Weariness filled their lungs as their steps became heavier over time.
Above, the sky began to scar in mauve.
Malik kept his calm and breathed slowly.
Zayne panted, "How aren't you tired carrying her whilst walking all this time?" he asked, holding his heart.
Malik smiled, speaking softly, "I've already torn off the weight that pulled me down. Now, even with her, walking is like floating to me."
As long as I support her, I cannot fall. I will not fall. But for some reason, she's weightless, yet she spoke like a mountain weighed her memories.
I wonder if I hurt her more than she already was when I did what I had to do.
He slowly turned his head and felt her soft face lay on his shoulder. He saw a slight smile curve as she dreamt. In response, he gave a heartwarming expression.
At least you get to sleep peacefully at night. That was all I wanted to see.
. . .
Around them, trees slowly dimmed, and the sun began to hide.
However, it wasn't anywhere near nighttime; it was like a cloud had submerged them.
Zayne felt a violent chill drive up his spine. Malik resisted the urge to quiver. Regardless, Awan stood in front of them, keeping that unbreakable grin on his face.
He turned, walking backwards and avoiding all sorts of shrubs and bushes. "My dad used to guide me through this place when he had our little bonding times together. They were short memories, but I could never forget them."
Zayne gulped, hands close to his hips, "But I'm not getting it, didn't you grow up with him?"
Awan shrugged, "He wanted to let me be a normal kid, and he knew he wouldn't have much time for me if it meant I could have that luxury. We'd even go months without speaking, and I'd return to the palace at night only to sleep and repeat the cycle all over again."
The words 'normal,' 'luxury,' and 'months' pasted into Malik's mind. He hung his head forward and closed his eyes in silence.
Suddenly, a fog consumed the forest. A grey fog, one that spread and made anything in the distance impossible to distinguish.
Awan noticed it and spoke gravely, ". . . I remember this. We're near our destination, but it wants to test us."
Continuing, "What I will say is this: If you see anything, it isn't real, so don't show any fear. I can't speak for everybody, but since you've never seen it before, it'll try to take advantage, don't let it, because fear always attacks people when they're weakest."
When Malik heard him, he held her tighter, securing her.
He scanned the forest, and it seemed like spikes of fog tried to stab him, floating like smoke but making no contact.
Nonetheless, he didn't focus on what was around him. He simply made sure his feet kept moving, no matter what.
He looked at the ground, processing each movement. Then, when he looked up—
. . .
Driftfall: Foggy Phantasm
"Guys?"
Nothing. Nobody was here.
Not Zayne's chuckles, nor the vice-chief's laughter.
He checked behind him but sighed in relief, seeing her breathing gently, still planted on his back.
Suddenly, a weight wrapped around his feet with a thread. It was a thread that felt like it wanted to pull him back, but nothing was attached to it.
I swear I only looked down for just a second, where are they?Is this what Awan was talking about? He says what I see isn't real, but how can I know what I feel isn't real?
Give me a break, land. I wonder how many more tests it'll take for you to finally let me reap your fruits.
The trees became dull as the fog began to funnel all color through its ominous haze. The color of it all reminded him of his eyes. Even the smoke began to spiral in the air, dissipating above, just like his spiral.
Not even a second later, he heard a growl from the forest. It was beyond the mist, but it seemed way too real. Snarling, it didn't seem to navigate the forest properly.
Malik's head turned to the source of the sound, but all he heard next was a quiet whimper. To him, it felt familiar, like he'd heard that cry from somewhere before.
"I know how you feel. Trust me, we'll make it out one day, whoever you are . . ." Malik softly spoke.
Then, the whimpers walked away with uncannily spaced-out steps. They were heavier than Malik's.
He whispered, "I'm guessing they're handling a lot more than I am right now."
The forest twisted.
Malik saw the trees lined with ants, but each of the ants was stabbed with a long thorn. Arrays of thorns with mutilated ants were impaled for display.
On the trees, there weren't any gold or dark spots anymore. The fruits were drowned out of their color, nearly translucent if you looked hard enough.
