Tyrus was beyond confused. One moment, he had been trudging through the mist with the others, senses on a razor's edge. Then, like an avalanche, a cloud of mist billowed through their ranks, blinding him. He flailed around, reaching out for the rope or any hand to keep from being swept away, until his body became weightless and poof, transported into an entirely different section of the forest, all alone with the buzzing bugs and the creepy mist.

After the dizzying experience, he had been calling out the others, but to no avail. No one answered his calls, leaving his throat hoarse from the yelling. Naturally, he gave up and thought of a new plan.

"Standing around doing nothing won't do me any good. Finding the others and Wyford is the best thing to do. All I can do now is move forward."

Tyrus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swiveling on his heels while taking in the scent of salt and earth. His nails grew into claws while his hair puffed out, reacting to his instincts. His senses picked up on everything. The peck of bugs on the forest floor, the loud breeze rustling the trees, and the sound of his own beating heart.

His eyes flung open as he stopped. His muscles throbbed with explosive energy. Tyrus crouched low, bending his knees, and kicked off in one direction, sprinting as fast as his legs could take him. The mist parted as if avoiding him. He took sharp turns and narrow paths, avoiding areas swarming with urks and thorns.

Leaving the forest was most likely futile given what they witnessed with the others. The best thing to do now was move forward, and what better way than to follow the scent of the sea? Tyrus assumed the mist was purposely leading those who entered in circles, draining their energy until whoever or whatever was lurking around snatched them up with ease.

But Tyrus wasn't like the others. He had energy to spare, and the senses to assist him with navigation. While it was a shame he couldn't track his friend's scents, it didn't mean he couldn't track the smell of sea spray, which was weird as well. How come a person's scent could vanish, but the smell of the sea and everything else lingered? If someone wanted to hide, wouldn't it make more sense to eliminate all scent—not just people?

"Whoever is responsible might not have the skills or knowledge to do that." Tyrus pondered this as he ran, eyes peeled for anything that looked out of the ordinary. "Actually, what element exactly could have the power to do that? Obviously, it can't be fire, water, earth, or light. The only ones I can think of is air and dark."

The air element seemed the most logical. Manipulating wind could easily scatter almost anything, redirect smells, or even compress air to muffle the sound. But Tyrus imagined that kind of control needed to be extremely precise. Not many Elemental Sorcerers could pull it off on a scale that blanketed an entire forest.

"Unless it's not just one sorcerer," Tyrus muttered, leaping over a jutting root. "There might be a group of them working together to cover the forest in mist. I don't know how they did the voices only Fiona and Igneal could hear. It might be the work of some magical tool. Wait... what if an artifact similar to the one back in the Wasteful Wetlands is responsible?!"

Tyrus shook his head. That couldn't be it. He would've sensed the mana leaking out the moment he got close. Artifacts, even pseudo ones, always gave off a signature too strong to stay hidden completely. But he hadn't felt anything like that so far, and he'd been pushing his senses to the limit to find Wyford and Mitha.

It wouldn't be far-fetched to think that mana could be masked as well. A sorcerer had the ability to do the same by slowing their breathing and willing themselves to not leak mana.

While magical tools weren't living, breathing things, there may be some enchantments capable of doing the same thing. If he was to consider the artifact from the Wasteful Wetlands as a possibility, it wasn't unthinkable that someone had found a similar device that did not emit corrupted mana meant to poison the surrounding area, but a mist meant to lure, trap, and isolate those who enter. The forest was the net, while the mist was the bait!

At first, Tyrus felt saddened that the people of Lullin were in constant danger from the Whispering Forest. Powerless, to the point where they believed a deity sought human offerings. Maybe they thought that with enough sacrifices, whatever was in the forest would disappear and leave them alone. That was one way of looking at the situation, but his sympathies dwindled the further he thought about it.

Tyrus could see Wyford's point of the people of Lullin avoiding to contact the capital as they expected little to no help, but Tyrus found it hard to accept. Wouldn't it be better to at least try to communicate with the capital than to be complicit? Wyford also mentioned that perhaps Lullin tried to solve the problem on their own, but gave up once the losses outweighed the hope. Even then, that didn't sit right with Tyrus.

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That's not an excuse. You don't abandon your people to superstition and silence. You scream until someone listens.

The more he mulled over it, the more irritated he became. He understood fear, but fear that turned into indifference was something else entirely. And if the people of Lullin really had accepted their fate, even if it persisted for decades, then they did not differ from the sorcerers responsible for the mess.

