The red mist was thicker than Frido expected.
It clung to the trees like breath on glass, coiling low around his legs, swirling with every step. It smelled like old iron and forgotten rain. Teren coughed behind him, his footfalls loud against the eerie quiet.
There were no birds here.
No wind.
Only mist and memory.
Frido stopped at a crooked tree, bark stripped clean as if scraped by hundreds of knives. A black ribbon was tied to one of its low branches, flapping gently in a wind that wasn't there.
He touched it.
It was damp.
Still warm.
---
Whispers Beneath the Fog
They walked for what felt like hours. The light above them had dimmed—not just from the clouds or the forest canopy, but as if the mist itself drank daylight.
Teren's voice was tight. "There's something wrong with this place."
Frido nodded. "It remembers."
"Remembers what?"
Frido knelt near a half-buried post in the mud. A wooden shield leaned against it, broken in two. On its face: a faded symbol of a sun pierced by a sword.
"War," he said.
---
The Graveyard With No Graves
They came to a clearing.
It was empty—but not.
All around, embedded into the soil, were spears. Hundreds. Maybe more. Some rusted through, others still sharp. No bodies. No bones.
But Frido knew.
"This is where they died," he whispered.
Teren scanned the field. "Then where are they?"
Frido shook his head.
And then he heard it—
Not voices.
Not cries.
But breath.
Not from the wind.
From under the earth.
He dropped to his knees and touched the soil.
It was trembling.
---
The Voices Below
The breath became words.
Muffled. Distant. Rising through the fog like steam from a long-dead hearth.
Teren backed away.
But Frido stayed.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
> "Tell them…"
"We waited…"
"We were promised peace…"
And then, one voice—clearer than the rest.
> "One walked away. With our names."
Frido opened his eyes.
"What did you hear?" Teren asked.
Frido stood slowly. "A lie that cost everything."
---
The Man Who Left Them
Deeper into the lowlands they walked, following the trail of broken helmets and rusted buckles.
And then they found him.
Or what was left of him.
A man, seated against a tree. Still armored, though the metal had turned green with time. His hands held a book—open and intact, protected by a cloth cover embroidered with white thread.
Teren stepped forward. "Is he dead?"
Frido reached out and closed the man's eyes.
"He waited to be heard."
He took the book.
The front read:
"Journals of Commander Eris Faln."
Teren squinted. "That name sounds familiar."
Frido nodded.
"He was the one who led the last retreat through these woods. They say he vanished after the massacre."
---
Words from the Dead
That night, under a crooked pine, Frido read the journal by firelight.
The first entries were tactical—positions, movements, casualties.
But near the end, the tone changed.
"We were told we would be relieved. That a peace envoy was coming. We waited in the fog for three days. Then the silence fell."
"One soldier deserted. Took our banner. Took our names—said he'd carry them to the capital and ensure they were remembered."
"He never returned."
"I think the silence is punishment. For believing we mattered."
Frido closed the book.
Teren was silent for once.
---
The Banner in the Ash
At dawn, they searched the edges of the clearing.
Behind a shattered stone, they found it.
A banner—wrapped in oilskin, tied to a staff of ashwood. Its sigil was the same: a sun pierced by a sword.
But something new had been stitched over it, clumsily.
A word.
"Forgive."
Frido held it like a relic.
"I think the deserter tried to return," he said softly.
Teren frowned. "Then why did no one remember?"
Frido looked toward the fog.
"Because peace is fragile. And silence... is loud."
---
A New Mark on the Map
As they left the graveyard, Frido drew a new symbol on Mira's map—a circle of spears beneath a red haze.
Beside it, he wrote: "The Ones Who Waited."
Teren glanced at it. "You think all these stories will lead somewhere?"
Frido didn't answer at first.
Then, quietly: "I think every silence is a warning. And I think someone needs to remember what the warnings meant."
---
The Path Ahead
They found a trail leading east—toward the high valleys. Mira's map named it only once: The Stone Way.
Beyond that, the territory was unmarked.
Frido smiled faintly. "That means the story hasn't been written yet."
Teren rolled his eyes. "Just hope it's not another grave."
Frido looked back one last time.
Then he walked on.
---
[End of Chapter 8]