The fog moved to meet them.
It didn't drift—it stalked, coiling forward with silent, predatory grace. It swirled in a wide arc around the Cohort, encircling them with terrifying intent. The moment it completed its ring, the temperature dropped. The candles lining the stone walls shivered, their flames bending backward as if trying to flee.
The group froze. Even Bruma, tall and sharp-eyed, couldn't see past the shifting curtain.
The fog rose too high—it built into a towering wall, roiling like storm surf, cloaking the world beyond in impenetrable grey. The thick, sour-sweet stench of rotting incense burned the backs of their throats. It tasted like old blood and dreams that died screaming.
Caelgorr was gone.
No one could see him now. The beast had vanished into the fog as if devoured by it. The candles flanking the temple walls pulsed in and out of existence, flickering not with flame but fear. Lucy felt it crawl up his spine—cold, electric, primal.
