Mia Frostine's POV (Continued)
Three days after the outpost was secured, the sky refused to brighten.
Every morning, I waited for the sun to rise like it used to before the devils came—clear, warm light breaking over the jagged ridges. Instead, we woke to the same dim gray light filtered through a perpetual haze. Even time felt uncertain here, as if the hours stretched too long and the shadows fell too early.
The corrupted fog hadn't lifted. Not even the combined efforts of the Church's purification teams and the specialized cleansing relics we brought from the capital had been enough to purge it. There was no visible enemy anymore, no howls from the woods or war cries echoing through the stone—but the unease remained. It seeped into the very bones of the outpost.
We had won a battle—not the war. That truth hung heavy in every breath I took.
