CHAPTER 72: CLIFFS EDGE

The cohort stared at Lucy, faces painted in confusion. He didn’t know whether it was because they had just found him crying... or because he’d effortlessly slaughtered a magical beast three times the size of the last one.

The air around him remained heavy. Fog clung to the bone-white forest like a second skin, curling around their ankles and pooling in the shadows between the twisted trees. The corpse of the fogged wolf still steamed at his feet, its black ichor soaking into the silver grass.

A manual flickered to life in the back of his mind—its ethereal pages whispering across his thoughts.

Illusionary Fog – Page 1/42

He didn’t bother with it.

Caelgorr wouldn’t live long enough for Lucy to master the damn thing.

"You took that thing on all by yourself, wyrmling?" Gindu asked, stepping forward. His eyes narrowed beneath his jagged brow. His battle-worn scales shimmered faintly in the filtered light. Through the still-active soul thread, Lucy sensed the burn of envy—and underneath that, a sharp stab of self-disappointment.

"I did," Lucy said flatly. His voice was distant, heavy. The illusion lingered at the edges of his thoughts like a bruise on the soul.

Still, the others were watching. He couldn’t let their morale break, not now. So he forced a grin, sharp and hollow.

"He would’ve been no match for Gindu the Mighty Warrior, though."

That made the drake chuckle, deep and gravelly. Lucy felt a swell of pride bloom inside Gindu like a kindled flame.

"Obviously," Gindu said, puffing his chest. "It was a mere wyrmling."

"Don’t tell me you’re crying because it bit you somewhere," Llarm said as he jogged up beside him, scanning Lucy’s armor, now soaked in inky blood. His blonde hair was tied back hastily, strands clinging to his temples.

"You should’ve waited for the amazing Llarm to assist!" he added dramatically, laughter ringing.

Lucy didn’t want to laugh.

But he did anyway, wiping a tear from his cheek.

"I should’ve, oh mighty hero."

Then Lucy noticed him, Carlos.

The shadow wolf pup stood near the felled beast’s corpse, its tiny frame trembling. He let out a soft, pained whine and pressed his small, flickering head against the larger wolf’s remains. His ears drooped, and his tail still.

Lucy winced. Grief radiated from him, low and trembling like a mourning note.

"What’s with him?" Lucy asked, brow furrowed.

Fenric, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke.

"I think that was his father. They... give off the same scent."

Lucy’s chest tightened.

For a second, Lucy saw himself in the pup—small, cornered by fate, mourning someone who would never return. The pain never vanished. You just learned to walk while bleeding.

He dropped to one knee and reached out gently, placing his hand on Carlos’s head. The pup’s shadowy mane shimmered erratically, like candlelight in a breeze. He didn’t pull away.

"I’m sorry, Carlos," Lucy whispered. "I know what it’s like."

Carlos leaned into his palm with a soft nuzzle. A wave of affection pulsed back through the soulthread.

Lucy exhaled, scooped him up, then stood and handed him carefully to Fenric.

The blood junkie—sword now sheathed—took the pup gingerly. His pale hands cradled Carlos like fragile glass, stroking behind his ears.

It always amused Lucy how the guy who’d nearly disemboweled a teammate had a soft spot for a wolf he hadn’t even wanted.

"All right, team," Lucy called out, voice steadier now. "Let’s move. We’ve still got a not-quite-mythical beast to kill."

"And knowledge to uncover!" Bruma chirped from up ahead, practically skipping into the fog without a care. Her heavy footsteps sent little quakes through the soft ground.

One by one, the rest followed.

Lucy took up the rear, eyes scanning the treeline. The forest still watched them, fog whispering through branches like ghosts refusing to leave.

Then he felt a light tap on his back.

"Good job, Captain."

The voice was flat, dry as ever.

He turned to see Eri, her face blank as usual, but her presence steadier and anchored. There was no more silent dissociation. She was here with them.

"Thanks, Eri," he said, offering her a smile.

And together, they walked deeper into the white woods, eastward into the unknown.

...

The fog hadn’t attacked them again.

