Cyrus ran as fast as he could. The shrouded forest blocked his sight, but if he kept in the same direction, he'd make it back to Latriaen in no time.

But the sounds of breaking leaves and branches behind him drew closer. Why this again? Hadn't he improved in these past few months?! Throwing these pointless, intrusive thoughts aside, Cyrus picked up his speed, dropping all consideration for the uneven ground beneath his feet.

Chirp!

Bird's call stilled Cyrus' heart. Unconsciously, he momentarily glanced behind, only to gasp at seeing several shadowy tendrils-like hands breaking through the haze and heading straight for him.

One drew faster than the others. And Cyrus moved around a tree without stopping, using it as a stop measure. Then, a crash resounded behind him, followed by the cacophony of wood splintering and trees falling through the forest.

Cyrus didn't care to look back. For if a single tendril managed to catch him, what awaited was... that crunching.

Chirp!

Another one. Cyrus made an abrupt right turn as he watched three arms shoot past him at horrifying speeds. They then crashed into several trees, tearing and wrenching off bark and wood before pulling back like fishing lines.

After rectifying his trajectory, Cyrus considered what he had learned. That thing was inflexible, unable to correct itself once it made an attack. And with Bird in his coat, scared as it was, he could maybe evade.

Chirp!

Cyrus veered to the left. But no attack this time. He then glanced back and nearly gave up there and then.

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit!

There were more of them, dozens, breaking and rending whatever blocked their path to reach him! And not a single one could lay a hand on him.

Cyrus sprinted as fast as he could. Chest heaving, he used everything and anything as a barrier, even dashing through thick branches if he had to.

Meanwhile, Bird's chirping grew frantic. It struggled inside Cyrus' pocket, moving around as if trying to find a way out. But Cyrus paid it no mind. Why would he? His mind was solely focused on the path ahead and the shadows behind.

Damn it. Cyrus dashed between two trees. Where the fuck is Latriaen?! Can't he hear any of this?!

Another crash. And another escape. But that didn't bring peace of mind as the stomping drew closer! It moved just beyond the gray fog, unable to be seen. However, the perfectly sequenced skittering brought a terror unlike any other up Cyrus' spine. The shape he saw outside the cave reminded him of something segmented, like an insect's movements.

And fuck, did Cyrus hate insects. Now more than ever.

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus channeled his mana. With an arm flinging backward, he shot forward another light ray toward the hands. It was futile—a waste of mana. But he had to do it. Anything to draw back the feeling of dread and uselessness that followed right behind him. There was no response from behind. Save for the arms, slinging forward every time Bird cried out. Just keep running. It's all he had left. Run and run until Cyrus reaches his only possible salvation.

A roar. The first one since Cyrus ran. Something guttural and hungry. It was so close, just beyond the threshold of the mists. However... Cyrus's heart lurched as he looked directly to the left. Why did it sound like it was just beside him?!

Before Bird's chirps came, he saw it—three shadows in the fog heading towards him. Mana charged through the life runes within his legs, allowing Cyrus to run faster than ever before, barely feeling the claws brushing behind him. The sight of them brought his nerves to a snap.

"Latriaen!" Cyrus' desperation sang through the top of his lungs.

Not that it mattered. Nobody was coming except more and more limbs.

There was no time to waste. Cyrus moved as fast as he could. His mana pool slowly drained as his life runes fueled his legs. But he did not stop. He ran, and he ran until his lungs felt aflame. Soon, five minutes passed—or was it an hour? Chest heaving and sweat-laden, he glanced to the side as the stomping he heard receded deeper into the fog. Even the crashing of trees stopped. However, Cyrus didn't stop. Damn his burning legs and lungs; he needed to keep moving!

Over a small bush, Cyrus found himself in a very small clearing that brought him to a stop. Gasping for breath, he looked around in every direction, gaze then narrowing at the sight before him. Cyrus was lost. How could he have gotten lost?! Sure, there were some twists and turns, but Cyrus made sure to correct any changes in the path. Heart throbbing, Cyrus looked around. All he needed to do was recall the general direction of the cliffside, and things would be fine. His mind raced with the memories of his escape. There. Head left, and that was West to the cliff... he hoped.

And yet, fate had something else in mind. Something much worse.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Cyrus turned to move, and the thick fog moved, forcing the man to stop by the balls of his feet. Ebbing and flowing, it split apart like a curtain, ready to reveal the main cast.

And there it was. Something tore into the bark of several trees with its spider-like dark legs to keep... what looked like a pile of melted people shaped into a torso.

It then slowly drooped down and revealed a small head covered in beady, cloudy eyes that locked onto Cyrus' own. Before he could react, what it called for lips stretched back, revealing a perfectly white set of human teeth. Cyrus suddenly stepped back. The movement caught its notice as it swayed its head from side to side as fog spilled from its mouth like froth.

Maybe it was a sign of how... hungry it was.

