The battle atop the mountain had ended—not with victory for either side, but with the sudden retreat of the grave mist guardian. It vanished into the depths of its cave, leaving behind an eerie silence that settled over the peak like a shroud.
The elder stood amidst the wreckage, her frail body battered and broken. Bruises marred her skin, scratches crisscrossed her arms, and wounds bled freely, staining her robes. Despite her injuries, she remained resolute, scanning the area with sharp eyes. Yet something troubled her more than the creature's disappearance.
"Fenric," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with suspicion. "Where is that young man? He was here just moments ago…"
But Fenric was nowhere to be found. His absence gnawed at her instincts, raising questions she couldn't yet answer.
•---•
Below the mountain, Kale crouched beside Alden's decaying corpse, his mind racing. Activating his seeking state once more, he searched for any lingering threads or motes of light around the remains—but there was nothing. No clues, no fragments of knowledge, only basic information about the lifeless body before him.
Frustrated, Kale turned his attention back to the Moon Bloom flower. Its glow had faded after he carefully harvested its star-like dust into a small pouch hidden within his robe. Now, it appeared as an ordinary flower again, devoid of the ethereal brilliance it once possessed. Yet the pouch in his pocket pulsed faintly with midnight light, a reminder of the power now in his possession.
As Kale rose to leave, a soft rustle drew his attention. Standing near Alden's corpse was an elderly woman—her presence unassuming at first glance, but Kale immediately recognized her as one of the sect's elders.
His heart sank.
"Elder…" Kale whispered, bowing deeply out of respect.
The elder studied him silently, her gaze piercing through the mist like a blade. When she finally spoke, her voice carried an otherworldly chill that sent shivers down Kale's spine.
"Boy," she began, her tone eerily calm yet commanding. "Was this your doing?"
Kale froze, every muscle in his body tensing. He tried to focus, to activate his seeking state for guidance—but found himself unable to summon even a single thread or mote of golden light. The elder's overwhelming presence stifled his abilities, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
"No, Elder Sylra," Kale replied, his voice trembling despite his efforts to remain composed. "This wasn't my doing. That boy—Alden—he was killed by an unknown force. He… he rotted away right in front of me, faster than anything I've ever seen."
Elder Sylra's expression didn't change. She gazed past Kale, her eyes flickering subtly as if peering into unseen realms. After a long pause, she nodded slowly, though her suspicion lingered palpably in the air.
"Return to the sect immediately," she ordered, her voice firm. "Lock your doors and do not let the 'mist' thicken. Understood?"
Kale nodded quickly, dread pooling in his stomach. Her words carried an ominous weight, hinting at dangers far greater than he could comprehend.
"Yes, Elder Sylra," he said, bowing again before turning to leave.
•---•
As Kale walked away, the elder remained standing near Alden's remains. Her gaze shifted toward the distant horizon, where the moon hung low in the sky. A faint frown crossed her lips as she murmured softly to herself:
"The mist is acting strange… That corpse, Fenric's disappearance, and the grave—it's all connected. What exactly happened here?"
•---•
Kale moved swiftly through the forest, his thoughts racing. The encounter with Elder Sylra left him unsettled, her cryptic warning echoing in his mind.
Do not let the 'mist' thicken.
He clutched the pouch containing the Moon Bloom's star-like dust, feeling its faint warmth against his palm. Whatever truths lay hidden within it, Kale knew one thing for certain:
The festival—and the sect itself—was far more dangerous than anyone had led him to believe.
And he was running out of time to uncover the answers he sought.