I stiffened, my hand instinctively twitching toward the hilt of my short sword. He was looking at our grime-covered clothes and weary, blood-spattered faces. I suddenly realised the tragic assumption he had made, he thought we were newly infected exiles, driven into the mist by the scourge of greyscale.
Sensing my hesitation, he raised his cracked, stony hands in a placating gesture. "Please, do not shy away. All those within the village are sane. They are fellow humans who have not lost themselves to the plague yet."
Father subtly shifted his stance, relaxing his broad shoulders to appear far less threatening. "We thank you for your kindness. I am Harry. This is my daughter, Mione."
My breath hitched.
Mione.
The name from the golden street echoed violently in my ears. A cold shiver ran down my spine, but I forced my expression to remain entirely blank, playing along with Father's sudden alias.
When the man heard my name, his gaze shifted heavily onto me. His good eye filled with a despondent, crushing sorrow.
"I am so deeply pained by your circumstances, young one," he murmured, his voice thick with genuine grief. "To have your life robbed from you so young." He paused seemingly lost before snapping back to reality "Oh I forget myself sometimes. The name's Hazkar."
I did not know what words to say to him. Lying did not feel right, especially to a man so destitute. So, I kept my mouth shut, not looking him in the eye.
He took it not as disrespect, but as a sombreness born from our circumstances. He did not say anything more, merely leading us into the makeshift village.
There were no children here—only old men, women, and some middle-aged folk. Father and I were certainly on the younger side in this crowd. They all seemed to have accepted their fates, yet they continued to do their chores as if death were not looming over them.
"What is this place?" I asked, mustering some courage.
"It is a safe haven in this accursed land. We know not who made this place, but it has lasted for years, even before I came here. It is a refuge from the daunting isolation of the mist—a place where you can maintain a semblance of your humanity. But above all, it is the sacred ground of your release from this tormented life. All those afflicted with greyscale who pass through this village are offered refuge until they begin to lose themselves, at which point they are burned to ash, releasing their souls. Freedom is a most twisted, but blessed thing," Hazkar said as he guided us through the village.
"How many of us live here?" Father asked.
"Nearly two-and-eighty. Some choose to travel deeper into the mist; others choose this place as their final one. Even more leave to find the mythical Shrouded Lord, to beg or pray for this plague to be lifted from them. None that leave have ever returned," Hazkar explained, a profound resignation in his voice that I could not quite place.
Eventually, we reached a thatched hut at the end of a dirt street, which he promptly offered to us as a residence to do with as we pleased. Father thanked him before walking inside without hesitation. I followed after him, not wanting to stay alone.
Once I entered, I found Father had seated himself on one of the broken wooden chairs and was casting spells all over the room. They were wards and protection charms. I could only imagine the drain it was putting on him to keep such magic active against the mist.
"Focus. You should be able to discern this," Father said suddenly as he walked toward the other end of the hall. It was a dainty little hut—nothing more than a single large room with a secluded chamber attached to it.
I heeded his words and began studying the wards and protection runes. I cast my senses over them multiple times but did not find anything worth noting. Then, it struck me. The mist... it was not corrupting the mana connected to the runes.
I gaped at Father. "How?"
He turned and smiled. "I do not know, but I intend to find out." He then walked to the threshold of the house and pointed. "Notice how the mist seems to be limited to the outside, with barely any of it passing into this hut."
Following his point, I focused and saw that the creeping grey fog genuinely seemed to stop at the threshold, with only the barest wisps leaking inside.
"The same is true for the outside. This entire patch of land next to the lake has a lesser concentration of the mist around it. A very fascinating discovery, I must say," Father added.
"It could not be a ward, because mana would become corrupted by it and eventually the mist would take over. But then, if it is not a ward, what could it be?" I mused, proposing my own theories to the problem.
"We may have to stay here for some time in order to search every nook and cranny of this place. It is bound to be a very important discovery in this adventure of ours. If we can understand the principle behind this power, we may be able to replicate it within our magic to prevent the corruption of the mist," Father said, his expression giddy with anticipation.
"Yes, but we need to be careful of the people as well. They are all infected, and we need to be careful not to catch greyscale," I cautioned.
"As long as you cast the cleaning spell, the rest can be handled by your magic and the bloodline protections I established. Greyscale is certainly a magical illness, but it is also a physical one. It can be controlled and avoided," Father said in a relaxed manner.
"What about the people? How should we interact with them?" I asked.
Father waved his hand. "You can do as you please, so long as it is not fatally dangerous to you. I will be busy scouring this area in the meantime. You can accompany me, or pursue your own theories and research to understand the uniqueness of this place."
My first instinct was to go with him, but then the events of the past few hours surfaced in my mind. While Father and I shared the same goal of discovering why the mist worked the way it did here, there were additional tasks that now demanded my attention. The mist was not attacking my mind anymore, but I still found myself drawn to the thought of the woman in my dreams. Of my mother.
I wanted to explore that thread of curiosity, and within the relative safety of this village, I could do so. I wanted to tell Father, but I needed to be entirely sure it was my own subconscious—not the mist—that had induced those memories and dreams. And even if I did not reach a definitive conclusion, I made up my mind to tell him before we left this place. Just the thought of his sad, hurt face when he had spoken of my mother held me back from revealing it to him just yet.
"I think I'll do some research of my own we can then discuss our findings in the evening." I suggested.
"Wonderful"