Chapter 25: The Morning Mist and the Silent Stalkers

  The torrential storm raged against the Northern Plains for the entirety of the night, turning the world outside the small erosion cave into a chaotic, churning ocean of mud and grey water. Inside, however, the atmosphere remained warm and surprisingly peaceful. Zeno eventually allowed his thermal aura to fade once Lyra and Elian were thoroughly dried and warmed by the tea, collapsing backward onto his travel blanket with a heavy, exhausted sigh. His massive core capacity had been drained significantly, leaving him feeling pleasantly heavy and ready for a deep, dreamless sleep.

  When morning finally arrived, it did not come with a burst of golden sunlight. Instead, the violent storm broke, leaving behind a thick, suffocating blanket of white mist that clung to the ground like a heavy, wet wool blanket. The air was still cold, incredibly damp, and unnervingly silent.

  Zeno woke up first, his stomach letting out a low, demanding grumble that echoed softly off the cave walls. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his amber eyes. He looked over at the entrance. The visibility outside was practically nonexistent, reduced to less than ten feet. The vibrant green world from the day before was entirely swallowed by a wall of swirling white fog.

  "It looks like the clouds fell down to sleep on the grass," Zeno whispered, standing up and stretching his stiff muscles. He walked to the entrance, peering cautiously into the mist. "Hello? Is the world still there?"

  Lyra stirred a moment later, groaning as she sat up. Her green leather armor was stiff from the previous day's soaking, but at least it was entirely dry. She walked up beside Zeno, her emerald eyes narrowing as she assessed the terrible conditions. "This isn't good. The ground is going to be a complete mud pit, and this fog is a scout's absolute worst nightmare. We can't see anything, but anything out there can definitely hear us splashing through the muck."

  Elian joined them, looking impeccable despite having slept on the floor of a bat cave. He adjusted his grey coat and frowned deeply at the mist. "We cannot stay here and wait for it to burn off. We are on a very strict schedule. If we delay another day, we risk missing the optimal crossing window at the Zephyrian border. The high-altitude winds shift drastically next week, making the suspension bridges utterly impassable for heavy cargo."

  "Then we walk," Zeno decided cheerfully, hoisting his heavy leather backpack over his shoulders. "I will be the front bumper for the carriage. If anything bumps into me in the clouds, I will just say hello."

  "Please don't just say hello, Zeno," Lyra sighed heavily, pulling her twin daggers from their sheaths and checking the edges she had sharpened the night before. "If something bumps into you in this fog, it's probably trying to eat you. Punch first, greet later."

  They set off into the mist. The journey was agonizingly slow and grueling. The wet earth had turned into thick, sucking mud that grabbed at the carriage wheels, forcing the draft horses to strain against their heavy leather harnesses with every single step. Zeno and Lyra walked on either side of the horses, their hands resting gently on the animals' flanks to guide them and offer reassurance in the blinding whiteout.

  The world was reduced to a small, grey bubble of visibility. The only sounds were the loud, wet squelching of boots in the mud, the strained creaking of the carriage timber, and the heavy, labored breathing of the exhausted horses. It felt as though they were walking through a dream, entirely detached from reality.

  They had been walking for two agonizing hours when Lyra stopped dead in her tracks. She raised a clenched fist, signaling an immediate halt.

  "Did you hear that?" Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the dripping condensation.

  Zeno froze, tilting his head. He closed his eyes, focusing his senses past the sound of the wind and the snorting horses. And then, he heard it.

  It was a soft, highly rhythmic click-click-click. It sounded exactly like dry bone tapping rapidly against wet stone. It wasn't coming from one direction; it was echoing from everywhere—left, right, and directly behind them.

  "We are being tracked," Lyra hissed, her posture dropping into a low, defensive crouch. Her pale green wind aura flared to life, swirling tightly around her blades to cut through the heavy moisture in the air. "Formation! Zeno, cover the rear! Elian, keep the horses entirely calm, whatever happens!"

  Zeno moved quickly to the back of the carriage, his boots sliding slightly in the muck. His dark Mountain Bear wraps were already glowing with a faint, highly stable blue light. He peered into the swirling white mist, his brow furrowed. "I don't see any big bugs. Maybe it is just a very loud crab?"

  "It's not a crab," Lyra said grimly, her eyes darting back and forth. "It's a pack."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Suddenly, the mist to their left swirled violently. A dark, sleek shape launched itself seamlessly from the fog, entirely silent until the very last second, aiming straight for the lead draft horse.

  It was a Mist Stalker. A feline predator the size of a mountain lion, but with pale, hairless grey skin that blended perfectly with the fog. Its eyes were milky white and completely blind—it hunted entirely by sound and vibration. Its long, whip-like tail ended in a sharp, jagged bone barb.

  "Contact!" Lyra shouted.

  She intercepted the beast mid-air. She didn't try to block its heavy momentum; she flowed around it using her Flowing Step. As the Stalker lunged blindly past her, she drove her wind-enhanced dagger directly into its flank. The creature shrieked, a high-pitched, grating sound that pierced the damp air, and tumbled heavily into the mud.

  But its dying cry was a signal.