He clenched his jaw. "There's more to this—"

In his contemplation, Tyrus slowed, instincts prickling. An icy chill ran down his spine as he sensed a strange, shadowy aura from up ahead. His pupils narrowed, and his fur stood on end as he ran to a complete stop. To his right, he heard something approaching, almost like a whisper.

A sudden hum tore through the air, and Tyrus jerked his head to the side just in time. A streak of dark energy blazed past his cheek, slicing through a branch behind him with a sharp crack. The air shimmered where the spell had passed, the lingering pressure making his skin crawl. Tyrus dropped into a low stance, summoning his blade in his right hand. The branch behind him blackened as it wilted into ash.

The branch shriveled up and wilted upon impact? There's only one element I know that can do that.

Something moved from above. Tyrus snapped his head in that direction. There—perched atop a tree branch sat a robed figure, legs lazily dangling, face hidden beneath a hood of shadows. Tyrus tried to get a good look at the mysterious stranger's face, but even with some of the moonlight above the treetops, the stranger was actively using the dark element to veil their face.

Though the longer he stared, a slight pain slowly crept up within his head. Tyrus shook his head, ignoring the feeling. There were more important things to pay attention to.

"You're the one responsible for the disappearances, aren't you?" Tyrus asked, eyeing the shadowy stranger carefully.

The stranger did not answer. Instead, they lifted themselves off the branch. A tendril of shadows slithered from beneath their cloak, touching the ground. They descended with grace, as if the shadows themselves cushioned their fall. The tendril split into several wisps that fanned out, weaving through the mist like searching fingers.

"I asked you a question," Tyrus said, louder this time. "Are you the one behind this?"

Still no response. The cloaked figure landed soundlessly, the shadowy tendrils slipping back inside the folds of their robe like obedient pets retreating to their master. Tyrus shifted into river stance, eyeing his foe warily.

Should he retreat? He hated to admit it, but if the person in front of him was truly the one responsible for the forest's illusions and the disappearances, then they weren't an average sorcerer. The way the shadows moved like extensions of their will, in a way he never thought of, told him this was someone experienced and dangerous.

There was also the fact that in his current condition, he was in no position to fight a drawn-out battle. That meant finishing the fight as soon as possible, if fighting was a requirement, would be the best option if he wanted to preserve his body or risk a gruesome death through an exploding heart.

Taking his chances by running seemed like the better option. Tyrus took great pride in his agility and reflexes, and with the surrounding trees and foliage as cover, he could easily lose sight of the stranger and regroup with the others. He didn't need to win—he just needed to survive and figure out what was really going on.

Just to be sure running was the correct option, Tyrus activated mana sense and glared at the stranger. He expected a mana signature right around the level of Selena or the dark sorcerer back in the Wasteful Wetlands, but what he found had him do a double take.

The strangers mana signature was abysmally small. So small, in fact, that for a split second Tyrus thought he was sensing nothing at all. But the more he focused, the more confused he became. If he had to take a guess, the person's mana signature was around the same level as a first-year student back at the academy. It was nothing short of suspicious and worrisome.

They must be purposely reducing their mana to make themselves appear weak! Nice try, but you won't fool me!

In a split second, Tyrus tensed his muscles, ready to dash away in a burst of speed until the enemy lifted a finger. Shadows surged like a whip, cracking across the forest floor and cutting off his planned escape route. Tyrus hissed and moved away, narrowly avoiding the strike. A branch overhead snapped from the force, crashing behind him.

Tyrus grit his teeth and skidded backward, eyes scanning for another exit path, but more shadows began wriggling out from the ground like roots, weaving between roots and stones, anticipating his movement. They didn't attack, only watched. The cloaked figure didn't budge. No words. No spell chants. Just that single lifted finger, guiding the shadows like a conductor.

Suppressing their mana, capable of using silent casting, and cutting off any means of escape... They know what they're doing, meaning they are experienced. As if I didn't need any more reason to avoid a fight.

Taking a deep breath, Tyrus brought out the flying dagger he nabbed from Jericho and infused some of his mana onto the blade. It lit up and floated at head level. Tyrus willed the weapon to move and strike at the sorcerer's face.

The dagger shot forward, aimed at the sorcerer's veiled face, its glowing edge cleaving the mist. But before impact, a shadow erupted, a curtain intercepting the blade. A faint, metallic clang, impossible for what wasn't solid, sounded as the knife deflected, spinning harmlessly into the trees. Tyrus didn't pause; he charged away, hoping the diversion would buy him time, and leaped for the nearest branch.

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