The fog was thick—too thick. It clung to James like wet fingers, seeping into his clothes, pressing against his skin. He didn’t remember how he got here. Maybe a dream. Maybe something worse.
A shape moved ahead. Tall. Cloaked. A shimmer of silver danced along its edges, like light glinting off a blade.
James swallowed. “Who are you?” His voice sounded small, lost in the mist.
The figure tilted its head. “A traveler,” it said. The voice was smooth, almost kind. “And you are lost.”
Something in James twisted. Lost? Yes. He’d felt that way for a long time. But why?
The figure took a step closer. The mist swirled at its feet. “You’ve always been searching, haven’t you?”
James blinked. He had been. Always chasing something—something just beyond reach. Truth. Purpose. Escape.
The figure extended a hand. “Come. I can show you.”
A spark of doubt flared, then faded. He stepped forward. The mist thickened, coiling around his ankles, rising to his knees.
A whisper in his mind. No.
He stopped. The figure frowned. “Why hesitate? I offer you freedom.”
James looked past the silver shimmer, past the perfect voice. The mist curled, revealing something beneath—a hollow face, black eyes, an endless void.
James staggered back. “No.”
The thing sighed. “Pity.”
The mist swallowed him whole.
James fell. And fell.
And kept falling.
