The first year of the fog

Two men stood embracing emotionally at the top of a tower that had until not too long ago been double its current height. They appeared so visually different - one in his golden armour and bearing a proud family crest on his blood-painted chest, and the other in his subdued, black cloak.

“It’s all thanks to you. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it were not for you.” The young general’s words were an almost incoherent rush, tripping over themselves on his tongue as he spoke. For him, even with the last remnants of war as their backdrop, this feat was still surreal.

The elegant man smiled back at his friend, stepping away from him. “No, this was only possible because you deserve it, Sio - you’ve suffered. I’ve only modestly assisted. Congratulations, all of this is now yours.”

Fire rained from the sky, blazing across and lighting up the ashen fields of the old Kranden Castle, its former, reputable appearance as an impenetrable fortress buried under its own debris. The ground below was bleeding - corpses littered the dirt and soot like blooming flowers. Iron-clad soldiers marched, trampling these flowers underfoot without a single cry, progressing forward in silver rows to only the beat of the drums and their uniform footsteps.

Exhaustion and fatigue suddenly crept onto the dark-haired, green-eyed general’s young face. The weight of the rebellion and all its costs sank in, and continued sinking, etching themselves into his bones.

It was over.

The planning and sacrifices of two generations of his family was now undeniably his success, stamped with the deaths of thousands to prove it. This stamp emblazoned itself into Sio’s heart, burning into the fibres of his being as an emotion he recognised uncomfortably as guilt. He had not quite yet lived thirty years, but already had such a large debt of lives racked up. His stubborn will shook.

Looking up once again at the calm man who had appeared in his life one day like a saviour, he breathed out in a rush: “Was it worth…”

Veronn dusted off his black cloak with a curl of distaste on his lip, but when he turned his face up to meet the bright, bleeding skies, Sio saw a placid smile spread and illuminate his beautiful features. “Of course it was worth it. We stand atop the ruins of Kranden Castle, and its master lies in a pool of his own innards, impaled on a spear somewhere under the rubble. Look at what a beautiful sun burns tonight.” Veronn’s voice quietened to a murmur, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “It will be the last night a sun burns like that…” Seeming to collect his thoughts, he turned his gaze back to Sio. Mirrored in his dark, unreadable eyes were the flickering tongues of the fires that licked away at the land. “The people have rid themselves of a heartless tyrant. My research, thanks to your efforts, has yielded fruit... and you, my dear friend,” he continued, gracefully falling onto one knee, “are King. This humble advisor will always be by your side, guarding you, your kingdom and your family, now and for generations to come. I offer my greetings to King Sio d’Arvillion and the kingdom of Al’Caaran.”

Down below, the army that had marched through the corpses of their enemy and comrades alike stood in silent rows, the ranks of their helmeted heads stretching on endlessly over the hill. The fog was already rolling in, past the borders that had previously been kept up by the Tyrant Magician, eating away all in its path.

The weight of the world fell onto Sio’s shoulders, and he stared into the vast, burning ruins. Slowly turning back around to face the kneeling Veronn, he released his words with difficulty. “I don’t yet know how to be King, and I don’t know how to start rebuilding and reforming when I see these ruins of the Capital that was once so vibrant. But with you and the elder lords to assist me, I am much more at ease.” Stepping forward, he gently helped Veronn up. “My descendants and I will be relying on you further.”

Year 309 of the fog

In the musky office of a tavern, Luka smiled flatteringly at Kalstra, his hands clasped easily together on the desk. The orange rays of the setting sun streamed in through the small, dusty windows, saving the cramped room from complete darkness. From behind the worn, wooden door, muffled voices of men drinking away the grueling days of the Outer Ring seeped in. Luka’s guest was hunched in on himself slightly, as if touching anything but the rickety seat he was on would infect him with unknown diseases, or worse - poverty. He had his cloak gathered in his lap, his hands clenching onto the fabric so as to not let it hang and brush over the creaking, grimy floorboards. Luka saw Tasir hide a contemptuous smirk as the latter set down a chipped, ceramic tea-bowl before the man with a slight bow. Peering over into the murky liquid, Kalstra’s face quickly twisted with a look of unmasked distaste.