Even the leaves looked sharp, and so did the blades of grass that jutted out of the ground. Malik cautiously maneuvered each movement as swiftly as he could.
He noticed that the scenery kept repeating. He saw the same layout for the forest, the same environment, and to him, it felt like a constant loop. A cycle that kept burdening him, but he wouldn't falter.
From the fog, murmuring amplified in volume, then laughter. He looked around, but shadowy figures began to emerge before he knew it.
They didn't step past the brink of the fog; only their voices and hollow-eyed faces were barely visible. There were others, but they stood behind them—only two peeked past its barrier.
One spoke, "We've been waiting for you, Malik."
The voice's face was coarse, like magma.
Malik recognized it, "Dragan, y-you're alive? Didn't I kill you?"
"You did. But we didn't rest. We just got sent here instead." The once-cocky beast spoke shallowly.
Malik knew it wasn't the Dragan he once knew, because he sounded awfully empty. But he felt his words trickle down his nervous system. He tried to keep his composure as he thought.
How could an illusion know about them and make it sound so . . . real?
Then the other spoke, with a sharp gaze, "I'm glad to see the breath of your rebirth overcome your prior obstacles, Malik."
Malik's mouth went agape, "Darius? That doesn't make sense, y-you died."
The figure poked its arm out, and out came a nub where its hand was originally intact.
Then Darius spoke monotonal, "We are the same way you left us. As long as you live, we cannot truly die; we merely got condensed to this cycle."
The remnant of his arm pointed to Malik, "Only you can tear our souls away from this fog."
They stared. Even with holes in their eyes, they were pleading for their end.
Malik's eyes spiraled in utter overwhelm. After, he took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry. I can't do that," he said.
Dragan grew visibly irritated, "We're in constant pain, you idiot! You did this to us, so just let us die!"
Darius waved with his nub for him to calm down, "Make your choice soon. Our agony is infinite, and you haven't let us go."
Malik recollected the voices and realized. Without looking, he sensed the once-golden threads, now an indeterminate hue, controlling the illusions.
"You two died years ago. You are only an image in my mind, projected. I have let go of both of you, but it seems that land doesn't want to move past it," he muttered.
He looked up at them, "I will not let go. Letting go of you two with my blade means letting go of her."
Dragan barked, "Stupid child! You just want us to suffer, is that right? Is that what this is?" His figure shook, cracking his image as smoke began to leak from his eyes and drift upward.
"Dragan!" Darius shouted. "My apologies, Malik. We're the ones weighing your mind. You don't have the strength to keep going like this."
Malik listened and accidentally stepped on a thorn of grass on the ground.
He felt a sharp pain in his foot as he whispered, "Neither of you are the people I killed. You can talk and talk, but the fact doesn't change that your bodies and souls aren't here."
He didn't scream. He couldn't even if he wanted to. For him, there were higher priorities than that.
The foggy figures trailed Malik's footsteps and always made sure he saw them. But he kept his gaze away from them. Their image began to scatter as if attention was their fuel.
In unison, the figures smiled as an array of even sharper thorns pointed from the ground, covering every centimeter of it.
Simultaneously, "We are part of which weighs in your conscience. All you have to do is do all that you were made for."
Malik heard a clamoring from his pocket.
Looking down, something else he recognized tried to speak to him.
"Let go of her, Malik. They're lying. Are you going to be humiliated, mutilated, and thrown out for this? All this can end in one fell swoop. Be wise." The bayonet rumbled in his pocket.
You said you took place in my worst memories which you concealed, what's one more going to do to me?
A daring laugh from the bayonet ruptured.
"You truly are the greatest replacement. There couldn't have been any better," it said, laughing raucously.
For a moment, silence. Darius and Dragan waited for Malik to make his decision.
In that second, Malik's hand lowered to his pocket, and their smiles curved forward.
He only took out his blade, narrowly keeping a grip on Kaya, and sealed the blade in his mouth.
If I suffer, those fakes will suffer. They'll give up before I do.
