Murmurs rippled through the crowd as a line of people began marching toward the fog, drawing every eye away from the standoff. A procession emerged from inside the gates, moving in slow, measured steps. They walked in single file, their movements perfectly synchronized, as if guided by something unseen.
Their clothes were mismatched, some in rags, others in worn uniforms or coats several sizes too big. Their faces were blank, eyes empty, mouths slightly open but silent. Men and women of different ages walked together, but there were no children among them. The stillness was unsettling, the silence heavier than any prayer or chant.
Dante stepped back, his glare darkening as he muttered, "Again?"
Thomas moved toward the gate, finally closing the distance. The guards hesitated but stepped aside as the eerie procession passed.
He was about to enter when the sight pulled his attention. He frowned. "What's their deal?"
The guards near the entrance stiffened, their eyes following the line of silent marchers. No one tried to stop them. No one even spoke. The only sound was the shuffle of feet against the dirt and the faint whisper of the fog.
A voice spoke from behind Thomas. "The second pilgrimage."
Thomas turned toward the voice and saw a young girl standing near the truck. Elise. Bryan had already driven it inside during his earlier standoff with Dante, making sure their mobile safe zone was secured. Her arms were crossed tightly, her expression tense.
"They're going out again," she said, eyes fixed on the line of people disappearing into the fog. "More than last time."
Thomas frowned. "And that's bad because?"
"They're not acting like themselves," Elise muttered. "They don't talk. They barely react to anything. Even the ones who come back, they're… different."
Dante scoffed and brushed past Thomas. "Let them go. It's their choice."
Elise shot him a glare. "You say that now, but what happens when half the city starts following them?"
Thomas tilted his head. "Wait, who are you again? You've been talking to us for a while, but I have no idea who you are."
Elise sighed, running a hand through her short, messy hair. "Name's Elise. I've been keeping track of these pilgrimages. My brother joined the last one. He came back… wrong."
Dante heard her but stayed silent, his jaw tightening. Before he could respond, another voice rose from the crowd.
"They're just believers," a man called out. "They think the fog decides who it protects."
A few people nodded, murmuring in agreement. The Fog Walkers weren't just another cult anymore. They believed the Pink Fog was divine, a force that judged who was worthy to survive. Walking into it in human form was their way of surrendering themselves for judgment. Those who returned were seen as chosen. Those who didn't were forgotten.
The first pilgrimage had been small, just a few believers who walked into the Pink Fog in human form, their faith unshaken. Without waiting for their Glint forms to manifest, they moved deeper into the mist, stepping through broken streets and ruins to test the fog's protection. When they returned unharmed, the rumors spread fast. No Fades attacked them, no injuries, no deaths. Their belief that the fog chose who was worthy began to take root, and the city noticed.
Now, the second pilgrimage had begun. It was larger, more organized, and far more confident. One by one, they stepped into the fog again, following the same paths as those before them. They believed the fog would protect them, just as it had during the first pilgrimage.
Those early survivors had become living proof, untouched and unharmed. That success emboldened the rest. With more followers joining each day, the belief was spreading fast, pulling more people toward the idea that the fog itself had the power to choose.
The people whispered about those who had gone deeper into the fog, claiming they saw visions and heard voices calling them further in. Some said that the deeper they went, the closer they came to ascension. Those who never returned weren't mourned, they were said to have been chosen for something greater. The disappearances didn't weaken their faith, they only made it stronger. If the fog had taken them, it must have been for a reason.
Thomas scratched his head. "They sure seem confident."
Gale and Vell appeared beside Elise, both watching the disappearing figures with tense expressions.
"They didn't use to act like this," Gale muttered.
Vell crossed her arms. "They come back unharmed, but it's like they leave something behind every time."
Thomas blinked, looking between them. "Wait a sec, who are you two? You've been talking like we know each other, but I don't think we've met. Hmm, Are you with the orphans?"
Gale smirked slightly. He was lean and wiry, with sharp, restless eyes and dark, unkempt hair. His clothes were patched together from scavenged gear, showing years of surviving the ruins. "Yeah, that's us. Name's Gale. You and your crew saved us back there. We'd be in cages if not for you."
Vell nodded. Her uneven silver-blond hair framed a wary expression. She wore a frayed leather jacket over a faded tunic, her stance calm but guarded. "I was one of them too, the one you pulled out before they could sell me off." She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "I owe you. We all do."
Thomas looked back toward the fog where the last of the group had vanished. "So, your people saw all this firsthand?"
Gale folded his arms. "Yeah. We've been watching them for a while. It started small, but this is different."
Vell frowned. "They walk like they're not all there anymore. Like every time they go out, part of them stays in the fog."
Thomas let out a slow breath, staring down the empty street where the pilgrims had disappeared. He had seen strange things before, but this felt different.
Dante stood nearby, still tense. The fight had been taken from him, his fists clenched tight at his sides. He shot Thomas one last look before turning away.
"This isn't over."
Thomas blinked, scratching his head. "Wait, did something even start?" He glanced around, half-expecting someone to answer, but Dante was already walking away, fists still clenched at his sides.
Thomas shrugged and turned toward the gates, stepping inside like nothing had happened. The others followed behind him, slipping past the guards without a word.
Behind them, Dante stood near the entrance, his eyes not on Thomas, but on Iris. His anger simmered, but it wasn't just about the humiliation. It was her tone, the way she spoke to him like he was just another city official, not someone she once knew. He had pictured this reunion differently. Now she was walking away, treating him like a stranger.
His fists tightened. Thomas was a problem, but Iris, she was the reason he couldn't let this go.
And he wouldn't.
The streets of the Graves Safe Zone stretched ahead, filled with makeshift homes, busy stalls, and old buildings patched together from ruin. Thomas and his crew walked through the district until they passed one of the largest structures in the city, a towering cathedral reinforced with metal plates and heavy supports. It loomed over the streets like an old monument that refused to fall.
Gale nodded toward it. "That's the center of the Blood Creed. Used to be a church before the meteor, but they've turned it into something else."
Vell scoffed. "Something bigger. Something powerful. People say it's more than just a religion now. Some of the Graves Family are part of it too. "Not just officers or high-ranking members, actual family from the Graves bloodline."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "So, they run the city and a church? Sounds like too much work."
Gale shook his head. "Not officially. But people listen to the Blood Creed as much as they listen to the Graves. Maybe even more. And the ones who aren't part of the family? They act like they are. The priests, the guards, the followers, they all treat the Creed like it's the only thing keeping them safe."
Vell crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on the towering structure. "The ones you see walking into the fog in human form, calling it a pilgrimage, those are the Fog Walkers. But this place, that's the Blood Creed. Different belief."
She pointed toward the cathedral. "They see the Pink Fog as divine too, but to them, transformation is proof. Glint forms are blessings from whatever they worship. Survive the change, and you're one of the chosen. They say anyone can join, but not everyone can rise. You have to earn it. For a lot of people, the Blood Creed gives them purpose."
Thomas tilted his head. "So if I walk in there right now, they'd roll out the red carpet for me?"
Gale smirked. "With your Glint? Probably. They'd start singing your name before you even reached the door."
Thomas chuckled, glancing back at the massive cathedral. The faint hum of distant chanting echoed from within, low and rhythmic, almost like the fog itself was answering back.
Whatever waited inside, it wasn't just faith. It was power.