the wind that night carried a sound that wasn't quite a whistle, not quite a voice. it moved like a thread being pulled through the mist long, thin, deliberate. the air around the campfire trembled slightly, as if the fog itself was breathing. hendrick had fallen asleep first, his body curled beneath the emergency blanket, while lewis sat staring into the ember glow, his mind half-lost in exhaustion and half-awake with unease. daniel dorbin floated nearby the black, three-eyed cat suspended a few inches above the soil, his tail swaying lazily in midair like a pendulum that refused to keep time.
"do you hear that?" lewis whispered.
daniel's middle eye flickered open the spiral within it began to turn slowly, emitting a faint orange glow that dimly illuminated his face. "yes," he said, voice calm, melodic, and unsettlingly human. "he's coming."
lewis frowned. "who's coming?"
the cat didn't answer. instead, daniel's third eye dimmed, and he rotated midair until his face was turned toward the treeline. "you'll see soon enough," he murmured, and then he went silent too silent the kind of silence that feels like the world is holding its breath.
a few minutes later, lewis noticed it: the fog was thickening unnaturally, folding in from both sides of the path like curtains closing on a stage. through that curtain, a figure began to take shape tall, deliberate steps, the crunch of gravel impossibly steady for someone walking uphill.
when the silhouette finally emerged, the firelight caught a shimmer of fabric: a three-piece suit, dark and immaculate even under mud-heavy air; a fedora angled just low enough to hide the man's eyes; shoes polished to an absurd shine despite the terrain. he looked like he had stepped out of a black-and-white film misplaced, unreal, yet entirely grounded in the moment.
"you shouldn't have lit a fire here," the man said. his voice was deep but soft, precise in rhythm, every word landing as if weighed.
lewis blinked, trying to process what he was seeing. "who are you?"
the man removed his hat slowly, revealing hair slicked neatly back, and a face both youthful and worn as though time had passed unevenly over it. "some call me the wise man," he said. "you may call me what you wish, though names mean little here."
hendrick stirred, half-awake now, eyes unfocused. "the hell… you real?"
the wise man's lips curved faintly not quite a smile, not quite indifference. "real is a temporary condition," he replied. "what matters is whether i am necessary."
lewis swallowed. "what do you mean, necessary?"
the man took a step closer, and though the ground was uneven, his movements remained perfectly balanced. his presence distorted the air slightly, like heat over asphalt. "this hill," he said quietly, "does not kill. it reveals. it gives form to what already lives within you. fear. guilt. desire. they're all the same material here."
he crouched by the fire, extended a gloved hand toward the flames though the fire should have burned, it didn't touch him. the heat bent away from his skin as if avoiding something older, something it recognized.
"you've both begun to stir the higher layers," he continued. "the hill knows you now. it knows what keeps you awake at night. if you climb further without knowing what you truly seek, it will stop granting visions and start granting truths."
hendrick rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. "truths? what kind of"
before he could finish, daniel spoke from above. his tone was dry, almost mocking. "you always talk too much, old friend."
the wise man froze. his expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes did a shift so minute only someone watching closely would have noticed. he looked up, locking eyes or rather, all three with daniel.
"i wondered if you'd still be here," the wise man said, voice low, steady, like someone acknowledging a memory that shouldn't exist.
daniel yawned. "towlin hasn't changed. it's still the perfect stage for human delusion."
hendrick looked between them, confused. "wait you two know each other?"
neither answered. the air between them felt charged, like static caught in slow motion.
finally, the wise man stood and dusted off his coat. "don't linger here too long," he said. "the fog feeds on uncertainty. when you start doubting what's real, it begins to decide for you."
"how do we know what's real?" lewis asked quietly.
the wise man placed his hat back on, tipping the brim just slightly toward lewis. "that," he said, "is the one question this hill never answers the same way twice."
then he turned and as he walked away, the fog folded around him like water reclaiming a stone. within seconds, he was gone, leaving only the faintest scent of smoke and old rain.
for a long while, no one spoke. the fire crackled softly. daniel was the first to break the silence.
"he hasn't aged," the cat said, almost to himself. "not even a second."
lewis turned toward him. "you mean you really know him?"
daniel tilted his head. "know is too simple a word. let's just say he remembers me the way a wound remembers the knife."
hendrick sat up fully now, staring at the empty path where the man had vanished. "that's… comforting."
daniel smiled faintly, eyes glimmering in orange and blue. "don't worry. if you're lucky, you won't see him again until it's too late."
then he floated higher, merging with the mist as though the night itself had absorbed him.
above them, the clouds began to twist subtle at first, then violently as if the sky was rearranging itself. lewis felt the air pressure shift, a deep ache behind his ears. far off, somewhere beyond the fog, a single sound echoed something between a scream and a distant horn, long and mournful.
hendrick whispered, "what the hell was that?"
daniel's disembodied voice drifted down, almost tender. "the hill just woke up a little more."
and then, for the first time, the fire flickered in reverse flames pulling inward, collapsing into themselves like the world had briefly forgotten how to burn.