The fog did not lighten as Arios, Lucy, and Liza moved away from the sealed altar.
If anything, it changed—no longer simply dense mist rolling lazily across the jungle floor, but a thinking fog. A fog with intention. A fog that withdrew at times, and then surged forward at others, shaping their path as clearly as unseen walls.
None of them voiced the thought, but all three understood it.
They were being guided.
Not in the way a map guides.
Not in the way a trail suggests direction.
Guided the way prey is herded.
Still, they advanced.
The ground beneath their feet sloped again—not downward this time, but subtly upward, like a ramp carved into the jungle. The leaves underfoot were damp and cold, their edges glowing faintly from the residual mist-light that clung to them.
Lucy stayed at the front now, her stance precise, her steps nearly soundless.
Liza was to Arios's left, eyes sharp and haunted, her focus wavering between alertness and the lingering dread of the altar.
