CHAPTER 83: THE TEMPLE SHROUDED IN FOG

Lucy stirred awake as golden and violet rays bled across the horizon, seeping into the otherwise grey and lifeless Hollow. The colors were strange here—like spilled ink swirling in cold water—soft but unnatural, as if the Hollow itself resented the sun’s intrusion.

Still, it was morning.

And he had slept well. Deservedly so. After nearly drowning, parting the Grey Sea, and striking down a monstrous, ancient beast, a few hours of uninterrupted sleep felt like a miracle.

His body protested the moment he moved, aches flaring through every joint. He stood slowly on the narrow cliffside ledge, breath misting faintly in the chill. The wind here carried the sea salt and the wet stone’s sharp scent. It bit at his skin, but compared to the sea’s frigid depths, it felt almost pleasant.

He brushed black hair out of his face, long now, tangled, wet with dew. He hadn’t trimmed it since arriving in Seraph’s Hollow, and it hung down in damp strands, tickling his neck and forehead.

As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he saw that the others were already awake.

Eri sat quietly against the jagged cliff wall, legs tucked under her, gaze focused somewhere far away. Gindu was beside her, cross-legged, arms folded across his chest, his eyelids heavy but not quite closed. He radiated a calm tension, like a spring coiled tight.

Fenric and Llarm sat near the cliff’s edge, legs swinging over the roiling sea below. The wind teased Llarm’s blonde hair into a soft flutter, while Fenric’s silver mane hung still, dampened by mist. Carlos lay curled beside Fenric, tail flicking lazily, ears up and alert despite his sleepy posture.

And then there was Bruma.

She stood apart from the others, arms folded, her cloak caught slightly in the breeze. Her violet hair shimmered faintly in the strange morning light, and her golden eyes were shadowed with thought. Something still weighed on her—Lucy could feel it—but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Not when the air was thick with tension. No one spoke, no one needed to. The silence said everything.

They were preparing their minds for Caelgorr.

His illusions would crawl into their heads like insects, twisting thought and perception. That alone made him dangerous. But Lucy knew the truth: Caelgorr wasn’t just a mental threat. He was a monster in every sense—powerful, ancient, cunning. The fact that his fog could stretch through the Hollow was proof enough.

’And worse,’ Lucy thought, ’he’s a puppet of Nyxaris.’

Still, he wasn’t going to let them stew in silence. He cleared his throat softly.

"We all remember the plan, right?" he asked, voice low, as if the fog might be listening.

Fenric twisted around, his eyes sharp, teeth bared in a half-smile.

"Yeah," he barked, "and it’s complete bullshit, by the way!"

Llarm snorted and slapped him on the back. "Aw, don’t be mad. Not everyone can be the star of the show."

Before Fenric could retort, Eri walked over. Carlos let out a warning growl, but it was less aggressive than usual. She ignored him and raised her hand.

Smack. Smack.

Both Fenric and Llarm flinched as she slapped the backs of their heads.

"Quiet," she said flatly, voice colder than the sea spray. "We don’t know if he can hear us."

Fenric rubbed his head, grumbling. "Still think it’s dumb I have to wait outside."

Lucy lifted a finger. "That’s because you’re a blood-junkie maniac who’d sabotage the whole plan in five seconds. No offense."

"Some offense," Llarm added helpfully.

Lucy smirked. "You only have to stay out until we draw blood. Then you can go wild."

Fenric crossed his arms, muttering something about not being a blood-junkie.

Bruma stepped closer, eyes focused on Lucy. "About the plan... how likely is it to work, in your opinion?"

He rubbed his chin and glanced up at the sky. The spiraling fog above looked like a slow-moving hurricane, patient and inevitable.

"I’d give it five stars," he said, "assuming Caelgorr doesn’t pull anything insane. Which... yeah. He will."

Bruma shrugged, unbothered. "As long as I get the pieces of history I came for, I’m fine with any plan."

At that, Gindu rose to his feet. The morning light caught his polished blue scales, which shimmered with a battle-ready gleam.

"Enough talk," he said, cracking his neck. "Let’s do this, wyrmlings."

Lucy nodded, then turned to Llarm. "You ready?"

Llarm looked nervous, but he smiled anyway, his voice quiet but firm. "Born ready."

Without another word, Lucy summoned the wind.

It surged beneath them like a living thing, wrapping around each of his companions. Pebbles lifted from the cliff’s edge as air pressure shifted, and slowly, gracefully, he lifted the Cohort from the ground.

He concentrated, adjusting the mana flow as he climbed into the sky with them. He was confident now. He could carry them all.