Luka hid his amusement, keeping his words effortlessly polite as he spread his hands innocently. “Of course, an important guest such as you, m’lord, deserves much better, but this is the best our humble shop can offer. I hope you aren’t insulted. We are relying on you to make a good impression on His Lordship the Marquis on our behalf.”

Kalstra snorted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat to draw himself up taller. “My master has already bestowed a great grace, sending me down here to personally employ your services. Since I have come so far as to visit the Outer Ring, you better prove your reputation isn’t all made up.”

Luka bowed his head compliantly. “Of course, of course, that goes without saying.” After all, even the servant of a mere Marquis was like the heavens to those that struggled through each day in the Outer Ring. Even the slimmest possibility of being sponsored by a wealthy nobleman with a ticket into the Capital was a good enough reason for people of the Outer Ring to grind their own pride into the dirt underfoot. At Luka’s gesture, Tasir withdrew to the back room, returning with a small chest. It was placed on the desk before Kalstra, whose eyes lit up greedily at the gold insignia that decorated it. Without even a trace of the previous reluctance to touch anything, his hands snaked out to grasp at the chest.

Luka arched his brows, suggesting in an expectant tone: “I’m sure the Marquis will be satisfied with our work. As for our reward…”

Kalstra clutched the chest to himself, scoffing with a regained air of self-importance and distaste. “How could the Marquis, or even this official, reward Outer Ring slaves like you for such simple work?”

Tucking his contempt away behind his honeyed smile, Luka bowed his head once again. “Of course, m’lord, my thoughts were lacking. How could we ask you for a reward after being honoured with a task from the Marquis? How about this, we will give you the goods for free today, and we only ask for m’lord to pass on some good words to the Marquis on our behalf. If he can keep us in his thoughts, that’s enough for us.”

The messenger harrumphed impatiently, glancing at the darkening rays of the setting sun before quickly rising from the seat, fumbling to hide the chest away on his person as he did so. “Since I’ve got what I’ve come here for, I must return to the Capital at once. I’ve heard from long ago that this cursed place is still unsafe from the fog after sunset, and I am far too important to be spending a night hiding away in one of the filthy inns here. You may wait for some favourable news, though there are no guarantees. The Marquis is incredibly important and very busy.” With these words as a parting greeting, he brushed past Tasir and out the door.

Watching the messenger hurriedly leave with the chest tucked protectively under his cloak, scorn blossomed in Luka’s chest. But of course, humans, especially these greedy slaves of the lesser nobility, were simple. Picking up the untouched tea, Luka downed the contents, carelessly setting the cup down with a rattle and leaning back in his seat.

Rapping his fingers lightly against the desk for a long moment, he arched his eyebrows at his attendant. “Well?”

Tasir smiled and bowed slightly. “Master already knows that Cain d’Marco works for Duke d’Grei. He’s been a simple Marquis for too long. If the Dukedom the Crown Prince intends to promote tonight is d’Grei’s, then Cain d’Marco’s years of flattery and suffering as an underdog will have paid off.” With a false pause of thoughtfulness, he continued in a drawl: “That gift he picked up from us will surely end up in d’Grei’s hands.”

Laughter bubbled up Luka’s chest at his attendant’s seemingly innocent response. “You know that wasn’t what I was asking.”

Mirth glimmered in Tasir’s dark eyes. “This servant is lacking. What does Master mean?”

Before they could continue, the door that was left ajar by the messenger creaked open further, and Lutr, the owner of the tavern, stepped in hesitantly, his gaze carefully fixed to the floor. Seeming to feel their inquisitive gazes on him, he mumbled: “The guest has left. We saw his carriage head towards the South Gate back into the Capital.”

Tasir hummed. “The South Gate, not the East?”

