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Mikhailis exhaled sharply as the mist thickened around him, curling like ghostly tendrils seeking to ensnare his limbs. He and Vyrelda moved swiftly through the alleyways, their boots barely making a sound against the damp cobblestone. The city's fog had never felt this heavy before—unnaturally dense, as if it carried an intent of its own. Even in Luthadel's usual haze, visibility never shrank this drastically, and every breath tasted like static on his tongue, a sign that sothing was tampering with the city's air.
The sound of distant footsteps reverberated, ghostlike echoes that seed too close one mont, too far the next. A tightness settled in Mikhailis's chest. Feels like we're walking through a beast's belly, and it's waiting to devour us.
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