Chapter 18: Mistveil's Fog
Mistveil's fog clung to Jason's boots, a damp chill seeping through as glyphs pulsed faintly on broken arches, their ancient etchings barely visible in the haze. He trekked with Koran's runners, the Farthalin's crimson glow sharp and cutting through the mist, whispering: Farthalin. The colossus vision—Kaldor's grid unstable, its lines fracturing—gnawed at him, his scar throbbing with every step. It's here. The system's ping—[Resolve Points: 4950%]—felt heavy, a weight pressing against his chest. 4950% Resolve Points—this power's a double-edged blade. Lynn led the way, her rune stone casting a steady green light, the third manuscript tucked safely in her satchel. "Mistveil's statue is close," she said, her green eyes piercing the fog with unwavering focus. She's focused. Celia scouted ahead, her dagger a shadow in the mist, violet eyes alert and scanning every movement. Ren's warhammer gleamed with a dull sheen, his red hair a flag against the gray, his sister's dream iron in his grip. Toren and Koran flanked the group, their blades steady, their presence a silent promise of strength.
Celia paused, her dagger stilling as she knelt to trace a glyph-ash trail snaking through the fog. "My brother hunted in fog like this," she said, her voice low and thick with memory. "Rogues got him. I won't let them win—not this time." Her resolve. Jason's Farthalin pulsed, its warmth a warning, a hum that vibrated through his bones. It knows. The fog thickened, wrapping the arches in a shroud, their glyphs flickering like dying embers. Koran's voice cut through the silence, sharp and urgent: "Glyph-beast." A beast emerged from the mist—stone limbs slick with moisture, sigils red and glowing, claws slashing the air, fog swirling around it like a predator's cloak. A hunter. Jason charged, blade slashing in a crimson arc, sparks flying as steel met stone. Fast. Pain grazed his arm, a shallow cut burning, but he pressed forward, striking a glyph, its light dimming under his blow.
Celia darted like a wraith, her dagger slicing through sigils with precision, violet eyes fierce. "For my brother!" she growled, dodging a claw that gouged the earth where she'd stood. Ren roared, warhammer cracking against the beast's stone hide, his voice a vow: "For Kaldor!" His fire. Lynn's rune flared, green light weaving through the fog, weakening the beast, her glyphs precise and unrelenting. Toren's blade struck with force, carving another sigil, while Koran's spear pierced deep, their runners circling to tighten the net. We're a unit. The glyph-beast faltered, its sigils darkening, and with a final shudder, it collapsed, the fog clearing slightly as dust settled around its form. Celia's breath hitched, her violet eyes softening as she stared at the fallen beast. "He'd be proud," she whispered, dagger steady in her hand. She's healing.
The system pinged: [System Insight: Defeated glyph-beast. Reward: 300 Resolve Points. Resolve Points: 5250%.] Lynn studied the arches, her rune stone glowing brighter as she traced a path forward. "The statue's ahead," she said, pointing to a glyph-pulse shimmering in the distance. We're close. Koran's spear gleamed with fresh blood, Toren's blade shone with a faint blue hue, and Ren's warhammer stood ready, its weight a comfort. The Farthalin burned in Jason's grip, a vision flashing through his mind: a colossus shrouded in fog, Kaldor's core pulsing with chaotic energy, and a voice roaring: You're mine.It's tracking us. The stone's warmth intensified, its whispers a relentless tide, pulling at his resolve.
A tremor shook Mistveil, the ground trembling beneath their feet, glyphs dimming as shadows shifted in the fog. Not alone. Lynn's gaze met Jason's, her resolve iron, but the Farthalin's whisper surged, a darkness coiling deep within him, pulling him toward the statue—and its guardian. He tightened his grip, the mist parting slightly to reveal a towering silhouette, its sigils flaring red. The next fight.