Lutr shook his head. “Most definitely the South Gate. Some of our men followed a part of the way, but…” His voice shrank in volume. “The sun has already nearly set, so they gave up on tailing him and entered the closest inn they could find to hide in for the night.”

Tasir smiled easily. “Ah, that is fine. They should stay safe from the fog if they are afraid. You can retire for the night as well. Lord d’Lusivere and I have places to be.”

Lutr tensed where he stood, though his gaze remained fixed firmly on the floor. “Will you be travelling in the fog, sir? Shall I hire a carriage?”

Tasir waved it away. “No need, you can leave. You’ve done good work. You and the boys can return to the Middle Ring when the sun comes up tomorrow. We’ve done everything we need to in the Outer Ring for now.”

“Yes, sir.” After a moment of hesitation, Lutr ducked his head awkwardly in Luka’s direction in what was almost a proper bow. “My lord.” With this acknowledgment, he hastily exited, leaving the pair to themselves again.

Luka clicked his tongue, eyeing Tasir with a sigh. “Look how afraid they are of us. You should be nicer to them. A few boisterous drinking buddies would be good, but their fear of you keeps them away from me too.”

Tasir’s smile didn’t change, but Luka suddenly felt that it was incredibly impolite. “Pardon my honesty, Master, but I do believe they are afraid of you because you’re a d’Lusivere, not because of anything I’ve done in particular.” Sighing wistfully, he added, “They weren’t so afraid of me too, once upon a time, before I started serving you.”

Luka snorted. “They’re not even the same boys, are they, as the ones from back then? Never mind, damn servant, just answer my earlier question. Seeing how the messenger went for the South Gate, it seems he wants to take it straight to House d’Grei. This Marquis d’Marco truly is simple-minded.”

Tasir sighed. “Where the Crown Prince grew the nerve to promote a new Great Dukedom without consulting Lord Lycian, this servant won’t understand.”

Luka smiled. “Well, Fourteenth Sister’s might really is great. If she is able to protect her precious prince from Lord Father this time as well, I will reward you.”

Tasir bowed his head. “Thank you, Master.”

Rising from his seat, Luka unhooked his cloak from the coathanger, throwing it over himself with a creeping sense of excitement as he glided out the door. “Reroute d’Marco’s gift to Duke Fei'an, and send a letter to Fourteenth Sister. As for myself, I shall pay a visit to Lord Father.”

Kalstra’s carriage bumped along the dirt pathways of the Outer Ring, making haste towards the South Gate of the Capital. They were in a rush, not only because Kalstra was excited to make his offerings to the Duke d’Grei, but also because when the sun set and the fog rolled in, the carriage driver who sat outside did not wish to be stuck in the Outer Ring. Kalstra didn’t mind the rough journey back. He had heard of how the man-eating fog still creeped in and took the lives of those unguarded at night in the Outer Ring, unlike in the Capital. Although in the carriage, he didn’t want to risk being stuck in a carriage at night when the fog came. He had too many ambitions to be killed in the same, pathetic way the lower-class citizens of the Outer Ring did.

Kalstra was bundled safely in his cloak in the sanctuary of the carriage and had a fur throw over his lap - it kept him warm from the Outer Ring poverty that rolled by outside his window. Huddled up in himself, he fumbled with the chest he had picked up, trying to get it open rather impatiently. He had picked it up personally from this dreaded place at the orders of Marquis d’Marco, his current master, but he had plans to claim the merit of securing the goods as his own when meeting Duke d’Grei. Serving under a master like the petty Marquis d’Marco offered him no shining future, but the Duke was different. The Duke was powerful and old, and although he had only been a Courtier for less than a decade, he held one of the four military seals and reigned over the Southern Army. To serve as a head attendant for such a man would lead him to glory.

