Beyond the Pale Fog

In the end times, there was struggle - a perpetual and restless grind between the thickets of pale fog. Cackles of those who have lost their minds and bodies, and even from those who still persevered to this day, echoed through the pale like its own haunting theme song. But not for long. The fog would ensure that.

Its malevolent and corruptive nature was clear as day. Many knew not to trifle with the pale, lest one incur its hungry and curious nature.

And yet, of course, there were the brave, the willing, and the... utterly foolish, that travelled between villages, cities and towns in search of something. Deliverance, truth, answers even, to escape the ever monotonous yet endangered life so they could die in grander way... Who knows? The haze could always provide you with a story or two.

Speaking of the foolish who yet still walk this desolate earth, Ion was one of them. A mere traveller walking through the thickets of dead black forests. To journey through the sickly white mist, one normally required a pale driver just to traverse the harsh, malicious terrain, as a single step could equal two feet or even miles, all depending on the fog's mood. There were rare exceptions - individuals who needed no such aid. Ion was one of them. Unlike most, he had a sense, somewhat similar to a gut feeling, that told him when the space around him was twisting - allowing him to sense the phantom borders of the fog before his feet could misstep.

After hours... days... weeks... maybe even months? Who knew, there were enough graves and tombstones on the road-side for years, but Ion had stumbled onto something, FINALLY! A tall post with a lamp hanging, lit with an orange glow. How it still had the electricity to shine wasn't something he even inquired, he had stopped questioning the limits of the brume's abilities long ago.

A note was nailed in the middle, its paper slightly pale on the borders, mushrooms growing at the base of the post, the noxious type. From all he could tell, the note seemed relatively... new? It had a layer of the pale covering the surface, as if the fog itself didn't want him to see it, which was most likely true, but some remained readable.

"C██ern Rig██"

"Vill████ le██"

"Town a█ea█"

The mist around him blocked all sight, but now, there was a direction he could choose. Which one to take, was Ion's concern. He understood the third option: that ahead would, presumably, be a town. But, how safe was said town? Would the residents take kindly to a stranger barging in? Was there even a town there to begin with, or was it just a decoy one of the many Canine groups nearby set up to catch prey? To see a town nowadays was a myth more than a common occurrence. There were too many uncertainties for him to choose to go straight ahead.

Only two options remained.

To his left, the beaten path there would, supposedly, lead him to a village. Now, a village was more beliveable; he'd seen a handful of lively ones himself. The path itself seemed rather well kept, as if frequently walked on. He was still incredibly skeptical, but this seemed the safest option thus far.

Last option - a cavern? A cavern would be the perfect place to trap someone. Small, closed off, with traps likely laid out to ensure the prey remained stuck if the owner wasn't around. Yeah, he'd sooner gamble his life choosing the town heading to a cavern.

So he went with the "safest" option: the village.

The walk was quiet. The only sounds were the soft thumps of his boots and the ceaseless, agonizing whispers of the fog. It was a malicious murmur, constantly dredging up his deepest regrets and breathing cruel truths about his own faults into his ears. But to a hardened soul like Ion, the fog's psychological warfare had long since faded into mere white noise - though even he would occasionally get irritated by its persistence. After what felt like hours, which could very possibly have been the time he spent walking, the trees around him grew thinner, opening up into a wide clearing. He entered the clearing, cautiously looking around for anything suspicious, before he was met with a large wooden structure, well over three meters tall at the very least.

As he investigated further, he quickly realized that what he was looking at was a massive, sweeping barricade. He tapped his fist against the wood of the obstruction; it was incredibly sturdy, unyielding - had to be solid oak... How could something like this be built in this desolate era? It all seemed exceptionally... off. He followed the wooden railing through the gloom until he reached what appeared to be a gateway. Engraved deep into the aged, weathered timber were the words:

"Willkommen in Bootz!"

Ion's eyebrows furrowed as he read those friendly, warm, welcoming words. Something was surely off.

He approached the massive oak entrance, sliding his fingers into the narrow seam where the double doors met. Just as he braced his shoulder and got a tight grip, preparing to force them open with his bare hands, a voice rang out from the mist behind him.

"Stop right there! Hands where I can see 'em!"

The creature from behind shouted, the unmistakable noise of a gun being drawn from its holster, a revolver by the sound of it, followed, causing his ears to twitch. Ion slowly relaxed his shoulder and grip, pulled away from the entrance, and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He slowly turned around, his stoic expression remaining plastered on his scarred, dirty face, revealing none of his emotions as his vivid yellowish-green eyes locked onto the mysterious speaker.

Before him stood a Warden, his blue, ghostly form wavering in the air, shifting his body constantly between transparent smoke and solid matter. He was clad in a wide-brimmed hat, its single blue feather shaking as a light breeze grazed past, ruffling the creature's downy plumage as he kept his gun leveled at Ion. The owl-man's eyes were narrowed, grip on the weapon tight - until he fully took in the sight of Ion's face. The Warden's eyes widened with sudden recognition. His grip slackened slightly, and he marginally lowered the barrel of the pistol.

"Ion?"

"Hello there," Ion said, his voice deep, rough, and raspy from the lack of use it had gotten recently. He kept his tone measured, though his voice lacked any real emotion.

"I don't..." the owl-apparition's words trailed off, his expression a mix of confusion and utter bewilderment. "Why are you here? You're not here to kill anyone, are you?" His tone sharpened with renewed suspicion as he eyed the handle of the katana strapped to his back, his eyes narrowing. He stepped closer, the revolver raising once more. "Because if you are, then I—"

"No." Ion cut him off. His voice was firm, and his eyes narrowed, anchoring the serious look on his face. "I'm here to spend the night." His tone softened just a fraction, doing his best to convey the simple truth to the ghostly owl-man.

Silence filled the space between them for a few moments before a ghostly sigh escaped the Warden. "Spend the night, huh? Then what were you doing just now, trying to open those gates yourself?"

"Didn't look like anyone was here," Ion answered, his jaw tensing slightly as he tilted his head. "I thought the fog had brought these here, and it was in my way. I ain't gonna walk around who knows how many miles just to end up with another wall in my face."

"Yes," Ion answered flatly, crossing his arms with a slight nod. "Yes, it does. It's not my first time seeing something like this, only for nothing to be behind it."

He was growing irritated by the owl-man's reaction to what had merely been an excuse.

"Now, will you be so kind as to open these gates and let me in, or will you keep interrogating me with stupid questions and wasting my time? Because I have better places to be than out here, sitting like a dog in front of your gates," he said, irritation finally dripping into his tone.

The spirit's spectral face twisted into a scowl. His blue form flared and his feathers puffed out, smoking aggressively for a split second before he let out a harsh, rattling sigh and snapped the revolver back into its leather holster.

"As much as your tone makes me want to leave you to the brume, duty says otherwise," the owl-man muttered, gesturing sharply toward the massive timber doors. "You're lucky the town still welcomes travelers. Move it."

Ion didn't need to be told twice, though he did smirk, almost smugly, that the guard had given in. He stepped forward as the heavy oak doors began to groan, parting slowly as light poured through the gap. The sudden brightness momentarily blinded him as he crossed the threshold, leaving the pale fog behind and stepping into Bootz.