  Instantly, six more Mist Stalkers burst from the fog on all sides. Two lunged fiercely for Lyra, three swarmed the sides of the carriage, and one massive alpha—larger and darker than the rest—leaped directly at Zeno’s unprotected back.

  Zeno sensed the sudden displacement of air behind him, but the thick fog and the lack of visual cues delayed his reaction by a microscopic fraction of a second. He was a brawler who relied on watching his opponent's movements. In the blinding whiteout, his greatest strength was slightly neutralized.

  Before Zeno could fully pivot, the alpha Stalker landed heavily on his shoulders. Its razor-sharp front claws tore violently through the fabric of his white tunic, slicing across his upper back.

  Zeno let out a sharp hiss of pain as the claws scored his skin. His base Endurance stat of 30 prevented the wounds from being deep or fatal, but the stinging, burning sensation of the sudden scratch was highly annoying.

  Realizing he couldn't just stand still in the fog, Zeno immediately dropped his center of gravity, throwing the beast off balance, and launched a vicious, backward elbow strike directly into the creature's chest.

  CRACK.

  His elbow connected solidly. The beast was blasted backward off his shoulders, tumbling into the mud, its ribs shattered by the blunt force.

  "They are very soft, but they are sneaky!" Zeno called out, spinning around to face the swarm, a renewed sense of tactical awareness settling over him. He couldn't just rely on his eyes. He had to feel the vibrations in the mud.

  He dashed toward the carriage, utilizing the Flowing Step Lyra had taught him. Instead of charging in a straight, predictable line, he slid laterally through the muck, catching the three Stalkers clawing at the wooden panels completely off guard.

  Zeno grabbed two of them by the scruff of their hairless necks. He slammed their skulls together with a sickening crunch and tossed them aside like broken ragdolls. The third Stalker whipped its barbed tail toward his face, but Zeno smoothly ducked the strike, pivoting on his heel, and kicked the beast squarely in the midsection, launching it ten feet back into the thick mist.

  Lyra was a beautiful, lethal whirlwind of green steel. She danced between the two Stalkers attacking her, her movements fluid, precise, and completely at home in the chaotic environment. She used the slippery mud to her advantage, sliding under a desperate leap to slash the belly of one beast, then spinning gracefully to sever the barbed tail of the second before plunging her dagger into its neck.

  Within forty seconds, the chaotic ambush was entirely over. Seven Mist Stalkers lay dead or dying in the churning mud. The heavy silence returned to the plains.

  "Is everyone okay?" Zeno asked, rubbing his stinging shoulder. He looked down at his ruined, torn white tunic with a deep frown. "The sneaky cats ruined my shirt."

  Lyra wiped her blades on a clean patch of grass and quickly walked over to inspect his back. She sighed in relief when she saw the scratches were shallow and already beginning to close. "You're fine, Zeno. But let that be a lesson. Raw strength doesn't matter if you can't see the blade coming. Stealth is your blind spot."

  "I will listen better next time," Zeno nodded firmly, committing the tactical failure to memory.

  "Mist Stalkers hunt in packs. If we killed the alpha, the rest of the local territory should scatter," Lyra said, turning back to the carriage. "But we need to move immediately. The scent of blood will draw other scavengers from miles around."

  They pushed forward with renewed urgency. The adrenaline of the ambush helped them temporarily ignore the freezing mud and the exhaustion of the long march. Zeno walked with a hyper-vigilant posture, his senses extended outward, feeling every vibration in the earth, entirely ready to punch anything that dared to click in the mist.

  By late afternoon, the heavy fog finally began to lift. The grey curtain thinned out, revealing the rolling green hills once again, now glistening with leftover moisture. And in the distance, rising like a jagged, impossible wall against the horizon, was the absolute edge of the continent.

  Massive, sheer cliffs of pure white stone shot thousands of feet directly into the air. They looked completely impenetrable, a natural, towering fortress designed by the earth itself to keep outsiders away. But carving a thin, terrifying path up the side of the sheer cliffs was a narrow, winding road that disappeared straight into the high-altitude clouds.

  "There it is," Elian announced, pointing toward the cliffs with a shaking hand, his voice thick with relief. "The Ascent of Zephyria. Once we reach the top of those cliffs, we are officially in the Wind Kingdom."

  "It is very high," Zeno observed, craning his neck back until it physically hurt. "Do we have to push the heavy box up that wall?"

  "The draft horses are specially bred for mountain climbing," Elian assured him, wiping a smudge of dirt from his cheek. "But it will be a terribly slow, steep climb. We camp at the base tonight, rest our legs, and begin the ascent at first dawn."

  They set up camp in the deep, looming shadow of the massive white cliffs. The air here was incredibly turbulent, constantly buffeted by the powerful downdrafts rushing off the high plateau. Zeno sat close to the fire, eating a double ration of dried beef to replenish his core and fuel the healing of his scratched back. He looked up at the towering rock face, feeling a profound thrill of excitement replacing his fatigue. The world was entirely vertical here. It was completely new. It was a massive challenge waiting to be conquered.

  "Tomorrow," Zeno whispered to his wrapped fists, taking another bite of beef, "we climb to the sky."