Thinking of such bright prospects, Kalstra almost forgot about the displeasing grime he had forced himself to step into to retrieve this chest. The Outer Ring was much worse than the Lower Ring of the Capital. The Outer Ring nobility had their own estates and mansions which they kept impeccable, but the cities of the Outer Ring were filled with lowly artisans and labourers, if not dangerous criminals like the one he had met to claim the chest. Thinking back to the small, musky room at the back of that tavern, he snickered. In the Capital, beauty quite often signified power. The man behind the infamous Kar’yaja Shadow Guild was as beautiful as a blueblood or a trickster. With a face like his, he could find an influential patron and have limitless possibilities, especially as a member of the very capable Kar’yaja Shadow Guild - it was a pity that such a beautiful face and competent person was stuck in the slums of the Outer Ring, never to be noticed by anyone worth mentioning. Kalstra had greatly enjoyed being flattered by someone like that, regardless of his lowly status. After all, in the Capital, it was rare that Kalstra had someone fawn on him in such a manner. He knew that even the lower-ranking servants of House d’Marco gossiped about him behind his back.

He no longer paid any attention to the scenery of the Outer Ring outside, drawing the curtain half-closed. The curious and predatory eyes of mercenaries and strong labourers peeking in scared him, and he had a chest to figure out how to open.

It won’t open. Greatly annoyed, he found his patience quickly depleting. Finally, he raised the chest high above his head, then slammed it down onto the floor by his feet - just as the lock had been rusty and stiff, the wood was worn and old, as if even the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild couldn’t afford anything of better quality in the Outer Ring. The chest broke on impact without much resistance, and Kalstra flinched and hid under his throw at the debris of splinters that flew up at him.

“Are you alright, Head Attendant Kalstra?”

Tentatively peeking out from behind the fur and seeing that the chest had broken, Kalstra felt a smile spread on his face. He bent over in his seat to eagerly pick up the papers from the remnant pieces of the chest, hastily shouting back out at the driver, “Perfectly fine, perfectly fine! Focus on driving! Remember, the Marquis ordered for the goods to be delivered tonight!”

The carriage sped up slightly. Now that the sun was growing dim and the sky was slowly turning purple, less and less people were seen on the streets, allowing the carriage to gain speed. It was abruptly very quiet, compared to the loud noise that had filled these same, filthy streets not too long ago. Kalstra’s hands shook as he lifted the papers, tapping them back into a neat stack and finally taking a look at them - his heart filled with glee. Names and numbers filled the page, names and numbers of those involved in the Eastern Army General Duke d’Varha’s corruption and nepotism. Kalstra trembled in excitement as he greedily read over the accounts and dates, his shaky fingers quickly rifling through the pages. It appeared the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild was truly great - they could find such a thing. If something like this was to be submitted to Court, Duke d’Varha would lose his military seal and possibly be demoted despite his three decades of service, no longer worthy of being Duke d’Grei’s competitor. As the bringer of such a gift, Kalstra would be rewarded by the Duke d’Grei. His future was boundless.

Tucking the papers carefully into his pockets, Kalstra belatedly felt that something was wrong. Knocking against the wall with his stick, he demanded in annoyance, “Why aren’t we moving? Do I have to remind you that we are in a rush?”

But only silence answered his shouts, and Kalstra slowly felt his irritation turn into fear. He drew the curtains with a growing sense of uncertainty. When he looked out the window, those creeping fingers of fear finally clenched around the pit of his stomach.

When did it get so dark? 

The setting sun had disappeared like a lie, and fog circled the carriage gloomily. Kalstra felt that he could see eyes in the fog, staring at him hungrily, but it couldn’t be - such legends of the fog being alive were myths that only uneducated slaves of the Outer Ring believed. Scared, Kalstra fumbled with his stick, rapping it loudly and repeatedly against the carriage wall. “Driver!” Under his repeated hits against the sturdy carriage wall, his stick snapped, breaking into halves in his hand. Dropping the broken stick, Kalstra shivered and drew the curtains closed again, pulling his feet up and hunching in on himself under the fur throw. What could he do? He refused to leave the sanctuary of the carriage, but he couldn’t stand there in the middle of an Outer Ring road until morning, could he?

