The people spoke in whispers of those who had ventured further into the fog, claiming they had seen visions, heard voices calling them deeper. It was said that the further they went, the closer they came to ascension. That those who did not return had simply been chosen for something greater. The fact that some had vanished entirely did not shake their faith, it strengthened it. If the fog had taken them, then surely, it was meant to be.
Bob scratched his head. "They sure seem confident."
Gale and Vell appeared beside Elise, both watching the disappearing figures with wary expressions.
"They didn't used to act like this," Gale muttered.
Vell crossed her arms. "They come back unharmed, but it's like they leave something behind when they do."
Bob squinted at them, nodding slowly as realization dawned. "Wait a sec... who are you two? You've been standing here talking like we know you, but I have no clue. Wait—you're with the orphans, right?"
Gale smirked slightly. He was lean, wiry, with sharp eyes that darted constantly, always scanning his surroundings. His dark hair was messy, and his clothes, patched together from scavenged gear, showed he had spent years surviving in the ruins. "Yeah, we are. Name's Gale. You and your crew saved our asses back there. Would've been in a cage if not for you."
Vell nodded, her short, unevenly cut silver-blond hair giving her a rugged appearance. Her sharp eyes flickered with caution, and she stood with a quiet confidence. She wore a worn leather jacket over a tunic, its edges frayed from time spent surviving in the ruins.
There was nothing flashy about her, but there was resilience in the way she carried herself. "I was one of them too. The one you pulled out before they could sell me off." She hesitated, then gave a small, respectful nod. "I owe you. We all do."
Bob glanced toward the fog, watching as the last of the group vanished into the pink mist. He turned back to Gale and Vell, nodding slightly. "So, your people saw all this firsthand?"
Gale folded his arms. "Yeah. We've been keeping tabs on them for a while. It started small, but this? This is something else."
Vell frowned. "They walk like they're not all there. Like part of them stays behind in the fog every time they go out."
Bob exhaled, shifting his gaze back toward the empty street where the pilgrims had walked. He had seen plenty of weird things since this whole mess started, but this was something else. He wasn't sure what yet.
Dante, still standing on edge, exhaled slowly. The fight had been stolen from him, his frustration evident in the way his fists remained clenched at his sides. He took one last look at Bob, then turned away.
"This isn't over."
Bob blinked, scratching his head. "Wait… did something even start?" He looked around, half-expecting someone to explain, but Dante had already turned and was walking away, his fists still clenched at his sides.
Bob shrugged and turned toward the gates, stepping inside as if nothing had happened. The others followed, slipping through past the guards.
Behind them, Dante remained at the entrance, his gaze fixed, not on Bob, but on Iris. His frustration burned, and it wasn't just because of Bob's antics. It was the way she'd spoken to him: cold, distant, like he was nothing more than a city official to be dealt with. He had imagined this moment differently. But now she was walking away, as if he was just another face in the crowd.
His fists clenched at his sides. Bob was an obstacle. But Iris… she was the reason he couldn't let this go.
And he wasn't done yet.
The streets of Graves Safe Zone stretched ahead, lined with makeshift homes, market stalls, and repurposed buildings. Bob and his crew moved steadily through the district, their path taking them past one of the largest structures in the city, a towering, reinforced cathedral that loomed over the nearby buildings like an ancient monument.
Gale gestured toward it with a nod. "That's the heart of Blood Creed. Used to be some old-world church before the meteor, but they turned it into something else."
Vell scoffed. "Something bigger. Something powerful. They say it's more than just a faith now. Some of the Graves Family are even part of it. Not just nobles or officers—actual blood relatives."
Bob raised an eyebrow. "So, they run the city and a church? Sounds like too much work."
Gale shook his head. "Not officially. But people listen to Blood Creed just as much as they listen to the Graves. Maybe more. And the ones who aren't part of the family? They swear loyalty like they are. The priests, the enforcers, the followers, they all treat it like the one thing keeping them safe."
Vell folded her arms, glancing at the imposing structure. "The ones you see walking through the Fog in human form, calling it a pilgrimage, those are the Fog Walkers. But this place? That's the Blood Creed. Different belief."
She nodded toward the building. "They see the Pink Fog as divine, yes, but to them, transformation is proof. Glint forms are a gift from whatever they worship. If you can survive the change, you're one of the chosen. They say anyone can join, but not everyone can rise. You have to prove yourself first. For a lot of people, Blood Creed gives them something to believe in. A purpose."
Bob tilted his head. "Wait, so if I walk in there right now, they'd roll out a fancy carpet for me?"
Gale smirked. "With your Glint? Probably. They'd be singing your praises before you made it past the first row of pews."
Bob shrugged. "Huh. I do like free praise."
Gabe rolled his eyes. "We are not getting involved with a cult."
Vell nodded. "Good. Because even if you wanted in, they don't just let anyone near their high priests. You have to earn it, and let's just say their trials aren't exactly friendly."
Bob frowned, glancing back at the cathedral. "Sounds hard enough to get in… but what if someone wants out?"
Gale exhaled through his nose, hesitating. "A lot of people are leaving now. The Fog Walkers are pulling them in, and Blood Creed isn't just going to let that slide. Losing followers means losing control. They won't sit back and watch their influence crumble."
Bob blinked. "That's a fun way of saying 'they kill you.'"
