The interior of the carriage swayed slightly with each bump in the dirt road, creaking like an old boat facing timid waves. The canvas windows let in small beams of light filtered through the grimy fabric, while the smell of hay, leather, and old sweat formed an uncomfortably familiar atmosphere for Kael.

He sat silently, arms crossed, his cloak gathered beside him, trying to maintain his composure—and his sanity. His eyes were half-closed, not from sleep, but from mental exhaustion.

Because the old man in front, driving the carriage and talking since they left the city, simply... wouldn't shut up.

"So, as I was saying, the secret to making goat cheese that doesn't stink is to rub lemon on the udders. I swear by all the lesser gods! I learned this from a hermit who lived in a tower full of pigeons. And pigeons, mind you, they really know what filth is, you know? Once one landed in my soup and I—"

Kael, his gaze fixed on an imaginary point on the floor of the carriage, let out a sigh so heavy that it made the wooden planks seem to creak in sympathy.

"You never stop, do you?"

"What? Oh, I talk too much, don't I? My wife used to say that too. Before she left me for a bard. But look, the bard was deaf! Hah! Irony, isn't it? Or karma, maybe. I always confuse the two..."

Kael closed his eyes and sank into the seat.

Raven had insisted. "It's just a merchant carriage, you don't have to do everything in tragic mode, Kael. Take the opportunity to rest. It's free transportation."

He snorted inwardly. Rest. Sure.

The old loudmouth outside kept going, swinging his reins and his body at the same time. The creaking of the wheels mixed with his voice as part of a nightmare of sound and dust.

"And you, young man, what are you going to do in Rust Village, huh? You don't look like the type to buy spices or horseshoes. Oh, unless you have a thing for horseshoes. I don't judge, to each their own fetish."

Kael just stared at the carriage ceiling as if begging the universe for some quick form of death.

"Work," he replied curtly.

"Ah, of course, work! Of course, of course. Always work! Now, honest work or the kind that involves swords and monsters? You look like someone who solves problems, not someone who carries wheat."

Kael slowly turned his head toward the crack in the canvas and let the silence answer for him.

The old man got it.

"Aaaaah, so that's it, huh? A hunter of bad things. A slayer of hauntings! A specter beater! A curse breaker!"

Kael raised one hand, interrupting the verbal flow as if breaking a spell.

"Have you heard about what's happening in the village we're going to?"

The old man fell silent. For a second, the sound of the wheels and the trotting of the horses was all that could be heard. Then he cleared his throat. The change in tone was almost imperceptible, but real. Something more serious was now underlying his speech.

"I've heard. Bad things. I don't like to talk about it out loud. It's bad luck."

Kael watched more closely. Finally, something useful.

"Tell me."

The old man hesitated, scratched his gray beard, and let out a nervous laugh.

"Well... you asked. But don't say I didn't warn you, okay?"

He cleared his throat and began to speak in a lower tone, as if afraid that the trees along the road might hear.

"Rust Village used to be just another forgotten village on the map. Nothing special. Good soil, honest people. But a few months ago... the fog started coming down earlier. Thicker. Animals disappeared. Dogs stopped barking. People started disappearing... first one or two, now every week someone is missing."

Kael kept his gaze steady.

"And what do they say it is?"

"Oh, boy... they say a lot of things. Some say it's an ancient spirit, one that was sealed there when the world was still young. Others think it's a magical plague, a kind of disease that eats souls. But the worst I heard... the worst, really... was from a kid who ran away from the village at night."

"What did he say?"

"He said he saw his own brother being taken away by something that had no form. He said it was like looking into a nightmare, as if time had stopped around him. The boy's eyes were rolled back when they brought him to town. He kept repeating the same thing: 'She's waking up. She's waking up.'"

Kael felt a subtle chill run up his spine.

"Ella?"

"Not 'She.' Like someone... or something. No name. Just 'she.'" The old man turned slightly in the front seat and spoke bluntly. "They say there's an old shrine buried under the forest surrounding the village. That the seal that was there... is breaking. And when it breaks completely... well... not even adventurers like you will want to be around."

Kael kept his face impassive, but his hand instinctively touched the handle of the staff resting beside him.

"So... that's what awaits me."

The old man shrugged.

"That's what they say. But it could just be rumors from frightened villagers. Too much fog, too much imagination. Who knows."

Kael didn't answer. He just closed his eyes, this time to meditate. To prepare himself. To remember what he had felt when he read that report.

Residual magic. Incomplete ritual mark. Absolute silence.

She is waking up.

The carriage followed the trail, gradually disappearing into the dense forest and growing fog—as if being swallowed by a world that had decided, in that forgotten corner, to breathe again... hungrily.

