Night crept slowly into the city, painting the sky in dull shades of purple and charcoal. The setting sun bled across the rooftops, soft golden light slipping away behind fractured towers and broken spires. In this part of the kingdom, twilight never felt peaceful. It always came with a quiet that felt too heavy, like the whole city held its breath and forgot why.
"Kids, it's time for food," Serenia called out.
Her voice carried across the small chapel courtyard, gentle but firm. She wore a pale grey shawl over her faded blue dress, the hem fraying at the bottom. Her silver hair was tied in a low bun, and her hazel eyes still sparkled with patient warmth even after everything. She moved like someone who had known hardship but chose to walk with grace anyway.
The children barely waited for her to finish. They rushed toward the long wooden table, their laughter rising like birds startled into the air. Wooden bowls clattered, hands fumbled over spoons, and for a while, the church was full of life.
I smiled faintly, standing off to the side with my arms crossed.
Some months ago, these kids had been pale shadows, ribs showing, limbs thin as twigs. Now they laughed. Now they ate. Even if it was just one bowl per child, three times a day was a miracle. A small price to pay from the stash of stolen coins we looted from the corrupt nobles and guards. Liz had protested at first, but even she couldn't deny what it meant to these kids.
It was worth it.
"Alright, it's time for me to go," I muttered, brushing invisible dust off my dark green cloak and stepping back.
Serenia turned from the table, catching me. "Aren't you going to stop for dinner?"
Her voice was kind—too kind. I knew what she was doing.
She was offering me her share.
I shook my head with a gentle smile. "Thank you, but no. Cilia would lecture both of us if she found out. You know how she is."
Serenia chuckled softly. "Yes, she would. Take care on your way back."
I nodded, turning to leave when I paused. "Um, do you know where the blacksmith is?"
"Middle of the city. Straight down the main road past the old bell tower. You'll see the forge chimney. Be careful—no one goes there unless they have to."
I thanked her and left, the warmth of the chapel fading behind me. My boots echoed on the cracked cobblestones as I walked. The city's decay felt worse at night. Windows shuttered, people indoors, streets too quiet. Even the air smelled like rust and ash.
And then I saw it.
The blacksmith's shop stood where Serenia had said. The forge was dead, no smoke in the chimney, but the building looked intact—mostly. But what drew my eyes wasn't the shop itself.
It was the **fog**.
Thick, oppressive, unnatural. A churning wall of mist just behind the blacksmith's shop, black and grey like spilled ink in water. You couldn't see through it—not even a step ahead. The air around it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, like something *watching*.
The fog wasn't normal. I knew that instantly.
A theory crept into my mind.
What if this fog was magic? Materialized energy. It wasn't impossible. Theoretically, if someone had enough mana and ridiculous focus, they could sustain an aura like this over a wide area. But the toll—
They'd be close to death just keeping it up.
Unless... there were multiple sources. Or something—*someone* powerful enough to break that limit.
My gut told me it had something to do with the palace. Maybe it was a shield. Maybe a trap. Either way, it screamed: **Keep out**.
"No wonder Liz is still planning," I muttered.
I turned into the blacksmith's shop—a squat stone building with a rusted iron sign hanging above the door. The walls were soot-stained, and the windows fogged with dust. Inside, the blacksmith—a barrel-chested man with burn scars on both arms and a leather apron—stood behind the counter.
"Evenin'. Need something sharpened?"
"No, sir. Just checking something. Did you see a group of guys come through here earlier? Revolution members?"
He nodded. "They came by, but left a few hours ago. Should be back by now."
"Thanks."
I left quickly, feeling that tickle of suspicion in my chest.
As I turned the corner toward our safehouse, I made sure to take the long way—avoiding open streets and sticking to alley shadows. You never knew who was watching in this city.
Then I heard it.
**"Dalren!"**
Smith's voice. Deep, commanding, but clearly annoyed.
I turned to see him walking up with a group of familiar faces—and a look that said *someone is getting chewed out.*
Smith was as intense as always. A tall man with dark bronze skin and close-cut black hair, he wore an open tactical vest that showed off the muscular arms and chest underneath. His eyes, a sharp hazel, flicked over his men with practiced precision.
The group behind him looked like guilty kids caught skipping class.
"These were the fools I was worried about," Smith said, jabbing a thumb at them. "Turns out they went to drink and gamble."
One of them, younger, grinned and elbowed the guy beside him. "Big bro, this is why you're not married. You need to relax. Have fun, y'know? You're gonna die a virgin at this rate."
I choked on a laugh.
Smith, predictably, *snapped.*
"Shut up! Do you forget we're committing treason just by breathing?! And it's **Vice Leader** to you!"
"Okay, okay, sorry *big bro*—I mean *Vice Leader*," the kid corrected, holding up both hands.
"Tch. Just get inside. It's already late."
I grinned, watching the banter unfold like a sitcom.
It was nice, actually.
In a kingdom this bleak, moments like these reminded you what you were fighting for.
I waved. "Night, Smith."
"Get some rest, Dalren. We'll need you soon."
I made my way back to the tents behind the base. Mine was a small one, reinforced with scraps of cloth and magic threads courtesy of Cilia. Inside, I pulled off my cloak and boots, laying back on my straw mat.
The stars were just starting to peek through the clouds.
As my eyes closed, I thought about Liz. About the children. About the fog, the city, and the weight pressing down on all of us.
Sleep came quickly.
But peace?
That was still out of reach.