Beside him, Llarm’s hands stirred with his own wind magic, and Bruma was already syncing her aura with his. Together, they’d hold back the fog and stop the illusions from worming into their minds.

Above them loomed Caelgorr’s shroud.

Waiting.

Then, the six blasted toward the choking fog above with a single surge of wind and will. The sky, if it could be called that, was veiled in undulating grey—alive, hungry.

Llarm acted instantly, conjuring a barrier of pure wind to carve a clean path through the fog. Threads of power danced around his hands, and his face was twisted in focused concentration. This time, he was careful not to let his magic collide directly with Lucy’s. The last time their winds had clashed, it nearly tore the Cohort apart.

The fog shrieked as it was forced aside.

Lucy didn’t hesitate. He rocketed through the parted tunnel of swirling mist, the others trailing in his wake. None of them were touched. Not yet. But as they pierced deeper into Caelgorr’s territory, the pressure in the air shifted—sudden, suffocating. It pressed against their skin like invisible hands, testing them.

The island below came into view, rising like a dead god’s tomb from the sea. A suffocating aura oozed from its core, vile and oppressive. Though the group remained untouched by the fog, Lucy could feel the beast’s attention shift.

He knows we’re here.

Good. Lucy clenched his fists tighter.

Let him know. Let him feel it. His time is up.

The fog swirled in retaliation, lashing out like tendrils trying to infect them mid-flight. It twisted into ghastly shapes—limbs, faces, whispers—but Bruma and Llarm held the line. Llarm’s wind pulsed outward in bursts, and Bruma added her force, violet glyphs glowing beneath her feet. Together, they kept the veil at bay.

Lucy grinned, wind roaring in his ears. He pushed harder, shooting ahead like a bullet. The island’s surface was nearly invisible under the thick fog. There were no trees, grass, or wildlife—only a desolate, upward slope, obscured and writhing. At its peak stood a shadow-shrouded temple, broken by time and swallowed by gloom.

He accelerated toward it, dragging the others behind him. The wind cut across their faces like knives, and their hair whipped wildly in the gust.

Then, they arrived.

Lucy hovered above the ancient temple, its crumbling pillars barely visible beneath the suffocating fog. The structure was massive—black stone, rotted marble, and something else—something unnatural—a wrongness that made Lucy’s stomach twist.

Before he could get a clearer look, Llarm and Bruma parted a swath of fog near the base, creating a landing zone. Wind screamed as it tore the mist away, revealing the island’s surface.

It wasn’t soil beneath their boots. It was cold, hard, metallic—dull black, like scorched steel.

They touched down with thuds, the echo swallowed instantly by the thick air. The fog snapped forward again, trying to reclaim its lost ground, but Llarm and Bruma held firm. Llarm groaned, sweat now beading along his temples. Bruma exhaled sharply, her arms glowing with arcane markings as she reinforced the barrier.

Lucy turned to the group, voice light despite the razor in his gut.

"Alright. Come in after you hear the big bang."

Eri was stone-faced, and she folded her arms. "You sound too relaxed for someone about to walk into hell."

Lucy winked. "Gotta keep the mood bright. Morale’s important."

There was a beat of silence. Then, one by one, his team gave a nod.

"Good luck, Captain," they said in unison—even Gindu, who usually would have taken the chance to call him a wrymling.

Carlos gave a sharp bark, ears perked and alert.

Lucy glanced at them, allowing the moment to sink in. Then he turned toward the temple and began walking.

Each step up the weathered stairs creaked beneath his boots. He didn’t bother parting the fog now—it clung to him like a second skin. Instead, he activated both Atomic Radiation and the Crucible of Grace. His mana surged through him, coating his organs in divine energy and holding his body together like molten armor.

The great doors loomed ahead, wrapped in swirling black mist. As he approached, the fog hissed and dissolved around him, retreating from his presence.

The doors were old—tall, cracked, carved from the same dark material that coated the island. Strange, ancient markings were barely visible beneath layers of grime.

Lucy stared at them for a second, jaw clenched.

’Say goodbye to your intestines, you fucking dickhead,’ he thought. Normally, he didn’t revel in death. Even when killing beasts, he felt bad.

But not this time.

Caelgorr was something else—something twisted, malicious, and cruel. He deserved no hesitation.

Lucy inhaled. Mana circled into his arm, coiling tight like a spring.

With a sharp exhale, he slammed his fist forward.

The impact echoed like thunder, and the black doors cracked open, screeching as they gave way.

Then Lucy stepped into the ancient temple alone.