims. It wouldn’t be the first. . . but he did not enter the haze for one-sided tales. “And you came willingly? With those chains bounding you? You must have a death wish to agree to that.”

“Perhaps I do,” Hendrick shrugged, looking down at his shackles, smiling. “But some things are worth dying for.”

Leor raised a brow at the sudden conviction in his feeble voice. “And what's that?”

Hendrick lowered his gaze. He was reluctant to share his reasons for his journey, Leor saw. He could not blame the giant for that. All men have their reasons and revealing them to strangers was a dangerous game. And he was no different. He changed the subject for he still wondered if others were separated as he was.

“What are you all doing out here and where’s the rest of the legion?”

“Ah, yes. About that. Somehow we ended up in Cinder Woods. It’s the name I gave this place since none of us knew where we were. Past the Wall should’ve been the Ghost Plains, the knight said as much. We wandered, searching for the troop, to no avail. Then this silvery beast stormed through the trees. I reckon it was five times the size of the knight on its hind legs. I’ve never seen a bear this large and belligerent. By some miracle, the knight felled the beast. It jumped into the blade as it pounced on him. And you know the rest.”

Leor observed the fallen bear’s wound. The story seemed to be true and he had no evidence to prove Hendrick’s words wrong. He dislodged the longsword from the corpse, its beaconing light now gone. Another sword at his hip made him feel fully clothed, he thought as he sheathed then fastened it to his waist. “Then we are all still lost.”

Sighing, he made his way to the knight and stripped him of his gear. “Here, give the armor to the women. Some protection is better than none.”

Hendrick took the clawed breastplate and tattered limb guards and bowed. “You are too kind, milord.”

“No. None of that lord stuff. I’m sick of hearing it. Tell them to come here. We can’t have those chains slowing us down if we are to regroup with the legion.”

After the restraints were severed, Leor had the slaves scavenge the meat off the bear while he weighed their next path. Though he had kept the chains on Hendrick and the giant seemed to understand without being given reason. He watched the slaves whisper amongst themselves, swatting the flies that came to collect their meal and stealing glances at him as they did so. Fear made home in their eyes, he saw. They trembled at the very presence of Yoru who salivated while sniffing the bloody flesh.

Then it struck him. His mentor had always told him edgewolves have keener noses than hunting hounds. They would lather themselves with dirt to mask their scent when hunting. Perhaps the wolfling too could learn to track prey.

“Yoru, to me.” The wolfling came running with its tail erect and wagging. Leor presented the longsword to it. “Breathe in the scent of light. There should be a massive pool of it where the legion is. Follow it, Yoru.”

It took some further pressing for the wolfling to understand what he asked for, but Yoru sniffed the blade nonetheless. Nose up, Yoru caught a scent and trudged through the woods with the party close behind, stopping a few times to pick up the trail again. Leor had the slaves and Hendrick in front of him. He didn’t want them to run off or stab him from behind. He could only imagine if they harbored any resentment towards him for being kept as slaves, but they had no choice; it was follow along or be left to die.

They traveled for a long while till darkness fell upon Cinder Woods, the white shroud now the color of soot, and Leor was relieved to find night and day were not completely lost to the haze. But he knew favors always came with a price and the haze was a vindictive thing. Cold nights were nothing new to him, but something about the frigid air seemed unnatural. The thick fog turned into a frosted hell at nightfall, searing their skin with the cold kiss of death.

As they continued their trek through hell, he feared the scent trail was leading them down an endless journey, but when he was about to call off the pursuit, lights as tiny as lampflies bloomed in the distance. Faint murmurs and the snap of banners graced their ears. The slaves gave a sigh of relief and collapsed to the floor.

“Good boy,” Leor said, tousling Yoru’s furs. He strained his eyes to observe the encampment. The banners were no doubt the Order’s, but their numbers dwindled to a meager hundred or so. Have they suffered great losses or have they spread the legion into groups? The haze would only give him so much and faces were impossible to read from their distance. It was pointless to search for Alden or Arthur.

Hendrick came up beside him and joined him in watching the legion from the grove, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Shall we go to them, sir Leor?”

“No, we will trail them from a distance. They might eye us suspicious if we show ourselves without the guidance of their knights,” Leor told him. “A group of slaves and purblights will surely be met with hostility.” That, in truth, was part of his reason. The other was to find the cracks in the light.