Vell sighed. "Not always. Some people disappear quietly, no one asks, no one answers. Others just stop showing up, and the next thing you know, they're gone from the city entirely. Then there are the ones who make it out… but they don't talk about it. Whatever they saw, whatever they did to leave, it's like it's not worth speaking of."
A heavy silence followed before Vell added, "Blood Creed kept things stable after the meteor fall. No matter what people say, they gave survivors something to cling to. Some of them truly believe in what they preach. Others? Well… they just believe in keeping power."
Bob looked at the towering structure one last time before shaking his head. "Sounds like a headache. C'mon, let's keep moving."
As they turned down the next street, the cathedral's bell rang, its deep, hollow chime echoing across the city. The sound was heavy, solemn. And something about it felt like a warning.
The grand cathedral of Blood Creed was alive with the murmurs of priests, enforcers, and devoted followers. Inside, the air was thick with incense, the flickering light of braziers casting long shadows against the stained-glass windows. At the center of it all, standing before the altar, was High Priest Ezekiel.
His voice boomed through the cathedral. "Faithfuls. I see it in your eyes! I hear it in your whispers! Our city has forgotten the truth!" He glared across the assembly, his sharp features contorted in frustration.
"The Fog Walkers spread their lies, and the weak-hearted follow! They promise ascension without transformation. They speak of safety in the mist! But I ask you, brothers and sisters, when has the fog ever been merciful? When has it not taken from us?"
Some murmured in agreement, others looked uncertain. Since the meteor fall, Blood Creed had risen as the foundation of faith in the city, guiding those who had lost everything. But now? People were leaving. Some abandoned their teachings for the Fog Walkers.
From the shadows, Father Gregor Graves stood with his arms crossed, watching the High Priest's sermon. Unlike Ezekiel, Gregor did not raise his voice. He did not need to. He knew what was truly at stake. The Graves Family relied on Blood Creed to keep control over the people. If the cult lost its grip, the power structure within the city would shift. And that was something neither the priests nor the city's elite could afford.
After delivering his sermon, Ezekiel retreated to the upper balcony of the cathedral, his mind troubled. The second pilgrimage had already left, vanishing into the fog hours ago. His words had done little to restore confidence. He knew more would follow, more of his own people slipping through his grasp. The thought made his stomach churn.
He leaned against the railing, staring at the grand hall below, where his priests whispered among themselves, their faith cracking under the weight of uncertainty. He clenched his jaw. This was not how it was meant to be. Blood Creed had been the foundation of belief, the pillar that kept people from falling into despair. And yet, despite their teachings, despite their power, the Fog Walkers continued to grow.
He shut his eyes, his thoughts racing. Somewhere out there, his own son had become part of that infection. The whispers had reached him weeks ago, but he had refused to believe. Jonah had been lost to the fog, he had convinced himself of that. But now? Now he wasn't so sure.
If Jonah, his son, truly stood among them, if he had become a leader of that heresy, then Ezekiel would have to face him. And when that moment came, there would be no room for mercy.
-----
In the bustling market district, confusion and fear rippled through the people. It had started as whispers that morning, but now, as merchants and traders gathered in tight clusters, the rumor had become real.
Liam was gone.
A well-known food vendor, a man who had worked the same stall since the meteor fall, had joined the first pilgrimage. He had walked into the fog with the others, believing in whatever truth they sought. But unlike some of the others, he never came back. His stall remained empty, his absence now undeniable. And he was not the first.
"He wasn't one of them," a woman muttered, gripping her apron. "He wasn't even that religious! Why would he go with them?"
A man beside her shook his head. "He had a family. A business. He wasn't desperate like the others. Why would he just walk into the fog?"
A younger vendor swallowed hard. "We don't know what's really going on inside the Fog Walkers. Maybe Liam chose to stay. Maybe he joined them for good." He hesitated, glancing around. "Whatever the reason… he's one of them now."
No one answered. Because the truth was, no one knew.
-----
The second pilgrimage had begun its return.
Word spread quickly through the city. People gathered in clusters along the streets, watching as the group that had vanished into the fog now emerged from it once more. Their walk was eerily similar to before, silent, disciplined, almost ritualistic.
Elise stood at the edge of the crowd, searching for her brother among the returning figures. Her fingers dug into her sleeves, her heartbeat steady but anxious.
Then she saw him.
But he didn't stop.
Didn't look her way.
Didn't recognize her at all.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Others scanned the crowd too, quietly noting the few who didn't return, family members, neighbors, friends. Most had made it back. But some were still missing.
The murmurs started. Then the questions. Then the fear.
A mother pushed to the front, his voice sharp with panic. "Where's my son?!" His words cut through the air, but the pilgrims didn't even look at him.
Not one of them spoke.
The market crowd shifted uneasily. The air was thick with unease, heavier than it had been before. The people who had returned looked… wrong. Their skin was pale, their eyes unfocused, their movements too precise, too synchronized. Like puppets following unseen strings.
The fear turned into something sharper. Suspicion.
Then, for the first time since their return, one of the pilgrims reacted.
A woman near the front of the group turned her head ever so slightly. Her lips barely moved as she whispered a single phrase.
"Those who did not return were not true believers. The fog welcomed us because we trusted it, we did not resist. We all saw the same Fades, but we remained, and so we were spared. Those who ran… they were claimed."
Then, just as quickly, she looked forward again, resuming her silent march deeper into the city.
The crowd remained frozen, staring at the retreating pilgrims. No one dared to follow.
The silence lingered long after they were gone.