Just as he was weighing out the odds, something slammed violently into his window. Kalstra felt the entire carriage rock on its two wheels at the impact, and screamed, truly frightened - when he looked at the window, he nearly fainted. Through the gauze curtains, he could see someone’s face pressed against the window, staring in with a hungry, predatory smile. The door handle rattled, growing more and more violent - then as Kalstra watched on in shock and terror, he heard the hair-raising sound of the handle being impatiently wrenched off from the door by sheer force. Having forced the door open, the interloper easily climbed in, closing the door once again behind himself and locking Kalstra in with himself. The carriage lurched back into motion, slowly rolling along in the thick fog.

Kalstra stared wide-eyed at the unwelcome man, then felt a chill bead sweats on his back. Wasn’t this pretty, smiling man the same man who had attended to himself and the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild representative a mere hour ago?

Kalstra hugged himself, shuffling into the corner of his seat with his back pressed against the wall as he worked up the courage to demand: “W-w-what is the meaning of this? How dare you harm this great official?”

The beautiful man snickered, and although his words were polite, Kalstra felt his tone was anything but. “Greetings to my lord. My master decided after you left that he wasn’t satisfied with the reward offered by His Lordship the Marquis. He has sent me to reclaim the goods and send them to someone who will better appreciate the Guild’s efforts.”

Kalstra shivered, hugging himself tighter. “Y-You dare offend the Marquis?”

The man smiled indulgently. “You dared offend my master.”

How could the Marquis compare to a petty representative of the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild? But he didn’t voice his contempt out loud, because he was alone in a carriage with this madman who dared brave the fog and had wrenched a door open with a bare hand.

Unwillingly, Kalstra reached into his pockets and pulled out a pouch. He had intended to keep it for himself, but it would seem that he now had to yield the Marquis’ reward. “I’ll apologise. The Marquis did indeed prepare a reward for your work, I simply forgot about it.” Throwing the pouch at the man’s feet, Kalstra huddled in on himself once again. “Twenty gold coins. It’s enough to buy several decent houses in the Outer Ring, isn’t it?”

The man smirked, ignoring the pouch. “My lord is misinformed. Our Kar’yaja Shadow Guild isn’t lacking for money.”

Surprise and unease filled Kalstra’s heart. Just as he was about to ask what it was that they wanted from him, the man reached out towards him. It was at that moment that Kalstra got a good look at the man’s hand.

He screamed.

It wasn’t a human hand, but the hand of an unknown beast - it was covered in thick, black hair and was at least double the size of a human hand, decorated by seven fingers and long, knife-like talons.

“Y-You….” But words no longer managed to leave Kalstra’s throat. He was panicked, truly afraid now. After all, such beast-like features were only supposed to belong to the Magicians of the Old Kingdom, the Beasts of the Tyrant King’s kind from over three centuries ago. But they’re meant to be extinct, monsters of legends. The might of House d’Lusivere is granted by the merit of wiping out the cursed beings.

Kalstra wanted to say something, anything - perhaps to ask this man, or monster, questions about what he was, or perhaps to beg for mercy, but his throat felt clogged. Not a single sound escaped his mouth. He could only watch on as his clothes were ripped to shreds and his body was searched. Soon enough, the man retrieved the stack of papers, and very easily so. Nodding in apparent satisfaction, the man bowed his head slightly. “Thanks to my lord for your cooperation. I’ve been rude to intrude in this manner, so I’ll get going now. My lord may keep the gold. My master does not need it.” The man clicked open the half-broken door, but turned his head to say before leaving: “I’ll have my assistant drop off the carriage outside the d’Marco manor, seeing how your driver was eaten by the fog. I trust my lord understands to keep the matters of tonight to yourself, since my master was generous enough to let you keep your life.” He snickered. “Not that anyone would believe you, anyway.” With this parting greeting, the man flew out into the night, fearlessly stepping into the fog. The door slammed shut violently behind him, and Kalstra was left on the floor of the carriage, blankly staring after him.