Cyrus watched the froth slide down its gray skin and bulbous cysts. Then, it went onto its bulging belly, where gaunt arms tore into its flesh and revealed a second maw with teeth comprised of what appeared to be sharpened bones. Every other appendage of this monstrosity felt lesser compared to its maw; even the thorax-like bottom that held several arms fashioned into legs and dangling genitelia held little importance.

That's it. That was this thing: The Maw.

A breath of silence hung between them as Cyrus stood frozen at the sight of dozens of tendrils-like hands extending from its back and stretching outward like a spider's web. Then, a snap came from one of the trees holding its legs.

***

Latriaen stood near the cliff edge as he unblinkingly stared at the endless swirling fog enveloping the world beyound him.

"Fifteen times," he said wearily, his searing gaze dimming. "I've tried fifteen times to escape."

And all were met with failure. Somehow, Latriaen always returned to this very spot after a few minutes in the fog. Shaking his head, he fell into thought. This had to be related to spatial tampering. Now, both he and Cyrus were trapped away from the outside world.

And it didn't stop just here. After a few minutes of testing, Latriaen discovered an impenetrable wall surrounded the hamlet by a large margin. It would not have been noticeable to slow-moving mages like Cyrus, but him?

In any case, they were stuck here for now. But Latriaen wasn't afraid as something took precedence—something that caught his notice the moment they stepped into the hamlet's clearing.

Slowly, his gaze landed on the spot beside the cliff's edge. On it were several scorch marks and what he assumed was some sort of dark-attuned attack.

However, the dark affinity did not matter. No, it was the scorch marks that caught his interest. So much so that it brought a shiver up his spine just thinking about it.

Gaze flaring again, Latriaen knelt before it and closed his gaze. Then his mana sense erupted into an all-encompassing sphere, blocking all distractions as he zeroed in on that grand feeling again. A moment later, it felt like he was brought into a world of incredible flames.

There was nothing else but fire. It was grand and all-encompassing. And Latriaen felt he was on the precipice of burning into ash and dust.

It frightened him. It exhilarated him. How could no one ever not notice such an incredible font here? Two even.

Latriaen wished nothing more than to dive right in and gain all the insights this mere scorch mark had to offer. This mark's offers were plain to see: Should he stay here, he could perfect himself and move on to the next threshold.

Grandmaster.

Latriaen shuddered at the thought. With this newfound strength, he could right the wrongs of the past and possibly change his fate. All he needed was to remain here for as long as it took and absorb everything bit by bit.

However, the Ork stilled himself and sighed, lowering his head. After fifteen minutes of feeling the heat, Latriaen reluctantly tore his gaze and mana sense before standing up. There were tasks to be done and a student to teach. Speaking of which...

"Where has that foolish boy gone?" Latriaen muttered, looking towards the hamlet. "He's missing out on all these insights."

But the arcanesmith wasn't too worried. In his travels, he purposefully made noise to garner attention, even withdrawing his life aura that repelled animals and wraiths. Yet nothing came. This led Latriaen to conclude that the area was empty—no tracks, no creatures, nothing.

Still, he really ought to find the boy. This place ran on its own rules, and darkness seemed to arrive sooner than in the outside world.

"He'll be fine if it takes a while to find him," Latriaen said with such nonchalance. "The boy is too cautious in spirit."

Cyrus should really learn to step out of the trodden path.

Maybe he will mention it? The boy had been listening.

As Latriaen moved through the trees and fog, he closed his eyes and sifted through his memories. Something in his long life had to explain this occurrence.

He stopped and frowned. A bad memory flooded his memories. Shaking his head, Latriaen threw it to the back of his mind. There was still hope to right the wrongs of that memory. He only needed some time.

But it wasn't now.

Sighing, he continued his walk down the forest and memory lane. There. All paths led to a single answer that resurfaced—a vague and ancient memory of a time when his biggest problem was proving that he could, in fact, temper metal to his mother.

There was a village messenger who ventured into the so-called 'civilized' world in search of supplies and memos. His name didn't matter, as it was far too long ago, but his words did. He spoke of a place and what it stood for.

"...Slaugh...Zones?" Latriaen abruptly opened his gaze, which flared with a fiery light.

Cursing 'Damn it' in his native tongue, the master mage broke into an incredible sprint toward the hamlet. Once he was there, his life and heat detection abilities shot forward as far as they could.

"Boy!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

But there was no response. Only the sudden darkness was there to greet him. With it, the forest and skies nearly shifted to pitch-black.

"Cyrus!" Latriaen called out again.

At that moment, the skies turned red. Head snapping toward the deep forest, Latriaen witnessed a red object far in the distance shoot upward into the skies before flaring outwards spectacularly. It was one of Cyrus' toys meant to reveal his location. With it came a sudden yet great flame on the trees below it.

A signal for dire help.

"Damn it," Latriaen muttered as the air sizzled around him. "You better hold on, boy."

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