The dirt road leading to Rust Village wound through low hills and ancient forests, but what had begun as a sunny afternoon soon turned into a silent omen. Gray clouds loomed like shadows in the sky, covering the sun with thick layers of opaque darkness. The daylight faded, swallowed by a gray that seemed too heavy to be just a natural phenomenon.

The carriage creaked louder as it crossed a narrow bridge made of weathered stone. It was there that the smell changed. Kael noticed it even before the coachman did. The air became dense, humid, and there was a hint of sulfur mixed with the rot of old leaves. Something dead—or about to die—seemed to breathe beneath the earth.

The old man driving the carriage finally fell silent.

Not even he dared break the silence that had fallen with the fog. The fog had appeared out of nowhere, creeping along the ruts of the road like a cautious creature. In less than five minutes, it had completely enveloped the carriage, blocking the view beyond a few meters. The sound of hooves was muffled, swallowed by an unnatural stillness.

Kael pulled back the canvas on the side and looked out. It was like looking into a glass filled with old milk: dense, opaque, suffocating.

He spoke softly, almost as a warning:

"If it continues like this, you'll pass the village without noticing."

The coachman did not respond immediately. Then he muttered:

"We're already close. The road will narrow... after that, the south fence appears. Or... it used to appear."

Kael frowned.

"Used to appear?"

The old man swallowed hard.

"I heard that part of the village was swallowed up by something. The earth sinking. People say it's a curse... but I don't know. It could just be bad weather. Everything here is bad weather now."

A few minutes later, the carriage finally began to slow down. The creaking of the wheels became more drawn out, as if the earth itself was reluctant to allow anything living to arrive.

Kael jumped out of the vehicle before it had even come to a complete stop. His feet touched damp, sticky ground, as if the earth had absorbed more than it should have.

Ahead, the blurred outlines of Rust Village rose up.

It was as if time had stopped there. The darkened wooden houses were hunched under the weight of the fog, with sloping roofs and broken chimneys. Most of the doors were boarded up, windows covered with skins, rags, or nothing at all. No candles. No shadows.

Only silence.

Kael advanced slowly, his staff strapped to his back, his gaze alert. The silence was what bothered him most. Even in the most remote village, there was always sound: hammers in the distance, animals, children, muffled conversations. Here... nothing. Not even the wind dared to whisper.

The old man was still sitting in the carriage, paralyzed. When Kael looked back, he simply said:

"I'll wait here. I won't go beyond this point. If you return before sunset... well. If you don't, I'll understand."

Kael nodded and turned toward the village.

He passed a partially destroyed fence, the gate open like a toothless mouth. The ground was uneven, and the wagon tracks stopped abruptly, as if the residents had fled or... disappeared.

At the first house on the left, a door hung crookedly on its hinges. There were claw marks on the wood—unnatural, too wide to be from a wolf. Too deep to be made with ordinary tools. On the side of the house, a symbol had been hastily carved with charcoal or dried blood. An incomplete circle. Just like in the report.

Kael approached and ran his fingers over the symbol. He felt a cold shiver run up his arms.

Residual magic. He could feel it. Something dormant... or something trying to wake up.

A crack echoed from across the street.

Kael turned immediately, his eyes alert, his hand already sliding toward the handle of his staff.

Nothing.

Only fog, and the distorted outline of another house.

But he knew what he had heard.

He moved deeper into the village, his steps calculated. With each house he passed, he found similar signs: symbols, half-open doors, broken objects, dried puddles of a liquid too dark to be mud. No bodies. No residents. Only traces of something that had passed through there hungry... and in a hurry.

And then, from the top of the street, he saw a figure.

Someone standing in the middle of the fog. Not moving. Not speaking. Just... watching.

Kael stopped.

"Hey!" he called.

Nothing.

The figure seemed to be enveloped in an even thicker layer of fog, as if it were made of mist itself.

Kael took a step forward.

The figure disappeared.

The wind returned for a moment, as if sighing behind the empty houses. A sweet, sickly smell came with it, like rotten flowers in a forgotten crypt.

Kael showed no fear—but his muscles tensed.

Rust Village had accepted him. Or perhaps it had simply closed its doors behind him.

Something was dripping from one of the nearby roofs.

A drop fell right in front of him. Red.

The second fell on his shoulder.

He looked up.

And saw nothing.

"Great. Let's get started." Kael sighed, "Umbra." He called, and the beautiful spirit woman hovered in the air, smiling, "Well, well, we have a rare case here, how nice, I haven't seen one in two hundred years!" She said excitedly.

"A rare case in what?" Kael asked.