It lingered like a sulking beast, curling lazily around their boots and the twisted roots of the forest floor. Lucy had a few theories—none of them comforting. But the one that lingered the most was simple: Caelgorr had realized it was pointless. The Hollow was conserving mana, saving strength for the final act.

So the fog followed them, watching.

Sometimes it laughed. Sometimes it screamed—distant, twisted echoes from deep within the trees. But Lucy had a strange, crawling feeling in his chest that not all of it belonged to Caelgorr.

Something else was out there.

They walked in silence until the forest ended.

The bonewhite trees parted like a gate, and the party stepped past the last crooked trunk into open space.

A steep cliff dropped away beneath their feet.

Beyond it stretched an endless grey sea.

The water didn’t move—not a ripple, not a wave. It sat in still silence, like a painting or a corpse.

A low wind brushed past them, but the sea didn’t stir.

Lucy stared down into it.

Something inside him whispered. Jump.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t madness. It was... something deeper. Like the sea itself was calling him, as if it could feel the blood on his hands and wanted to swallow him whole.

He wasn’t the only one.

To his left, Llarm and Fenric were already halfway out of their armor.

Bruma arched an eyebrow, arms crossed, one foot tapping. "What exactly are you two doing?"

"The amazing hero deserves a swim!" Llarm declared dramatically, tugging at his soaked tunic. "I’ve been dragged through gods-forsaken forests, fog beasts, and emotional trauma! I need this!"

"I just think it’s hot," Fenric added with a shrug, shirt already off.

Bruma blinked at them. "By all means, go for it. Dive into the soul-sucking grey sea where ancient abominations probably sleep. Sounds refreshing."

Lucy had never seen two people re-dress so fast in his life.

"On second thought," Llarm coughed, yanking his cloak back on, "the hero prefers to stay dry."

"Same," Fenric said, clearly trying to look like it had been a joke.

"Sureee," Bruma teased, a wicked grin on her lips.

Then Gindu turned to Lucy, brow furrowed. "So, Captain Wyrmling—how exactly are we getting across? Caelgorr’s island is across this... still death lake, right?"

Above the sea, the fog churned.

It wasn’t like before—no longer passive or watching. It swirled violently above the grey surface like a cyclone without form, shrouding whatever lay beyond. But if Bruma was right, Caelgorr’s island was only a few miles ahead.

Lucy sighed, eyeing the turbulent veil above the sea.

’Captain Wyrmling now? Guess that’s an upgrade.’

"We’re going to fly," he said, swirling a breeze around his finger. The wind danced obediently.

Llarm ran a hand through his tangled blond hair. "I can’t carry everyone. Maybe a few of you at a time, but this doesn’t feel like a round-trip kind of deal."

"You’re right. Which is why I’m going to help." Lucy paused, the memory of his less-than-graceful flying attempts flashing in his mind. "Though... we might have to camp here while I get it right."

Llarm chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

"About that... uh. So. I might’ve... maybe... possibly dispelled your wind whenever you tried to fly before."

Lucy turned to him slowly, expression blank.

’This idiot. I swear.’

But he couldn’t even be mad. Not now. Not with the end in sight. They’d made it. And somehow... they were on time.

Before he could respond, a flat hand smacked the back of his head.

"You dummy," Eri said without a hint of emotion.

The group burst out laughing—brief, genuine laughter that pushed back the heavy fog of dread, if only for a moment.

Even Bruma smiled.

Lucy grinned, then pulled the wind tighter around his body. The air lifted him gently off the ground.

This time—no crashing.

He soared upward, wind roaring past his ears as the world shrank beneath him. The fog thickened above, but his control held firm. He looped through the sky and dropped down onto the cliff’s silver-grass edge with a steady thud.

For five months, Lucy had heard the tales of Caelgorr the Hollow. He’d been stabbed by the beast’s own fog soldier. He’d learned the truth: Caelgorr was no mere monster, but a puppet of Nyxaris—a god Lucy had sworn to slay. The Hollow had shown him his mother’s death, hoping to break him. Instead, it sealed its fate. Lucy had already slain its pet. Now he was ready for the master.

He stood tall.

"All right," he said. "We’re on a time crunch."

He looked toward the swirling storm.

"One dead Hollow coming up."