He stared at the thorns and braced himself, tensing every muscle.
. . .
Tearing. Snapping. Rustling.
Malik withstood it and pulled through each thread.
Thorns broke under his sheer weight as he bit down on the handle.
"What the hell is your problem!?" Dragan yelled.
Darius shook his head and pointed his nub to the unclear skies, "He made his decision long ago. How could I ever forget the hand he rejected?"
Every thorn submerged in Malik's foot and the ache of broken tissue along with pooling blood.
Regardless, his resilience was commendable.
Dragan's figure rolled on the ground in pure agony as smoke began to corrode and slowly dissolved within the fog.
"I-it hurts! Malik! Just kill us!" he screamed, but a smile crept into his gilded cries.
Malik didn't listen. He focused on the blade that he gnawed on.
Dragan laughed as he faded into the sky, "Maybe you aren't as dumb as I thought. You've won three times now. Hopefully one day I'll be the one walking away."
His figure evaporated as his scarred face gave one last laugh.
It was a laugh that rang in Malik's ears.
. . .
Despite this, Malik felt a large portion of his weight deplete, allowing him to move faster through the piercing thorns.
His blade absorbed the agony as he propelled himself to the ends of the illusive fog.
Soon after, Darius didn't scream. He only lay down on the ground as his presence began to rot in vapor.
He lightly laughed as his sharp eye teared in a joy that was left behind, "I know you never met the real me, Malik. But know this, I wanted to raise you, but that was cut short before I had the chance. Just know, there's others out there willing to fill the void I never achieved."
He continued, exhausting into pure smog, "I knew since the beginning that this would be nothing to you. You might never meet the real me, but if you did, best believe I'd be proud. Keep growing, Malik. You've still got more to go."
The shadow saw a light above, one that broke through the fog. It was a bright purple.
Darius's figure sprawled on the ground, whispering to himself, "I didn't see this light when my hand fell. Am I scared to be erased? Oh, how I love this thrill."
. . .
Malik didn't turn, but he cleared his throat briefly through the handle.
Blood leaked from his feet as he tightly shut his eyes.
Coughing, he spoke, "Thank you, Darius. I always knew I could trust you. I'd never trust a deception from my mind, but I know your words hold truth."
A pause. "For that, I accept you. Now rest. Your souls are tired; you don't belong to this fog."
He didn't look back. He couldn't even if he wanted to. He treated that as his final gift to them.
. . .
Malik began to adapt to the barbed grass, and slowly, he forgot the pain.
All he saw was a destination at the end of the murky tunnel.
Malik raced through the unchained thorns and kept his mouth on the blade.
Unexpectedly, the forest began to grow color. The trees began to grow differently, and distant voices began to become more familiar.
The entire world as he knew it returned to its radiance.
His heart pumped, and he, along with the blade, ran towards the violet light.
Eventually—
A small hill, shrubs and bushes scattered about.
Malik didn't think. He slid down gracefully, gently, and courteously. He turned his head and saw that Kaya was still asleep.
"Malik! We've been waiting for you, ya'!" Zayne yelled, waving his tan arm to him. Awan stood next to him, giving that golden grin.
Malik laughed, "Sorry guys, got a little lost."
Awan raised an eyebrow and gave a secure laugh, "What do you mean? You followed us, but just stood still, and stared at the sky by the time we reached it."
Zayne scratched his head, "Yeah. You were muttering names. I haven't heard one of those names in a long time. The other, ehh."
Malik's face locked onto Zayne, "I got lost in thought. Let's move."
Then, he noticed it. The blade wasn't in his mouth anymore. It was displaced back into his pocket.
He spoke to it.
Hey, when did I put you there?
". . . I was always here." it responded.
Malik felt overwhelmed.
Once he looked up, another group of thorns faced him. No, it was a group of horns.
When Malik saw it, the horns shouted a thousand cries and guttural screams from the bottom of their lungs until all the air dripped out.
He felt it. Along with the cries, a thousand thoughts ran past his mind.
Is this fear? They called it Nawra . . .
. . .