The mist grew denser with each step, as if it had a will of its own.
The cold air clung to the skin, heavy, damp, carrying with it different scents, iron, blood, wet earth, and even the rot of ancient carcasses already hidden beneath the green of the forest.
Cairen moved a few meters behind Ling. His senses were on high alert, but ever since they had crossed the boundary of the fog, everything seemed more muffled.
His new spiritual sense, which before had spread freely like a net, had contracted by half for some reason, his perceptions slightly cut and his range shortened.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to push his consciousness further, but it was like forcing a blade against raw stone.
"Irritating," he murmured softly.
"Complaining? You were the one who came up with the idea of hunting beasts. For a place called Misty Mountain Range, what exactly did you expect?" Ling replied without turning, her firm voice cutting through the silence around them.
