The city of Ashreign lived and breathed beneath a sky so thick with mist it seemed stitched to the rooftops by invisible threads. Its jagged towers pierced the clouds like broken spears, casting long, trembling shadows on the twisted alleys below. The air here was different: heavy with a silence that had learned to hum, to whisper, to watch.
Cassiel walked at the front of the group, boots tapping quietly against the uneven stone. His hand brushed the hilt of the short sword strapped to his belt out of habit more than fear. Bastion trudged beside him, shoulders squared, every footstep a statement of intent. Behind them, Mirae floated like a shadow, her soft steps making no sound at all. Elior trailed a little farther back, face buried in the open pages of a heavy tome, muttering to himself and occasionally bumping into lampposts.
A sour wind curled through the streets, carrying the scent of rain, burning incense, and something less definable—something sharp and metallic that clung to the tongue.
"The way the mist moves," Bastion muttered under his breath, "it's not natural."
Cassiel didn't reply. His eyes scanned the skyline, tracing the cracked spires and leaning statues that loomed overhead like half-forgotten saints.
They had been following the trail for days now—whispers of a figure matching Ilyan's vague description moving through the city, slipping between the cracks. No real confirmation yet, only rumors and sightings warped by fear or alcohol. But something gnawed at Cassiel's instincts, something he didn't like.
He couldn't explain it, but even though they barely knew Ilyan, the thought of him alone in Ashreign tightened something in Cassiel's chest.
"Let's keep moving," he said, voice low.
They turned into a broader avenue where the mist seemed thinner. A stone plaza stretched before them, dominated by a ruined fountain depicting a knight cradling a broken crown. Around the fountain, figures in patchwork cloaks huddled together, murmuring in low voices.
Mirae leaned closer to Cassiel. "Those aren't locals," she whispered. "Too still. Too... clean."
Bastion adjusted the shield strapped to his back. "Trouble?"
Cassiel hesitated. Then, instinct taking over, he shook his head. "Not yet."
They crossed the plaza quickly, not looking directly at the figures. The fountain's cracked basin was filled not with water, but with a thick black sludge that reflected no light.
Past the plaza, the streets grew narrower again, the buildings pressing closer until the sky itself seemed squeezed out. Ashreign was not a city built for comfort. It was a city built for surviving things you couldn't name.
"You're lost," a voice purred from the shadows.
Cassiel's hand was at his sword before the last syllable faded.
A woman stepped into view, wearing a ragged cloak stitched with silver thread. Her eyes glinted unnaturally beneath the hood. She smiled, revealing teeth just a little too sharp.
"Not lost," Cassiel said, keeping his voice level. "Hunting."
The woman laughed, a sound like knives being drawn across velvet. "Be careful, little hunters. Ashreign doesn't take kindly to those who think they know what they seek."
Without another word, she turned and melted back into the shadows.
Elior swallowed loudly. "Friendly place," he muttered, hugging his book to his chest.
Mirae gave a tiny shrug. "Better than polite liars."
Bastion grunted in agreement.
They moved on, deeper into Ashreign's broken heart.
Hours later, the first real break came. A boy, no older than ten, with eyes too old for his face, led them to a crumbling church where rumors said a stranger matching Ilyan's description had been seen. The boy refused payment but asked for a song to be sung over his name when they left.
Ashreign had rules. Sometimes you didn't understand them. Sometimes you obeyed anyway.
The church loomed out of the mist like a shipwreck, its stained-glass windows shattered into teeth. A faint light flickered inside.
Cassiel drew his blade without ceremony. "Stay sharp."
Inside, the church was gutted. Pews lay scattered like driftwood. The altar was nothing but a charred stump. Only the stone statues of weeping angels remained untouched, their faces worn smooth by time or by something less explainable.
A figure stood at the far end, back turned to them, cloaked in shadow. He seemed almost too still, like part of the ruin itself.
Cassiel took a slow step forward. "Ilyan?"
The figure turned.
It was him.
Ilyan's face was drawn tight, pale, but unmistakable. His clothes were ragged and soaked through with something darker than rain. His eyes—once bright with sharp humor—looked as if they'd been emptied out and filled with something colder.
For a breath, no one spoke.
Then Ilyan smiled—a thin, weary curve of the mouth that held no warmth.
"You found me," he said, voice rough as broken glass.
Cassiel took another step, instinct screaming that something wasn't right. "You need help."
"I don't think help is something you can offer anymore," Ilyan said, almost regretful. His gaze flicked toward the walls, the ceiling. "Not here."
Without warning, the floor beneath him cracked, splitting open with a shriek of tortured stone. A vortex of ink-black mist howled up from the chasm, tendrils wrapping around Ilyan's legs and torso.
Cassiel lunged forward, Mirae's voice shouting something behind him, Bastion throwing himself toward the altar—but it was too late.
The mist swallowed Ilyan whole. The last thing Cassiel saw was Ilyan's mouth forming a single word.
"Wait."
And then he was gone.
The mist collapsed in on itself with a deafening crack, leaving only silence and the wrecked floor behind.
Cassiel stared at the spot where Ilyan had stood, breathing hard, sword shaking slightly in his hand.
Bastion cursed low under his breath. Mirae's hands flexed at her sides, her face unreadable.Elior looked as if he might collapse, the book clutched so tightly his knuckles went white.
Cassiel sheathed his sword slowly. "We're going after him."
Mirae tilted her head. "Into whatever that was?"
"No," Cassiel said, turning to face them fully, voice steady despite the fire boiling in his chest. "We find another way. We find out where they took him. Then we drag him back."
Bastion's mouth twisted into something close to a smile. "Sounds simple enough."
Cassiel allowed himself a tight grin. "Since when have we ever done simple?"
Outside, the mist thickened, pressing against the broken windows like a living thing.
Ashreign was not done with them yet.
And neither, it seemed, was Ilyan.