There were rules in this village, the kind passed down between burned-out candles and trembling whispers.
Don't stay out after dusk.
But when Harin went missing, we stopped caring about rules.
"Just fog," Joss said, kicking a stone. "Creepy fog, sure, but fog doesn't knock on doors."
That was last night.
Now the three of us—me, Joss, and Ren—sat behind Old Marrin's shed, backs to the fence, watching the treeline like we could punch fear in the face if we saw it early enough.
Ren was chewing something. Dried roots, maybe. He always chewed when nervous. "You think Harin's...?"
"Alive?" I said. "Yeah. Just lost. He's got dumb luck."
Joss made a face. Why did he even go, he is an idiot."
"Shut up," Ren muttered. "You
The three of us sat in silence again. The fog curled around our boots. It was thicker than yesterday. It stank faintly of rust and something sweet—like spoiled fruit.
I tightened the grip on my old lantern. Not that it would help. The fog ate light like it was starving.
Joss laughed suddenly. Too loud. "Hey—what do you call a guy who disappears in the fog?"
Ren groaned. "Not now, man."
"fogrotten!" Joss finished, wheezing at his own joke. "Get it? 'Cause he's gone?"
Ren didn't respond.
Neither did I.
We both turned.
Joss wasn't there.
"Joss?" I called. "You go around the side?"
Silence.
Ren stood up, his lantern swinging wildly. "Joss, quit playing. This isn't funny."
There was no crunch of leaves, no snapping twigs.
Only fog.
I stepped forward. "Maybe he went back to the shed—"
Ren screamed.
It was short, sharp.
I turned just in time to see him fall.
His legs weren't under him.
His legs weren't there.
Blood pooled unnaturally fast, soaking into the soil like it was thirsty.
I froze.
Something shifted in the fog.
Too fast. Too quiet.
I didn't see it.
Didn't hear it.
But I felt it.
A weight. A gaze. Something that knew it wasn't supposed to be looked at.
I didn't scream. I couldn't. My throat had locked.
Ren was still breathing—choking, really. Trying to crawl, trying to reach me.
But I didn't move.
Because I knew what would happen if I did.
Fog doesn't knock.
Fog doesn't cut.
And yet. I died.
---
"Well, that sounds amusing," Wanora muttered dryly.
"I'm not kidding!" the man snapped, his voice shaking. "People in my village died!"
The room fell silent. Suspicion hung heavy in the air like smoke from a dying fire.
"And how do you even remember their conversation?" someone asked, their tone bordering on mockery.
"Please, believe me," the man pleaded. His knees gave slightly, his eyes wide with desperation. But it didn't matter. Two of the stronger villagers exchanged a glance, stepped forward, and dragged him out before he could say another word.
I'd been listening the whole time. And honestly?
"I think we should check it out," I said, standing from the corner. "He doesn't seem like he's lying."
Wanora turned toward me. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was calm. "I know. It doesn't seem like it, but it's far. Isolated. Reaching that village will take time."
"Then don't we have time?" I shrugged. "If it's that troublesome, I can go alone."
Wanora's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're young… Let me think about it. Just—leave the room for now."
I nodded and stepped out. The door clicked shut behind me.
---
Wanora sat alone in the still room. The only sound was the faint creak of her chair as she leaned back, staring at the wall.
Travel wasn't the problem. She could handle that easily. But if the villager was telling the truth… then the danger could be far worse than expected.
"The pay isn't even high…" she muttered, rubbing her temple. "Gramps… what should I do?"
---
"The map, huh?"
I found Gars hunched over a table, the map of the continent spread out beside him. He didn't even look up as he scribbled notes.
"Yeah…" he replied absently, then returned to his writing.
The map depicted the known world—two supermassive continents dominating the center, with ice fields crowning the far north. Legend had it a demigod resided there, and it was said he had frozen an entire third continent into oblivion.
As for me, I was currently in the Empire of Kirch.
Shore from Menyurl was roughly 300 kilometers away, and the village we were supposed to investigate was on an island even further. Wanora's hesitation made sense. The place was remote, and the way the man described the events…
It sounded like the work of a deity.
Deities were real here. The demigod in the north, despite the name, was in a sense one of them. But true deities—those were on an entirely different level. They were terrifying, their influence vast and inscrutable. That's why temples existed—to appease the ones willing to be worshipped rather than feared.
Still, sacrifices? Now?
"It's the Time of Life," I murmured aloud. "It's odd for sacrifices to happen now."
The year in this world mirrored Earth—twelve months, four seasons—but locals didn't describe it in that way. Instead, they split time into four distinct eras:
The Time of Stars—the first three months, a season of giving and blessings. Like a drawn-out Christmas, it was the best time to ask for gifts from higher beings.
Then came the Time of Life, the present era. People followed their desires, pursued their goals. It was a season of growth, of ambition.
After that was the Time of Drops, akin to the monsoon. Rainfall, renewal—and a time when the air grew thick with tension.
Finally, the Time of Blood. A brutal season when people confronted their vices, shedding old skins through pain and sacrifice.
What most didn't know—what Gramps had told me—was that these eras weren't for humans.
They were for the deities.
The Time of Stars was when they shed their old selves, preparing to ascend.
The Time of Life was when they searched for vessels—mortals to inhabit, bless, or destroy.
The Time of Drops marked a preparation period. Murders surged, and temples whispered of necessary bloodshed to strengthen the gods.
And the Time of Blood… was when the sacrifices truly began.
But this? This wasn't in the visual novel. It was something only Gramps had mentioned. A wise man, no doubt—but how did he know?
Wanora probably knew too. I had a feeling she was piecing things together on her end, trying to make sense of the sacrifice happening out of season.
Unless…
It's not a deity at all.
Because going out of order like this—that wasn't just unusual. It was dangerous. Even for a god.
So what if it was a human? Someone wielding a Clarion, or worse, an artifact beyond their understanding?
Too many pieces. Too few answers. I'd have to leave it to Wanora—she was probably tearing herself apart trying to figure it out.
---
Wanora, for her part, had been asleep the entire time.