“Break in? What do you mean? Can’t you stop them—”

“What’s a Mistwalker?” Mia interrupted Luke, placing a hand on his shoulder before stepping closer to the window. He followed her, putting himself between Mia and the wall should the already fractured glass break.

“Spirits who have not been led beyond the Veil.” The witch sent several more coils of mist to attach to the wall bracing the door. Another loud crack resounded in the small cabin, shaking the foundations as the blow echoed within the unsteady walls.

“Can you not lead them away from here, past the Veil?” The blond appraised the witch, the fear she once had for the woman was gone. She still felt that same finite aura around her, but she understood it now. That sensation of death she gave off came from her duty to the Veil and to the spirits wandering through it. She was the boatman on the River Styx, the light beyond the tunnel that shepherded souls from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead.

“Not in the state they are in. Mistwalkers are not a free spirit blowing through the Winds of Fate. They are anchored by their attachment to their past life. Hatred, love, and regret.”

“Then what do we do? Run?” Mia wasn’t so much concerned for her safety than she was curious as to what the witch could do against them. Luke, however, was more focused on getting out of there alive. He strode quickly to the wardrobe, his jar of medicinal ointment on the ground where Mia had left it. He tossed it in his bag and went back to Mia, taking the long way around past the old piano and stopping to peer out the window - the angle giving him a better view of the doorway outside.

“You may run, but their attraction here is most likely to the both of you. They are in a maddened state, and feeling the presence of the living, they will want to destroy it out of envy.” The witch now fished one of the bells tied to her waist, tugging at the string it hung on and bringing it up.

Luke saw the Mistwalker knocking on the door. Horrible, jagged edges of stone-like material encased a human-like form. Thin, skeletal arms protruded from a wide chest that tapered down acutely, ribs ending only in spine as its abdomen attached to its thin hip. Movement drew his vision further out toward the path, similar rough-skinned creatures - several of them - stepped into the clearing. A loud slam shook Luke from his locked gaze on the coming monsters, rattling the wall beside him and knocking rubble from the ceiling onto the dirty floor.

“Keh! So we’re their targets… Great—”

“Mia! Stay away from the windows! More just made it into the clearing. A whole group of them. There’s one on the door and the last hit came from behind the piano… I think they’re surrounding us.”

I will keep them here if you wish to run.” The witch rung the small bell in her hand. From outside, high pitched screeching accompanied the heavy steps of the stone creatures moving away from the door. Seconds later, they returned, slamming the door with renewed vigor.

“Is that what you use to drive them away?”

“It is what guides every spirit within the Veil beyond it. It can be used to drive a Mistwalker back, but only by breaking its manifested form will I be able to rid them of their regret and guide them out of the Veil.”

“So if you give us a bell, we can us it to keep them away from us…”

“Or, we can help her fight them!” Mia’s eyes sparkled a verdant energy. She patted the round, bulky shoulder of the well-trained man. Like an oblivious promoter, she had little knowledge of Luke’s abilities, and even less so of the opponents she was prepared to send him to.

He stared at her, dumbfounded by the unbelievably dangerous idea she had just thrown out. Half expecting her to take it back immediately - or more-so hoping she would - Mia did the opposite, doubling down as the witch responded.

“Humans shouldn’t involve themselves with the dealings of the dead.”

“Mia, I don’t—”

“We got involved the moment we were dragged into this fog! Now they’re chasing us and we’re supposed to do what? Run? Where? And leave you here?” Mia looked down at the woman’s chest, listening into the low hum once more, that sound that only she could tap into - the sound of a coming end. But she new that interpretation to be incorrect. Not an end, but a new beginning. Yet, it wasn’t the sound she was expecting. She new what the new beginning should sound like, and this wasn’t it.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Mia’s stare drifted from the woman’s chest to her mask, wondering what she looked like underneath, but more worried for the witch’s well-being.

“Hurt? She didn’t seem like it when she had us tied up 10 minutes ago.”

“No! I can tell… Spirits fade, on wings of Fate. Toll the bells, in hope they play,” she spoke to him, a hint of metered tone as she repeated her father’s song to Luke and the witch. “A Spirit Witch is the incarnation of the mist, a personification of spiritual-liminal space - the transition between life and death. That isn’t something that can be stopped so easily, especially not for this long. You would need a hex, or a curse powerful enough to curb the Winds of Fate… I can’t fathom how painful that would be.” She turned to Luke. He couldn’t quite pin it, but he could tell she was more serious now than he had seen her before.

“It would be like someone placing a heavy object on and around you leaving you unable to breath from the pressure, but instead of fading to death, you continue to gasp for air… continuously in pain”

“How do you know…?” Luke drifted off his question, mumbling. He wanted to know how she knew all of that, but what would be the point? He knew nothing of this world, of Mia and the witch. For all he knew, Mia could be repeating common knowledge. She had mentioned that the Spirit Witch was a figure from folklore. Perhaps everything she was saying had been from tales like the ones he had shared with his family by the campfire once upon a time.

“Besides!” Mia turned to the door, held shut by the witch’s mist. Looking back at the witch and at Luke, she presented her case to them both. “Luke is a warrior! He’ll be fine!”

Luke wasn’t sure how someone so well-spoken - who seemed to know much about various topics - could say so many dumb things. He had told her he was an arena fighter, which was not a lie. But that was against normal people, and he hadn’t fought anyone decent in nearly a year. Here, she wanted him to fight against… monsters. These weren’t figments of the imagination, or a person claiming themselves to be supernatural as was so common in the ring. These were true to the word, undeniable monsters - creatures quite literally born of hatred and resentment. He couldn’t. To step out there would be suicide, and if there bodies were anywhere as tough as they appeared, he wouldn’t so much as scratch them.

But, of course, nothing seemed to go his way since entering the mist.

“Perhaps you are right. His spirit is strong, if a bit chaotic.”

“Wait—!”

“Isn’t it?!” Mia patted Luke strongly against his arm. “Like the Flight of the bumblebee, he’s a bit all over the place, but his path is true.”

The witch turned to him. He could not see her doing it, but Luke felt as though she was looking deep within him. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but the witch - in her more youthful forms - was nearly as tall as him. Though her appearance was a bit ragged and worn, there was a beauty to the way she carried herself. She took a brisk step toward him, abrupt as Mia and Luke both jumped at her movement. The witch eyed him, if you could call it that through her mask, for another few seconds before stepping away.

“Untapped… What a shame…” She whispered, striding up to the bookcase, she picked up another pair of old, stale rags - the last of which she could pilfer from the cabin.

Luke had not heard what the witch had mumbled, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he had been judged in some way, and the results were not favorable. Still, his worries were quickly replaced as the witch tossed him two dirty, wet rags she had retrieved and presumably soaked herself.

“Tie those around your fists. It won’t do you well to touch them directly.”

“Yes!” Mia exclaimed. Luke wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted to see him fight so much, but he was certain she had the wrong impression of his abilities.

“Why are they… wet?”

“It’s spirit water, isn’t it?” Mia interrupted excitedly. The witch nodded at her. “Woah! I’ve only read about it in books, but to think it would sound like that…”

“Sound? What?” The dark-haired man put his ear near the rags, hearing something more immediately threatening than whatever Mia was on about.

A loud crashing sound came from the front of the cabin, window shattering into hundreds of pieces. Glass shards scattered about as the three of them turned to where they had come from. There, a stone fist pulled away from the open window, before a full body replaced it, slowly climbing into the cabin, though its overly wide shoulders posed an issue and drew a sigh of relief from Mia and Luke.

Luke started tying the rags around him, doing his best to ensure they would not fall off mid punch. As he finished, the witch placed one of her bells in his hand. He looked up, brow furrowed in confusion.

“The spirit water will allow you to crack away at the shell around the mistwalkers. Once you have weakened them, ring the bell. It will help free the spirit from the hatred and allow it to roam freely so I may guide them out of the Veil.

“Uh… How will I know when they’re weak?”

“You’ll know.”

“You.” She turned to Mia. “Stay here. He will protect the cabin from the outside. I will fend off the larger groups coming in.”

“Wait! I can help too!” Mia demanded.

“Not with this. If you are meant to affect the outcome of this battle, fate will grant you that opportunity should the need arise.”

“She’s right, Mia.” Luke stared down at her, the shorter girl pouting in defiance. “Besides, there’s only two bells, and here I thought you were excited to see me fight…”

“Huh? No, you’re—”

The mistwalker tore and slammed against the dead oak of the cabin, breaking away at the window frame, soon to claim enough room to slip into their space.

“We must go. Luke, focus on the cabin and keeping the girl safe. If you can do that, I will be able to fend off the rest.”

“Are you sure? Mia said you were in pain, right?”

“I don’t not feel pain the way a human does. It is different… But it will be fine.” If she said so, Luke had no choice but to trust her. Their lives were in her hands. In the mean time, Luke slammed his fists together, preparing himself mentally for the fight of his life.

The Mist around the doorway vanished, door swing open as the witch, with Luke behind her, darted out - knocking a mistwalker away and shutting the door behind them. Mia watched them go, eying the mistwalker breaking in through the window as it got ripped off to the side, the heavy clatter of stone on wood echoed a thunderous crack into the newly quiet cabin. Mia drew in a shaky breath, crossing her arms, helpless as to the outcome of the fight, left to watch from relative safety.

“Dummy,” she smiled, sighing as the mistwalkers no longer appeared to be attacking the cabin itself. “I couldn’t care less about watching you hit things, but you can’t even tell how excited you are to fight them?” She recalled the melodies playing along the waves of his aura. The mere mention of fighting the mistwalkers had beat life into the otherwise stoic, monotone thump surrounding him. She had never met someone that boring, as she initially thought, whose aura could turn so vibrant and colorful at the prospect of doing… anything, really, let alone something as dangerous as this.

“I guess city boys really are hopeless…” she chuckled.